tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63316303869194826302024-03-12T15:03:08.222-07:00Stories in MissionEli and Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12311174284530197477noreply@blogger.comBlogger81125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6331630386919482630.post-44539987614050660512024-01-04T07:44:00.000-08:002024-01-04T07:44:07.548-08:00Life and Death: Nature Speaks<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9j-HpQSzPchB3iC2QObHTUCjYyLSJZvZqkTvr24P0H6ESJd_mhYLKvxUPJ0JKAndtxlwYtn1OxbLGhf6ATSIc0xi70tKSQ1-5zDEic4UVzobC9Mk5peDFQEN2XM0R3GEQpqGYm8uH35PWywkjc4bw-jprCvVAlFjW-CxIWT3tTX8JxV6bCawysp-hqQ/s3414/IMG_0215.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3414" data-original-width="2276" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9j-HpQSzPchB3iC2QObHTUCjYyLSJZvZqkTvr24P0H6ESJd_mhYLKvxUPJ0JKAndtxlwYtn1OxbLGhf6ATSIc0xi70tKSQ1-5zDEic4UVzobC9Mk5peDFQEN2XM0R3GEQpqGYm8uH35PWywkjc4bw-jprCvVAlFjW-CxIWT3tTX8JxV6bCawysp-hqQ/s320/IMG_0215.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />A couple months ago I took extra notice of the vibrant colors around Chogoria. We had seen photos of the fall colors in the Midwest where our families are - a time of year we always miss - and in an effort to appreciate the beauty in front of me I simply looked up as I walked around our compound. No leaves change color here on the equator, but there are colors aplenty because flowers are perpetually in bloom.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV9qbzHso22Jgll5biNVp-evLLaNEs7GKlWxQR2b6GRLvQDrAYXWLkJS2daeSCpHMgTNE6Npqh4SjX_QK93G8fv5wteVRnqcnsbOO7xxomGVuALuVLt1YtJJRaVe5CgfuQpzmJ8Co34STAwiw_0ymZ4RXWSRBULLgXoviA0Y2D-WOOL1Uy5Iy-p7aYgw/s4272/IMG_0176.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4272" data-original-width="2848" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV9qbzHso22Jgll5biNVp-evLLaNEs7GKlWxQR2b6GRLvQDrAYXWLkJS2daeSCpHMgTNE6Npqh4SjX_QK93G8fv5wteVRnqcnsbOO7xxomGVuALuVLt1YtJJRaVe5CgfuQpzmJ8Co34STAwiw_0ymZ4RXWSRBULLgXoviA0Y2D-WOOL1Uy5Iy-p7aYgw/s320/IMG_0176.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhos2Z2CqIpytWci-IKVBgS00IAZxapOqik5P6lOQAE3DtSr8dvtOLAIsa-RT6Nhxx6P-hFBawnYMt216QmXp7K5gtBZ2WvKurISZmtNJmxIf-RE3vXFc2g-upmADFr8MiOwrqgSBiODgd1crsvRbwiYGunYuyOs9YYUtoZQok8Gz3LtQJLFajLEtuQhw/s4272/IMG_0203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4272" data-original-width="2848" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhos2Z2CqIpytWci-IKVBgS00IAZxapOqik5P6lOQAE3DtSr8dvtOLAIsa-RT6Nhxx6P-hFBawnYMt216QmXp7K5gtBZ2WvKurISZmtNJmxIf-RE3vXFc2g-upmADFr8MiOwrqgSBiODgd1crsvRbwiYGunYuyOs9YYUtoZQok8Gz3LtQJLFajLEtuQhw/s320/IMG_0203.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0IjB3iBfoulKtVKmrwv0ty0S3JdoDVXwZcMB-gj0veH-xXhQ_wPyPLPEFOf_CYjJ0Ar4UzFhK0_ahsoFWVN5WcQn4QTcheNmIfz2NK1OwUylcqL4B2oucPeYO-5Agus1qRmkSBUGrSMkdaBs6XdxyEZPfLJqVLSoBY-IBea1EgATskb6-FUajDd5eOg/s4272/IMG_0196.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4272" data-original-width="2848" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0IjB3iBfoulKtVKmrwv0ty0S3JdoDVXwZcMB-gj0veH-xXhQ_wPyPLPEFOf_CYjJ0Ar4UzFhK0_ahsoFWVN5WcQn4QTcheNmIfz2NK1OwUylcqL4B2oucPeYO-5Agus1qRmkSBUGrSMkdaBs6XdxyEZPfLJqVLSoBY-IBea1EgATskb6-FUajDd5eOg/s320/IMG_0196.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We are surrounded by color. Whereas the colors of autumn in the Midwest remind us of death, the colors in this "Land of Eternal Spring" remind us of life.<br /><br />To be sure, the flowers here follow cycles of life and death like flowers do everywhere, but there is no one season where everything dies all at once. We never find ourselves surrounded by barrenness. When one plant loses its flowers, there are plenty more still in full bloom.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnwTwcBomwJoqkomAfTXVAYM9UYJrf2_aODK0w7lZtCLRrLqODx2CpHpBvWF5yYOyeXIXweXGWb5_irh52asWLErhm9cTLQwKbqSgdkH9ufFQp7Pnt0Iarx5GKPr7ztJ9U1HLMR85JiVFEAnFZpt8Kz_pgPBJD1ty7lgHWcAHg2ph5m-PnoZy9XsoNsQ/s4272/IMG_0201.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4272" data-original-width="2848" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnwTwcBomwJoqkomAfTXVAYM9UYJrf2_aODK0w7lZtCLRrLqODx2CpHpBvWF5yYOyeXIXweXGWb5_irh52asWLErhm9cTLQwKbqSgdkH9ufFQp7Pnt0Iarx5GKPr7ztJ9U1HLMR85JiVFEAnFZpt8Kz_pgPBJD1ty7lgHWcAHg2ph5m-PnoZy9XsoNsQ/s320/IMG_0201.JPG" width="213" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1WZ13LxuQsvlGWI1bY-pVwC_Ayb3mzCco03Vfh6fABPQne0aIIRdSnonulm0NXqX3b5gB-KPZt9mfqpo-xh1ijL3NKEjpIZljr3KyAQd5rwH46rlACblM5h1uQ0FSBYoWqPLUBEOmfBcFd1qx_LYZiGL3sn7c2pHgjszz3bsmsBhc5B609Jcxc2Y0_A/s4272/IMG_0211.