Sunday, September 10, 2017

Narrow Way

Despite all the training and preparing and praying, there is only so much that can be learned about being a missionary until you're on the mission field, living it out day by day.  And even as you live the life of a missionary and figure things out over time, it seems that what you learn the most is how little you actually know.  But that's the life of faith: being humbled as you grow and stretch and follow God's call on your life.  And being on the mission field, it seems, multiplies the humbling and the growing and the stretching.  Something about living overseas refines you in ways that weren't possible before, reveals and showcases your weaknesses that you were able to keep hidden before, and expands your understanding of the Kingdom of God that was so limited before.

Something about living overseas increases your dependence on God at the same time it increases your awe of Him.

Back in March, as we approached our One-Year Missionaryversary, I spent a while reflecting on this life of missions.  It was by God's grace that I even had the time to reflect and process our first year as missionaries, and out of those reflections came a song.  It consumed me for a few weeks until I finished it, and I felt like it really summed up my thoughts on our first year in Kenya, and so I sang it to myself for awhile, and then life went on its way and the song fell out of my head and I didn't think about it much again.  But recently it's come back to me and I've been singing it again, and I wanted to share it here.

This version is a late-night, after-the-kids-are-in-bed-and-I'm-already-exhausted version.  At the very end you can hear our front door opening as Eli returned at 9pm on a Saturday after being at the hospital most of the day, and initially I was annoyed and thought of re-recording the whole thing just to erase the sound of that door opening at the end.  But then I realized that it's a perfect glimpse into the life of medical missions.  The bedtime stories without Daddy and the all-hours-of-the-night calls are echoed in that door opening at the end of the song.  On days like that, this song sometimes comes back into my mind and I'm reminded of the magnitude of this call on our lives, of the intense refining process happening in us, and of the truly narrow path we walk day by day.

I'm thankful for this journey even in its most exhausting and depressing and hopeless moments.  I'm thankful for God's faithfulness, for His love for the nations, for His call to servitude and taking up our cross, and for His promise to never leave us as He calls us to hard tasks.  I'm thankful for the privilege of being God's missionaries to the ends of the earth.

Narrow Way
© 2017 Krista Horn

Some say to take the road less traveled,
the path that’s not well-worn.
As I’ve journeyed down that road,
my heart’s grown as it’s been torn.
Torn for hopes not realized,
and yet grown through anguished cries.
As I’ve walked this narrow way,
He’s sustained me day by day.

Some say the harvest still is plenty,
and the workers still are few.
As I’ve seen this truth before me,
I’ve felt a harvest in me too.
Room to grow in love and peace,
pride and judgements – oh, to cease!
As I’ve walked this narrow way,
He’s refined me day by day.

Some say how great is the reward
for all those who pay the cost.
But some days the price is steep,
and His promises seem lost.
Is it true that there’s still worth
serving the ends of the earth?
As I’ve walked this narrow way,
He’s grieved with me day by day.

Some say that going against the current
requires being both strong and brave.
Yet as I’ve swam through this deep ocean
I’ve been floundering in the waves.
Floundering but sustained along
by a God who shames the strong.
As I’ve walked this narrow way,
He’s upheld me day by day.

Some say success is simply measured
by results that can be seen.
But what gauge can know the merit
of obedience to the King?
For a faithful heart is more
than the triumphs we long for.
As I’ve walked this narrow way,
He’s smiled on me day by day.

Some say to take the road less traveled,
the path that’s not well-worn.
As I fix my eyes on Jesus,
I still walk though I am torn.

Sunday, July 2, 2017

An MK Education

Missionary Kids don't often have a typical education experience.  Here at Tenwek, all the kids are homeschooled through middle school (which often includes participating in a coop among the missionary families) and then most of them go on to a boarding school for high school (Rift Valley Academy, about three hours away from here).  Every academic year looks different, depending on which curriculum parents choose and which conglomeration of kids are here and which parents are able to teach.  It's often said of the medical personnel at the hospital, "There is no normal year at Tenwek" and the same could be said of the MK school year.

