Making time, slowing down

With the rush of the new school year, it feels like there’s never enough time to process all that has been brewing and stirring for the past few weeks–past few months for that matter.

In class, we talk about HIV/AIDS, abortion, motion and movement. We talk about music from around the world. Talk about a broadening of global perspective from this past summer! I get caught up during class at times thinking about those HIV+ women I met, the movements or lack of movements of children, the music and music videos. Time to slow down and figure out what is going on inside of me.

Just passing through

So a few weeks ago I watched “Out of Africa” because I missed Kenya…

Meryl Streep: “They say I’ll have
a normal life now…but no children.”

Robert Redford: “So, the school?”

M: So, the school. The farm. That’s what I am now.

R: No.

—-

R: “My Kikuyu.” “My Lemoges.” “My farm.” It’s a lot to own.

M: I have paid a price for everything I own.

R: What is it, exactly, that’s yours? We’re not owners here. We’re just passing through.

The silence is loud

A few days ago marked my first month back in the States. On the airplane to Nashville, I suddenly felt so, so far away. Not only flying away from home again, but it was as if each plane ride took me further and further away from Kenya. August 25 was also the first night that I slept by myself in my own room since Kenya. No sister. No ministry partner. No roommate. None. I miss Kenya so much.

But God has been showing me these past few days what it means that he’s in control. He keeps saying, “I got this, Janice. And not just this time, everytime.” Don’t I remember when He was faithful while I was slipping and sliding down the ravine into the rainforest? Scaling the slippery waterfall? What about the talks at school? What about not hearing from your family? What about the time when He spoke truth to the old woman and all I could do was rely on him? “Let’s talk about your control issues among other things, Janice.”

——

“Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father. And even the very hairs on your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.” – Jesus

——

Coming back to a very time-oriented, task-oriented society has been interesting and overwhelming at the same time too. New student outreach at Vanderbilt is very much underway and every day has something planned that needs work from behind the scenes. But things have been amazing so far too. A couple nights ago, I felt like I just couldn’t sleep; there was too much going on. Too many wonderful things that have happened and are to come. Once again, God spoke:

“When the disciples heard this, they fell facedown to the ground, terrified. But Jesus came and touched them. ‘Get up,’ he said. ‘Don’t be afraid.’ When they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus.” (Matthew 17:6-8)

Deborah

Deborah was my next door neighbor’s oldest daughter. What can a skinny Kenyan girl teach me? The first time I met her, she was so shy I didn’t know if she spoke English or not. But in her shyness, she kept popping up everywhere. Her face behind a fence. In the front and center seat at Resam primary school.

Silome, or Mama Deborah as we called her, told me that one time Deborah had woken in the night to her brother’s cries. He said he couldn’t move and Deboarh, as an eight-year old, sat next to Levi and prayed for his release. When Jesus talked about childlike faith, I never imagined this. The time came to say our goodbyes and Silome asked me, “What do I say to Deborah when she asks to visit you tomorrow? What will I tell her when she can’t find you? Should I tell her you and Alex went on a trip?” How was I supposed to respond to that?

When I was still competing in cross country, my coach would often say that our team had to fight for our ticket into the stadium. A metaphor that really meant our team wasn’t good enough to get to state, but we were right there in the thick of things, so we could watch the good teams pass us by. We were lucky enough to be in the same arena as these elite teams. Now I know that the kingdom of heaven isn’t about good, better, best. But when I think about Deborah, I can’t help but think that someday, she’ll be down in front and I’ll just have the privilege of seeing her from the nosebleeds.

We are just gone on a trip. But we’ll meet again someday. And it’ll be glorious.

To you, friend

Dear friends and family,

Sometimes I still wake up in the morning wondering if these past few months were only a dream. Yet, I know that it is not and as I write this letter, the reality is that it has certainly been a journey to Kenya and back these past two months. And it is praise to our gracious Father who orchestrated and blessed this trip and thanks to you for all the support and all the prayers that made this trip possible. Finally, I hope that this letter finds you well and that through this medium and others, God will encourage you just as he has been doing all over the world…

Two months ago, our team of 39 gathered for the first time at a monastery southwest of Nairobi. There, we spent a week learning how to approach culture differences, discussing issues ranging from language to missions, and venturing out into our new environs. And it was during those first ten days that God began to show us his heart for the orphan boy, the HIV-positive mother, and the college student.