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4272" data-original-width="2848" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1WZ13LxuQsvlGWI1bY-pVwC_Ayb3mzCco03Vfh6fABPQne0aIIRdSnonulm0NXqX3b5gB-KPZt9mfqpo-xh1ijL3NKEjpIZljr3KyAQd5rwH46rlACblM5h1uQ0FSBYoWqPLUBEOmfBcFd1qx_LYZiGL3sn7c2pHgjszz3bsmsBhc5B609Jcxc2Y0_A/s320/IMG_0211.JPG" width="213" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Because of where I grew up, I used to think of seasons as either being full of life or death. Spring and summer were seasons of life, autumn and winter were seasons of death. Here in Chogoria, we see life and death juxtaposed every day. They live in tandem, neighbors and allies. When the flowers of the flame tree fall and litter the ground with their bright orange petals, the frangipani blooms are clinging to their tree and filling the air with their fragrance. When the purple jacarandas are shriveling under my feet, the pink oleanders are swaying in the breeze.<br /><br />Life and death coexist year-round, and there is beauty and purpose in both. It reminds me of the words of Paul in Philippians 1:20b-21: "Now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or death. For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain."<br /><br />Our Bible Study has been reading Acts, and so much of the early church's story is about living in the tension between their new life in Christ and the increasing threat to their physical lives. But what Paul said is true: whether by life or death, Christ will be exalted.<br /><br />Nature speaks into this truth. Whether the jacaranda tree is in full bloom, or whether the flowers have long since fallen and turned to dust, the tree gives glory to God. <br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv427wJeiPx5ojakc4AKaen-A7uM_FgtIpa-HZCW9L4OxA6O4Dv-e8zV_ZVOV_AjzW4v0WbuCbLwsFn3Ds5iKBF7KXZktLDoXlIDkKuAqTeyg36pbI3knw7H8yc4pRdoL_dUPrtncVdsk7Bq3nnq1tVHiBOKBiAxxoHLYHG2N3tuQOtc5hLCVkY7XpoQ/s3414/IMG_6219%20-%20Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3414" data-original-width="2276" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv427wJeiPx5ojakc4AKaen-A7uM_FgtIpa-HZCW9L4OxA6O4Dv-e8zV_ZVOV_AjzW4v0WbuCbLwsFn3Ds5iKBF7KXZktLDoXlIDkKuAqTeyg36pbI3knw7H8yc4pRdoL_dUPrtncVdsk7Bq3nnq1tVHiBOKBiAxxoHLYHG2N3tuQOtc5hLCVkY7XpoQ/s320/IMG_6219%20-%20Copy.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcmmYsEpsVUWOcj45-O1otl7opyBI2VGAQh0j3T6W2wmE_94InZiFKyxKArlVAxz4zYgXrCvnyhBnODO6Yw7K_BaEr0X-NuckamTZGoSUU2y8vPXv_dZhqu_lbfn8aTcDhS6mP8tLTqbtDKSwVLC6qDG9lGzkZmWml4qds8eO5-1lnL3H_lw-LyAjwug/s4272/IMG_0232.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4272" data-original-width="2848" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcmmYsEpsVUWOcj45-O1otl7opyBI2VGAQh0j3T6W2wmE_94InZiFKyxKArlVAxz4zYgXrCvnyhBnODO6Yw7K_BaEr0X-NuckamTZGoSUU2y8vPXv_dZhqu_lbfn8aTcDhS6mP8tLTqbtDKSwVLC6qDG9lGzkZmWml4qds8eO5-1lnL3H_lw-LyAjwug/s320/IMG_0232.JPG" width="213" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Even the sun, which is a dying star, gives light and life to all it reaches. Nature shouts at us with metaphors about life and death, if we are willing to listen.<br /><br />As I was missing autumn a couple months ago, my 6th graders were memorizing a poem for school called <i><a href="https://www.yourdailypoem.com/listpoem.jsp?poem_id=3160" target="_blank">Come, Little Leaves</a></i> by George Cooper. It's about leaves falling, and it's about contentment. The leaves are not portrayed as dying, but as playing, dancing, and flying. They are doing what they must, but they are doing it with acceptance and even joy. My favorite line of the poem is this: "Dancing and whirling, the little leaves went; Winter had called them, and they were content."<br /><br />Even in death, they were content. Because nature knows what we are still trying to understand and accept: that whether by life or by death, Christ will be exalted.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Life glorifies God.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Death glorifies God.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Because all of life and death ultimately comes from God.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We are surrounded by both life and death year-round in Chogoria, and we bear witness to the exaltation of the Lord because of it. The hibiscus and poinsettias are proclaiming the glory of the Lord outside the window right now, and they will proclaim His glory when it's their turn to fade because He who has made them has ordained it to be so. They submit themselves to the Creator who grants all of life and death. And they are content.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyVDjVWNGvKIEnx_JXmenVnbFT7eUmTXJbnDHrYt0FE3kJbwhdy5vhCsFO_h9Tpd8CkZlQMn6xGacSShTvWSSgsGUnpSFccAGtGwP_s-Ek_C5LSoMF7jzjmjrMSI8A4hpcBYpdeSDZFbpH5Pt4JEGUEhYztz99r0QaAtJBgAqI_9yrLf4gbdrlABRpzA/s4272/IMG_0198.