Every spring the parents begin discussions about how many kids will be in each grade for the following year, who will be around and willing to teach certain subjects, which kids will need to take an online course here or there to cover their requirements, how to physically get the textbooks and workbooks to Kenya, which classes will be in the MK schoolroom versus in someone's home, and so on.  It's a lengthy, ongoing discussion with many kids' education to figure out.  But somehow, every year it works itself out.  Teaching the MKs is a beautiful picture of the Body of Christ working together - this past year one parent taught 2nd grade math and grammar while another taught 4th aend 5th grade science while another taught middle school history while another taught art to multiple age groups, and on and on it goes.   It's a big puzzle, but somehow the pieces all fit together and the MKs get a solid education each year!

Tenwek MK Schoolroom

When we arrived last year I was preparing myself to begin the adventure of homeschooling.  It was not something I was excited about.  I presumed I could accomplish the task fine (especially since I only had to tackle Preschool for now), but it was not something I looked forward to as part of our transition into missionary life.  I am not a teacher and I wasn't sure how the dynamic of "Mama is Teacher" would work for the boys, but thankfully, homeschooling Caleb and Kai has been an enriching experience and is usually enjoyable.  I'm proud to say that I'm teaching them to read!   My lessons with them only last about an hour, and we don't even do lessons every day (and we took a 3-month break last fall while I was in Swahili study), so it's been a fluid thing for us thus far.  But overall it's gone well and Caleb will officially begin a Kindergarten curriculum in the fall.

our homeschool table at home

In addition to homeschooling our own boys, I volunteered to take over a PreK/K class this spring while the mom who'd started it was doing Swahili study.  I ended up spending five months coordinating a class for ten 4- and 5-year olds on Mondays and Wednesdays.  It was more work than I expected, but it went well overall and the kids had a lot of fun.  We had to meet in someone's backyard for the first three months, but then we were able to move inside for the last two months, which was wonderful because the rainy season had started and because we finally had a big table for crafting!

nature hike to the river

PreK/K class

learning about chickens

craft time

indoor location

The MKs here typically stick to a normal American school calendar (starting in the fall, ending in the spring, followed by summer vacation).  They also take days off school for normal American holidays like Thanksgiving.  And this year the kids enjoyed a Snow Day!  Since there's no chance of a true Snow Day ever happening here, the moms coordinated a morning of fun for the kids by cancelling school and pulling out a slip 'n slide and serving ice cream (with homemade cones!)

slip 'n slide

fake snow

ice cream!

Some years ago, someone created the tradition of the Fine Arts Festival at the end of the MK school year, in which each family has a table to display art projects, as well as a program in which the kids have a chance to perform something in front of everyone.  This year the PreK/K class I taught sang a song and recited a verse, and the older kids did everything from recite an essay to sing in Spanish to perform a science experiment!  It was a wonderful way to celebrate all of the kids' accomplishments this year and to marvel at what they're able to do in spite of not having all the usual supplies and resources available that we do in the States.

our table at the Fine Arts Festival

And now the school year has ended and the kids are well into summer break, but they are far from remaining idle.  They continue running around and playing games and feeding flies to chameleons, and the past couple weeks has found the older kids taking some "summer classes" that I coordinated for everyone.  I've been hosting a Cookie class, while other people are teaching photography, CPR, and archery.  Several of the kids are also taking Swahili from a local language teacher.  So the MKs are having fun this summer before they'll dive into the next school year in September.

cookie class with the oldest MKs here

cookie class with 8- and 9-year olds

chocolate chip cookies!

It's an incredible blessing to have so many MKs here.  We know that most mission stations do not have as many kids around as we do at Tenwek, which is the result of the growth of the hospital which has drawn more doctors and their families to this place over the years.  We do not take it for granted. The kids are great friends with each other and they are going through the unique experience of an MK education together.  It's a monumental task for the parents to make sure these kids have a quality education while living in rural Kenya, but by God's grace it happens every year and we thank God for the chance to be a part of it.

Monday, May 22, 2017

The Ministry of a Missionary Mama

Recently I was asked, yet again, what it is that I do here.  Besides the kids, that is.  I've been asked this question many times, in various forms.  This time it was phrased, "The kids are enough, I know [insert awkward laugh], but have you been to the Peds ward or the orphanages?  I mean, what's your thing?"  I was honest: I don't do anything.  And I wasn't embarrassed or guilt-ridden with that reply.