On the last day there, we received our ministry assignments and partners for the next three weeks, being commissioned to go throughout Kenya—to schools, orphanages, urban slums, and rural villages—to witness God’s hand at work. What did I know then? My ministry partner, Alex, and I only knew that we should be prepared to evangelize and that we should buy “gum boots” and give up our hopes of wearing sandals because they “would get lost in the mud.”

Nearly 6 hours later and about 200 miles northwest of Nairobi, we arrived in the very small, very rural town of Sigowet. Sigowet sits on the westernmost part of the Great Rift Valley, and with its high elevation and daily rains, it is also the heart of Kenya’s luscious tea country. Hence the gum boots. By God’s grace, we partnered with the African Gospel Church there, living at local pastor Rebecca Sang’s house and evangelizing with pastor Andrew Yegon for the duration of our three weeks in Sigowet. In addition to speaking at the local schools, we would travel to various neighboring villages visiting homes, trekking anywhere from 6 to 15 miles a day. And typically over a generous and hospitable cup (usually cups!) of chai, we would share the gospel with the Kenyans or encourage them in their faith. In those three weeks, God broke down my hesitance of sharing His good news to all people, challenged some of my deepest doubts of myself and of others, and renewed me in faith and love for Him and for His people.

The next few weeks were spent with our team. In the nights, we would retell our stories of light in darkness, joy in suffering, triumph in tragedy—ultimately, God’s hand at work in Kenya and in our lives. Some of my teammates had lived with nomadic tribesmen, witnessing to those still rooted in their tribal traditions. Others worked in orphanages, loving those children with HIV and AIDS, feeding and holding disabled children with no chance of living a life outside of the home’s walls. During the day, we would work in the slums gutting out sewers, in the orphanages holding children, or in the streets spending our afternoons with the street boys and a soccer ball.

One of my teammates wrote, “It is people that make a place worth caring about, fighting for, crying over, praying about, investing in, and above all loving.” I simply could not have said it better myself. And what I have seen, I cannot un-see. The hands I have held, I cannot un-hold. The names I have learned, I cannot un-learn. Yet I am learning to hold on to all these experiences lightly, and I want to learn to invest readily in God’s kingdom. This may be a brief account of the work being done in Kenya, but the lessons themselves are far from over.

Thank you for investing in my team and me this past summer. At the schools, the children were taught to say, “God is good and that is His nature.” And God is at work in Kenya in small ways and grand ways and it is good because that is His nature. There are so many more stories that simply will not fit in this letter but that I would love to share with you. Feel free to call/email me  because I would love to tell you more!

Love, Janice

@ the corner of grace and the cross

Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good; his love endures forever.  Let the redeemed of the LORD say this– those he redeemed from the hand of the foe,  those he gathered from the lands, from east and west, from north and south.

Some wandered in desert wastelands, finding no way to a city where they could settle. They were hungry and thirsty, and their lives ebbed away. Then they cried out to the LORD in their trouble, and he delivered them from their distress. He led them by a straight way to a city where they could settle. Let them give thanks to the LORD for his unfailing love and his wonderful deeds for men, for he satisfies the thirsty and fills the hungry with good things. [The street boys have nowhere to settle. Most people live in fear of them because of the havoc they wreak. The head street boy counts each of them off; they are their own family and their dogs follow them wherever they go. Each boy fights for his own food, even their dogs know how to hustle. Eric wore a rosary around his neck. "Brian and I love Jesus," he declared.]