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4272" data-original-width="2848" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyVDjVWNGvKIEnx_JXmenVnbFT7eUmTXJbnDHrYt0FE3kJbwhdy5vhCsFO_h9Tpd8CkZlQMn6xGacSShTvWSSgsGUnpSFccAGtGwP_s-Ek_C5LSoMF7jzjmjrMSI8A4hpcBYpdeSDZFbpH5Pt4JEGUEhYztz99r0QaAtJBgAqI_9yrLf4gbdrlABRpzA/s320/IMG_0198.JPG" width="213" /></a></div></div></div></div></div></div><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I pray it will also be so with me.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">***********************</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The song <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y1z0VJYlCgc" target="_blank">Every Season</a> by Nichole Nordeman is a favorite of mine because of how beautifully it captures the metaphor of the changing seasons and our lives in Christ. I encourage you to take a listen.</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div></div></div></div></div>Eli and Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12311174284530197477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6331630386919482630.post-76381107616021237542023-12-05T12:26:00.000-08:002023-12-31T07:32:24.215-08:00Jesus, Immanuel<p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">In our predominantly
Christian corner of East Africa, the prosperity gospel is often preached in
churches and curses are often pronounced by witch doctors in villages.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">We have less encounters with other religions
than with skewed interpretations and applications of our own religion.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">As with anywhere in the world, there is still
more room for the Gospel to go forth, to take root, and to grow deep.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">In our particular context, the message of
Christ has gone forth and taken root in many hearts, but the soil is shallow
and the roots are thin.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">As Jesus himself
said, faith is easily uprooted in those conditions (Matthew 13:20-21).<br /><br />Our main ministry is discipleship. With the intention of deepening and strengthening roots, we work to impart the truth of who God really is and how he interacts with us and our world. This deeply matters because who God is </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">–</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> and isn't </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">–</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> shapes not only how we live our lives but how we relate to our Savior. It also impacts the meaning of this time of year and how we celebrate the distinctly Christian holiday of Christmas.<br /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br />Earlier this year I sat outside
a Buddhist temple with my nine-year-old son and talked about what God requires
of us.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Our family had traveled to Thailand
for a missions conference and had the privilege of visiting two temples during
our time there.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The first temple we
visited was particularly memorable because of its design.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">We had never been to a place like that before
and our fantasy-loving boys were instantly enamored with the dragons carved into
the temple architecture.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Truth be told, </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">
was enamored too. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">But it wasn’t just the
dragons that intrigued me.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The entire building
was magnificent, clearly constructed with care and tended to with honor and respect.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The red walls complimented the gold columns
and statues and perfectly matched the red, white, and gold patterned tiles on
the floor.<br /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br />We admired the devotion of
the Buddhists who had originally built the structure as well as the worshippers
visiting the temple that day.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">We
ourselves had walked through the temple, first taking off our shoes like
everyone else, and marveled at the architectural masterpiece we found ourselves
in.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Incense filled our noses with unfamiliar
scents and filled our minds with questions.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The numerous Buddhas sprinkled throughout the temple drew our attention again