Long before we reached the mission field, and even before we had kids, I used to vex over this issue.  What would I do?  What would be my ministry, my "thing"?  And how would I ever accomplish said ministry if we had kids in tow?  What would it look like to be the non-ministry spouse as we headed overseas?

Well, after five years of motherhood and one year of missionaryhood, I've come a long way in my understanding of this issue.  I currently don't vex about it.  The pressure to give an answer to the question "What do you do?" let alone give an answer the inquirer wants to hear, simply isn't there.  Not only have I given myself the grace to "do nothing" but take care of our three very busy and active little boys, but I've really begun to understand the fact that the value of "doing" and "accomplishing" is a cultural value - a high value in our American culture but not necessarily in this Kenyan culture.  And that's not always a bad thing.  In fact, it's often a very good thing.

It's no secret that our Western culture is work-driven and success-oriented.  It's a wonderful thing in that it's allowed our culture to come so far in areas like medicine and education and technology and infrastructure and countless other things.  And being a Type A, super organized, task-oriented, efficient person, I love this part of our culture.  Actually, I appreciate it so much that, since living here in Kenya, I've often had to fight my own cultural superiority when I see inefficient systems in place that perpetuate poverty and disease and lack of education.  Sometimes I want to shout, "If you would just do something then it wouldn't be this way!"  And that's partly true.  There is certainly room for this culture to grow in just getting things done.  However, I've been able to pull back a bit this year and see glimpses of the bigger picture, which has shown me that our own work-driven culture doesn't get it all right, and this less-efficient culture doesn't get it all wrong.

Here's what Kenyan culture does really well: focus on people.  Case in point: stopping to greet people is very important here.  It's unfathomable to the average Kenyan why you would have anything so important to do that it would cause you to breeze past them without stopping to say hello and shake hands at the very least, if not ask about the family as well.  Another case in point: when you meet someone for the first time, the question "So what do you do?" never comes up.  Why would that be pertinent?  Most people are subsistence farmers anyway and wouldn't be able to regale you with tales of their career path to date.  On the contrary, people are not generally concerned with what anyone does, but they are concerned with how your family is doing and whether your children are well and how they're enjoying the break from school.  The people here care about people.

And that is something I've grown to love about this culture.

It's also something that's inherently hard to adjust to because, truth be told, it's tiring to greet so many people along the way.  It makes going anywhere twice as long as it should be, which is especially hard when you have a tired toddler on your back who really needs to get home and take a nap, or when you're just simply not in the mood to say hello to anyone.  And Eli often has a hard time coming and going from the hospital because there are so many "speedbumps" along the way (which is a Kenyan expression used to describe being late because of greeting people).  But the point remains: this culture cares way more about people than our own culture tends to, and that is a good and godly thing.

So what do I do at Tenwek?  Well, technically I've been teaching a PreK/K class for MKs for the past five months as well as coordinating all the holiday gatherings for the missionary community, which is something I suppose.  But more than anything, what I do is take care of our kids.  I feed them and clothe them and change their diapers and wipe their bottoms and teach, discipline, and encourage them.  In other words, I have three little disciples in my charge every day, and mothering them is what I do each day as a missionary.

Doing the mom gig definitely looks different over here than in America, and our kids need some extra guidance and management due to living cross-culturally, and that is enough for me, especially during this first term on the field filled with major transition.  We're planning to be here for the long haul and we're not trying to change the world in a day, which I know may not be the answer that people hope to hear.  I know the idea of a missionary who's handling the home life on top of ministry and speaking the language and doing any number of other missionary-ish roles sounds so romantic and so right, and there are certainly plenty of people even now who are doing that, but it doesn't have to be that way (and sometimes shouldn't be that way).  As someone who knows and feels the expectations of others, especially as we are literally supported by others to be here doing this life and ministry, I am somehow able to presently say that I don't do much of anything as a missionary except take care of our boys, and there is freedom in being able to say that confidently, without guilt.  I am thankful to live in the freedom of doing less and being more with our kids.  I am learning from this culture how to care more about how our family is doing than to care about what our family has done.  And I truly believe not only that our boys will be the better for it, but that God is pleased that a Type A, efficient American is learning how to let the discipling of her boys be the greatest accomplishment He could ask her to achieve.