Some sat in darkness and the deepest gloom, prisoners suffering in iron chains, for they had rebelled against the words of God and despised the counsel of the Most High. So he subjected them to bitter labor; they stumbled, and there was no one to help. Then they cried to the LORD in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress. He brought them out of darkness and the deepest gloom and broke away their chains. Let them give thanks to the LORD for his unfailing love and his wonderful deeds for men, for he breaks down gates of bronze and cuts through bars of iron. [Yasmin and Candice spoke at a prison. Who knew that the Lord was at work there? They faithfully spoke a word, and He brought many prisoners into a place of hope that day.]

[it goes on...]

He turned rivers into a desert, flowing springs into thirsty ground, and fruitful land into a salt waste, because of the wickedness of those who lived there. He turned the desert into pools of water and the parched ground into flowing springs; there he brought the hungry to live, and they founded a city where they could settle. They sowed fields and planted vineyards that yielded a fruitful harvest; he blessed them, and their numbers greatly increased, and he did not let their herds diminish. Then their numbers decreased, and they were humbled by oppression, calamity and sorrow; he who pours contempt on nobles made them wander in a trackless waste. But he lifted the needy out of their affliction and increased their families like flocks. The upright see and rejoice, but all the wicked shut their mouths. Whoever is wise, let him heed these things and consider the great love of the LORD. [The momma who celebrates when it rains--when it sprinkles barely enough to wet the ground. The old woman we found plucking the young tea leaves in the fields. Elizabeth saying, "I love you so much. Will you forget me?" Is this what it's like to witness the beauty of God resting upon us? There is grace and great love of the Lord. God is good and that is his nature.]

Psalm 107

the rough places a plain…

I’m reading Culture Making by Andy Crouch right now in light of returning from Kenya. Here’s an excerpt to share and that has really got me thinking about the cultures in which I live.

“…This is the kind of culture making that is needed in every place. It is needed in exurban neighborhoods, where lasting friendship and a sense of significance beyond consumption are as rare as Hummers are plentiful. It is needed in urban-core neighborhoods–whose deficit of significance and surplus of Hummers is not so different from the exurbs after all. It is needed in places where the lure of the new and cool keeps up an insistent and steady beat, and in places where conformity and complacency tempt people to settle for easy comforts. Culture making is needed in every company, every school and every church. In every place there are impossibilities that leaven even the powerful feeling constrained and drained, and that rob the powerless of the ability to imagine something different and better. At root, every human cultural enterprise is haunted by the ultimate impossibility, death, which threatens to slam shut the door of human hope. But God is at work precisely in these places where the impossible seems absolute. Our calling is to join him in what he is already doing–to make visible what, in exodus and resurrection, he has already done.”  (215-216)

Once again, hello re-entry.

I live in a fork culture

Well, I guess I live in a kind of mixed fork and chopsticks culture, but that’s beside the point.

But we literally do live a a fork culture. As in, it’s practically impossible to eat with my hands. As in, I’m not about to take some ugali or chapati and mash it up in my hands or use it to mop up stew. What it means is that re-entry is tricky business. And I’m using a pretty silly example to describe “culture shock” because forks aren’t “Culture Shock” material exactly…

But it’s a good title for an entry and an intriguing intro. And it got you to this paragraph, which is most important. Coming back and talking to friends about Kenya, I can almost hear myself. And I know I sound slightly or not so slightly ridiculous. “Of course we used our hands to eat. Of course I used an outhouse (a choo, really). Of course children have machetes and work in the fields. Of course there are open air churches with tree stump pulpits.” But that’s because we live in a fork culture. A western toliet culture. An anti-bacterial soap-plastic knife-child labor law enforced-air-conditioned-megachurch culture. So of course I sound ridiculous.

It’s easy to chalk up all these things to the “Materialistic Culture” in which we live. It sounds big and all encompassing, vague enough and lofty enough to cover just about all of the lowercase “c” cultures I mentioned above. But I don’t think it is that simple because you can only avoid washing your hands for so long. That’s why re-entry is tricky. The shock value of coming back will inevitably fade away.