and again.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The entire experience proved
a powerful conversation tool for talking with our boys about religion.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">We talked about why people were lighting
incense, why they knelt before the Buddha, why they walked laps around the
temple.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> The experience ignited their
minds.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwcYX3d5Xx2x7TOt1M7FFQ3K6VLvRuCCvPGIhGi3zsdpDnOzj44BEQBG16E0nGQFaiNKC8xyqB6s2gWIL29E0cEIjIO8s_q-GsDK94I5DG5W6L59on5wSTuogd5R16kHGdXukqGg1_eP-Tf2cSZbcyzOyS_8lA2u186W-Lvs-GshjJVFfhmoKsKF1lzA/s4272/IMG_5112.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwcYX3d5Xx2x7TOt1M7FFQ3K6VLvRuCCvPGIhGi3zsdpDnOzj44BEQBG16E0nGQFaiNKC8xyqB6s2gWIL29E0cEIjIO8s_q-GsDK94I5DG5W6L59on5wSTuogd5R16kHGdXukqGg1_eP-Tf2cSZbcyzOyS_8lA2u186W-Lvs-GshjJVFfhmoKsKF1lzA/s320/IMG_5112.JPG" width="320" /></a><br /><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAh_mDol1sP9LcrIkRaPHeCGbZJV1enkP880gqIwqEvP6dzwpBBsOkEWmvUrpjJB_Vn2nmi1x4Gzzp8eELHfvUGX-1oYyM8jgcbR9RcTrO8Kd9_f-m08G036YnjvWIewBqfSYPE_fdxWbSijwc4-qFCOwg_1BoNLBX_de3Qc-LDDt5x6iK-JHfF6QLcw/s4272/IMG_5117.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4272" data-original-width="2848" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAh_mDol1sP9LcrIkRaPHeCGbZJV1enkP880gqIwqEvP6dzwpBBsOkEWmvUrpjJB_Vn2nmi1x4Gzzp8eELHfvUGX-1oYyM8jgcbR9RcTrO8Kd9_f-m08G036YnjvWIewBqfSYPE_fdxWbSijwc4-qFCOwg_1BoNLBX_de3Qc-LDDt5x6iK-JHfF6QLcw/s320/IMG_5117.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">It was at the second
temple we visited, with a golden Buddha as tall as the building itself, that
our son asked me pointed questions about God and people as we sat outside
putting our shoes back on.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Why are all
these people doing this?</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">God said we don’t
have to do stuff like this to be saved.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">My son was right, but these people didn’t know that.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">When I told him such, he heaved a huge sigh.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">His heart was full of the truth of God and
full of the grief that comes with knowing other people are unaware of that
truth.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I told my son the worshippers walking
in and out of the temple were doing what they thought was best, or even
necessary, to please God.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">They wanted to
please God, which is good.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">But our human
nature thinks we need to </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">do</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> something to win God’s approval, to </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">do </i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">something
to earn salvation.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">“But we don’t need
to,” my son said.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> And he was right,
because he knows who God really is and who he isn’t.</span><div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5YG66wDVLLkarZ4qCE1iCrFmbwK_vIKS9ZlEfh4_jpKRj0e9bULG1DjVQVhxJcC7VYOdFDu4mE2uaXqMs1jz4zrjzDEmWSB8gPhdXL-9a4Q8ogYOn-yV-pDBkvO23Sc4Zqi3gX7xyoJhA-e6iUPYx8u0ahL3am4LDePfFwj4GdclVtm0ZEIYMrDhWbw/s3891/IMG_5242.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3891" data-original-width="2594" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5YG66wDVLLkarZ4qCE1iCrFmbwK_vIKS9ZlEfh4_jpKRj0e9bULG1DjVQVhxJcC7VYOdFDu4mE2uaXqMs1jz4zrjzDEmWSB8gPhdXL-9a4Q8ogYOn-yV-pDBkvO23Sc4Zqi3gX7xyoJhA-e6iUPYx8u0ahL3am4LDePfFwj4GdclVtm0ZEIYMrDhWbw/s320/IMG_5242.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br />Sometime later, back in
Kenya, I read </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The Iliad</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> with our boys as a part of our homeschool history
unit on ancient civilizations.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">What stood
out to us was how often the Greek gods meddled with the minds of men and women for
their own selfish ends, or, perhaps worse, for their own entertainment.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">It was shocking, really, to read about gods
who came to earth to dwell among men but who did so to take advantage of them
or to prove their own power and authority.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Those gods deceived their worshippers, tearing them down in order to