Monday, April 17, 2017

Not in Vain

Recently I heard a friend say, "Missions is not heroic."  I couldn't agree with her more.

Sometimes people express to us how proud they are of what we're doing, or they acknowledge the sacrifices we're making to be here, or they outright thank us for making a difference for the kingdom of God.  And quite frankly, we love to hear such things because it encourages us and motivates us and reminds us that we really are doing something a bit different with our life and maybe, just maybe, we really are making a difference.

But the reality is, what we're doing is not heroic.

I don't feel like a hero when I refuse to give someone money for their school fees.  I don't feel like a hero when I bite into a Twix bar because I found one in Nairobi to splurge on.  I don't feel like a hero when someone speaks to me in Swahili and I can't understand a word they said.  I don't feel like a hero when other moms mention when they gave out Bibles in a village or visited the Peds ward or coached a Bible Quizzing team and all I can mention is that it's been three days since I left the compound and my kid woke up too early from his nap again.  Trust me, more often than not, missions is not heroic.

Being obedient and taking up your cross and dying to self rarely is, no matter if we're talking about a job or parenthood or missions.  There are moments of heroic glory, like the time a young man showed up at church while still a patient at the hospital because he had an "aha" moment after a terrible accident and realized he needed to get right with God, and we think, "Wow, we're a part of something that's truly changing lives."  But more often than not are the vastly unheroic moments, like the time I inadvertently rewarded a boy for stealing (it's a long story), and we think, "Gah, we're ruining everything around here."

This life, this calling, is complicated.  Few things are easy or straight-forward.  And it's really hard to see the fruit of our labors.  Has Eli led anyone to Christ since being here?  Probably not.  Has he healed every patient that's come into his care?  Certainly not.  And yet despite the relatively few reportable statistics we can offer from this past year of being on the mission field, we know and trust that God is fulfilling His purposes.  Because that's what God does: He fulfills His purposes, for us and for the people of Kenya.  And the truly heroic thing is not about giving up the conveniences we had in America or even working among a foreign people but rather trusting that God is still at work in what He's called us to do even when we can't see the results.

As I reread the Easter story this past weekend I was drawn to Doubting Thomas and, in particular, Christ's response to him: "Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed" (John 20:29).  This is our task: as we obediently follow Him, to believe that God is bearing fruit in us and through us even if the evidence is unseen.

Sometime last year I heard a friend say this prayer: "Lord, thank You for everything You're doing that we can't see.  And thank You for everything You're doing that we get to see."  I've said that prayer many times since then, and prayed that prayer with our boys many times too, because I need to remind myself, as well as teach our children, the importance of believing that He is accomplishing His purposes even though we cannot see it most of the time.

Over this past Easter weekend I also read 1 Corinthians 15, and the very end of the chapter jumped out at me:

Where, O death, is your victory?
Where, O death, is your sting?

The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law.  
But thanks be to God!  He gives us the victory 
through our Lord Jesus Christ.  
Therefore, dear brothers, stand firm.  Let nothing move you.  
Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, 
because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.

(1 Corinthians 15:55-58)

These verses felt very thematic of this past year of missions for us - our first year of figuring out some of the basics of this life and ministry, as well as maneuvering our way through its complexity.  For every patient that Eli sends home strong and healthy, we rejoice that our labor in the Lord is not in vain.  For every cultural faux pas we commit, we rejoice that our labor in the Lord is not in vain.  We do this because of Jesus.  We do this because of the Resurrection.  We do this because death has been swallowed up in victory and He continues the work of refining hearts and drawing people unto Himself even when His own disciple didn't believe without seeing and when we forget His ways and follow suit.

Our labor in the Lord is not in vain, whether we're talking about a job or parenthood or missions or [fill in the blank].  Thanks be to God!

Thursday, February 23, 2017

When Parents Come to Visit

When my parents came to visit us recently, our souls were filled.  We spent two whole weeks catching up, playing games, driving around Kenya, making food from scratch, and having an all-around good time.  Our boys reconnected with their grandparents, which meant extra attention and lots of book-reading, and Caleb has since asked us several times, "Which day are we going back to Michigan?" because having a great time with Grandma and Grandpa forces such questions to emerge.  It was sooooo good to have them here!