During the trip, anytime something odd would happen, one of us would say in singsong manner, “It’s notrightorwrongitsjust different!” And that’s still true today. But in a sense, my team and I were allowed to take a step back and taste something else by going to Kenya. Part of re-entry now is about discovering our postures coming back. There is a freedom to choose what to value now, how to live…

That’s tough. Chalking up my current emotional breakdowns to Materialistic or Individualistic or Busy world just isn’t enough. I’m not denying that there is extreme poverty and extreme injustices. I can’t, because I saw it. But there are particulars and subtleties too, like forks, that shape my world now. So even the forks matter.

This freedom doesn’t stop at forks. But it quickly feels like tension when I go to church. “Why does it take great music to praise God? To have a praise night? The culture is limiting. Clap on beat or on whatever beat and risk looking foolish and rhythm-less. Bow your head or lift hands and face to the sky? God of this world now seems limited to God for me…” I write these things in my journal. One of my teammates has a good quote: “How can a bird who was born for joy/ sit in a cage an sing?” -William Blake.

God is the same, but what’s different now? And it’s not enough anymore to get frustrated and call it Ignorance.

pastor, evangelist, father…in no particular order

In my mind’s eye…

I can still see Pastor Andrew walking away from the huge matatu bus we were in. A tall man with one bag in his hand and the other slung over his shoulder, he walks away on the muddy red path. It’s three kilometers back home, but the day is still young. I can’t see, but maybe he’s hiding his tears. Apparently, Kenyan men, or Kipsigis men in particular don’t cry in public…A tall man with two bags and one very big, passionate heart to share Christ.

In my three weeks in Sigowet, we traveled nearly everyday with Pastor Andrew. It was obvious in our first couple days on ministry assignment that he loves evangelism. He loves sharing the gospel with others and he knows how to do it. One day, he even pulled out notes from his Bible college days to show to us as we learned to evangelize in the Kenyan way. There is a certain sense of urgency when you start talking to him about sharing the gospel. We would even split our group up to “maximize” the number of people heard the gospel that day, which also meant that I sometimes found myself alone without the company of Alex or Pastor Andrew. “Three more houses before lunch,” he would say. In those first few days, I really learned to admire that.

The next few days his passion for his role as a pastor became evident. We visited his church’s current location, a building structure of old tin on a rented plot of land no more than 9 ft by 15 feet. My single dorm room could compare. He wished that he could spend more time with his flock at Sondu town, but because he lives nearly 40 minutes away by bus, things are not easy. Sondu town was not spared from the post election spark a couple years back, and our pastor shared with us his struggle to reconcile tribes even within his church.

I’m trying to paint this picture of a man of great faith and great passion for Christ for you now, but while I was still getting to know Pastor Andrew beyond his roles has pastor and evangelist, I was resenting something. How was he with his family? We never heard much about his children or his wife. Sure, we were treated well and well-respected as guests, but what about his family? Did he ignore his children’s plea to play? Interesting how my heart longed to know.

The best part was about the third week into our assignments. We visited his home, met his wife and children. Needless to say, my observation goggles so to speak were on. Unnecessarily, because the moment his children returned home from school and snuggled up against their father because of the foreigners in their house, I knew I was wrong. And I was overwhelming glad. What a joyful family! What love filled that household!

July 7, almost July 8. I’m sitting under the mosquito net in the bedroom trying to write notes to all the people that we’ve traveled with for the past three weeks. I’m trying to write one to Pastor Andrew and it goes something along the lines of, “…even though I was the junior member on our team, you had faith that God would still use me. And thank you for having faith in me.” I’m crying and it doesn’t stop.

A stateside update

Apparently, the secret to fast internet is to not have it for 2 months because I’m sitting in my kitchen and opening all these tabs at once because the pages load… in blazing fast time.
If you are a keen reader, you might have picked up on the subtle clues in the first part that I am back! Indeed, after nearly 30 hours of travel, I am back home. I’ll be in hibernation for a few days so that I can recover and process through things. My emotional, mental, spiritual soul needs to make it back too, so to speak.
Thanks for all your prayers throughout the past few months. I hope to continue to keep you updated throughout this whole re-entry process and beyond.

Okay world, watch out for more posts later!