build themselves up.<br /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br />After Ancient Greece we
studied Ancient Rome, and then had the privilege of visiting Rome during travels
to Europe for a leadership conference where we walked the same ancient streets as
emperors who attained godhood upon their deaths (and sometimes were worshipped
as a god during their lifetime).</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">God
didn’t have to come down; God was already here, an inherent deity running
through the veins of a man in power over an empire.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">This “emperor god” had his own interests at
heart – that of expanding the empire and ensuring his supreme authority by
enforcing submissive “peace” throughout the empire, the same “peace” that
destroyed Jerusalem in AD 70 and used the spoils of war to fund the building of
the Colosseum back in Rome.</span><div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-p8Zu7JHmv4s3bUruVWO-4x_721sii5qWrX9Hz3sQvuCLENcJ83rJDMExWerzUyZP2O-JRX1LiYs5LS3HkYAqOrSfgXt7pKmckiDNdbHRlNq3k8GmAW44fF2t787JyuF7GZCQwPnT1seGRXKbYEF0Nr4Aa2s8B0DApj-Hh-fpXgkj5tXxuBW5k6Mlcw/s4272/IMG_6423.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-p8Zu7JHmv4s3bUruVWO-4x_721sii5qWrX9Hz3sQvuCLENcJ83rJDMExWerzUyZP2O-JRX1LiYs5LS3HkYAqOrSfgXt7pKmckiDNdbHRlNq3k8GmAW44fF2t787JyuF7GZCQwPnT1seGRXKbYEF0Nr4Aa2s8B0DApj-Hh-fpXgkj5tXxuBW5k6Mlcw/s320/IMG_6423.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdpDB52qOoo-Vmdcq9w5Fj_VauHlH0tNpwALMTXv59KEIctDiOl7aBR7J0Sex9rkj8Xw7WpeswGlVzdFr9adnLtGn1bjhO8u5-1CJYtb2erAABnyiVQ9KG69xiM9-TzO5rIxwNnEecCTpnhAX-viCIOs5Li6VSd5dGobbxV_zUDlCXr2oubdH-MCsoPg/s4272/IMG_6402.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdpDB52qOoo-Vmdcq9w5Fj_VauHlH0tNpwALMTXv59KEIctDiOl7aBR7J0Sex9rkj8Xw7WpeswGlVzdFr9adnLtGn1bjhO8u5-1CJYtb2erAABnyiVQ9KG69xiM9-TzO5rIxwNnEecCTpnhAX-viCIOs5Li6VSd5dGobbxV_zUDlCXr2oubdH-MCsoPg/s320/IMG_6402.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">This year, our globally mobile
lifestyle helped us think about religions around the world, both ancient and
contemporary.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Learning about the gods of
other religions helped us learn about our own God too – who He is and who He
isn’t.<br /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br />Our God is love, and our
God is near.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">He is Love Come Down, not
to have his own needs met but to meet our needs instead.<br /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br />Our God makes no demands.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">He is graciously present – </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">gracious</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> because
His very presence is an unmerited gift which expects nothing in return.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">He chooses to dwell with us not to exact
punishment or mischief or deception, but to demonstrate His choice of us.<br /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br />Our God is hope
personified.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">We have eternal hope in Him
because salvation comes </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">to us</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">, not </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">because of us</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> and our good
deeds.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">In the captivating book, </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">God
With Us: A Journey Home</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">, Jeremy Pierre beautifully describes who our God is
when he explains the two names of the Messiah: Jesus (The Lord Saves) and Immanuel (God With Us).</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">“These two names
are only good news when they go together.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">God With Us is dangerous news for sinners, unless he also comes as God
is Salvation.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Together, these names are
the gospel.”</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Our family is rejoicing
anew as we celebrate Christmas in Kenya this year.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">We celebrate that God kept His promise to
send a Savior.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">We celebrate that God
came near.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">We celebrate that God came in