When my parents came to visit, they helped us a lot.  They pitched in with washing dishes, changing diapers, entertaining kiddos, and even helped with the Preschool class I'm teaching.  My dad pulled out his piñata-making skills and helped create two heart-shaped piñatas for a Valentine's party for the kids, which they loved!  I could never have pulled this off by myself with ten kids.

When my parents came to visit, they learned a lot about our life here.  It was wonderful to give them a glimpse into our daily life, like homeschooling and living in community and finding chameleons and knowing where to get water when our filter isn't filtering fast enough.  Eli also gave them a lengthy tour of the hospital, which helped them better understand the work of a missionary doctor.  They ate ugali and sukumawiki, they visited a local church with us and saw chickens auctioned off, they slept under a mosquito net, and they laughed at how often a cow would block our path on the road.  It was a true slice of life in Kenya, and it meant a lot to us for them to see and understand this life of ours.

When my parents came to visit, we went on safari!  No trip to Kenya is sufficient without going on safari.  Some of God's greatest creations live here in East Africa.  It's marvelous to behold, truly.  And we live less than two hours away from Maasai Mara, which makes it relatively easy and convenient to enjoy a safari and see these beautiful creatures and landscapes up close.

When my parents came to visit, it felt a little like home.  Because, as we continue to say, "Whenever we're together, we're home."  We're so thankful for the blessed time we had with them, and it was hard to say goodbye and realize anew that we won't see them again for over a year from now, but we're thankful for what we can get - and we got two weeks together!  Furthermore, before my parents left Kenya, Eli's parents bought plane tickets to visit us in a few months also, which helped to ease this goodbye since there'll be another hello coming soon.  We thank God for parents who are able and willing to come all this way, and we thank God for the memories made!

Wednesday, February 1, 2017

Circumcision Camp

It's exactly what it sounds like: a bunch of boys gathered together for a month, sequestered from the outside community while undergoing the rite of circumcision and beginning the transition into manhood.  It's customary around here for a boy to be circumcised sometime between 10-15 years of age.  It's also customary for a group of boys to go through the process together and they become "age-mates" (a common term here which refers to a very close friendship).  Going through this rite of passage together creates a bond between boys, and as they grow into men they usually maintain close relationships with each other because of this shared experience.

We had the privilege of attending the "Coming Out" celebration (yes, that's what it's called) after a circumcision camp last month.  The full-day affair was tantamount to a wedding celebration with hundreds of people, hours of singing and dancing, a feast for the whole crowd, a tree planting ceremony, and a couple sermons mixed in between.  One of Eli's Family Medicine residents, Elijah, is the father of one of the initiates, and he also coordinated and hosted the entire circumcision camp. Elijah performed the circumcisions on the boys, which in and of itself was a blessing since it ensured that the procedure would be done safely and correctly.  (Boys come to the hospital far too often because of complications from ill-performed procedures.)  He built a small compound behind his house for all the boys to live in for the month, and his wife cooked all the food for the 23 boys participating in the camp.  Needless to say, they were quite busy!

What was so amazing about the camp was that Elijah used this tradition as an opportunity to teach these boys about what it means to truly be a man: a man of God.  So, throughout the month, various men came to speak with the boys about God and faith and manhood, and they read Scripture together and prayed together and ate a lot of food together while they fellowshipped inside the compound.  Elijah used a God-centered approach with the purpose of raising up a new generation of godly young men.

This was one of the most beautiful things we've seen since coming to Kenya.  The American church has nothing like it, nothing to commemorate when a boy becomes a man, nothing to deliberately pull them away from the rest of the world for the sole purpose of discipling them further in their faith and shepherding them in paths of righteousness.  In an era of immaturity and outright godlessness, nothing is more encouraging than seeing boys being taught the ways of the Lord as they journey from boyhood to manhood.

We returned home thinking about our own three sons and how much we wished there was a rite of passage like this for them.  We continue reflecting on this and hope that we'll find a way in the future to pull them aside not only to focus on, but to commemorate, what is of utmost importance: choosing to live as a man of God.