love.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">We celebrate that His coming is
our salvation.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">We celebrate that His
salvation calls for repentance without penance.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">We rejoice in these
truths, and we proclaim them.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">This is
the Gospel, and we hope and pray it will not only go forth, but take root and
grow deep in our corner of the world.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div></div>Eli and Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12311174284530197477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6331630386919482630.post-73341282929053549792023-09-15T07:17:00.000-07:002023-09-15T07:17:48.209-07:00Reflections on Paul's First Missionary Journey<p>This summer I studied the life of Saul/Paul with our boys. Although I've read his staggering story many times, several things jumped out at me this time around, particularly about his first missionary journey in Acts 13-14. While countless books have been written about Paul as a missionary, I will humbly submit my own reflections here.<br /><br />Paul's first missionary journey is packed with action, but it begins with the simple act of prayer.<br /><br />Actually, even before that, it begins with worshiping and fasting. "While they [prophets and teachers in the church in Syrian Antioch] were worshiping the Lord and fasting, the Holy Spirit said, 'Set apart for me Barnabas and Saul for the work to which I have called them'" (13:2). A group of leaders in the church intentionally spent time worshiping and fasting together, and in that environment the Holy Spirit chose to speak to them. I find this as a powerful challenge to the Church. Communal worship and fasting not only unites us, but invites the Holy Spirit to fill us and speak to us. In this specific situation, He spoke about sending some of the Syrian Antioch church leaders on mission.<br /><br />Paul already knew that God had called him to preach the Good News to the Gentiles, and also that he would suffer along the way. Jesus made that clear during Paul's radical conversion experience on the road to Damascus (Acts 9:15-16). So this instance of the Holy Spirit speaking was not Paul's initial call to missions. Rather, I believe it served three other important purposes: 1) to inform the other church leaders that the Lord was indeed calling Paul to be a missionary; 2) to include Barnabas in the call; 3) to confirm to Paul that this was still what God wanted him to do. Confirmation is a marvelous thing, and the Lord graciously provided it here. So, after confirming the call, Paul officially embarked on his first missionary journey. This is where the simple act of prayer begins Paul's life as a missionary. "So after they had fasted and prayed, they placed their hands on them and sent them off" (13:3).<br /><br />A couple things are important to note here. First, Paul obeyed. He heard God's call on his life and he agreed to it. Not everyone is willing to obey what God says, but Paul does and thereby sets an example for the rest of us (not least of which because he said yes to something incredibly arduous). Secondly, Paul and Barnabas were sent off with the support and blessing of the Church. What the Church's support looks like will vary, but having its support and blessing is vital to a missionary.<br /><br />The first stop on this journey was Cyprus (13:4-12). There, as they were sharing the Gospel with the proconsul, they met direct opposition from a sorcerer and false prophet named Bar-Jesus. To counter this hostility, God allowed Paul to oppose the sorcerer right back and even blind him. (Perhaps Paul was remembering his own experience with blindness and how terrifying it was, but also how it helped to turn him to the Lord.) The phenomenon of instantaneously blinding a man not only captured the attention of the proconsul but led him to believe in the power of Jesus. We often think of miracles as some marvelous act turning a bad situation into something good - and often that is the case - but if we understand a miracle as being something only God can do, then the blinding of this sorcerer was in fact a miracle. And it did, indeed, lead to something good: the salvation of the proconsul of Cyprus.<br /><br />Sometimes, when we do what God asks, He moves on our behalf and it looks and feels like God is fighting for us.<br /><br />Leaving Cyprus, Paul and Barnabas ventured on toward Pisidian Antioch (13:13-52). Upon entering the synagogue and being invited to speak, they boldly preached the Gospel. They were so convincing, "the people invited them to speak further about these things on the next Sabbath" (13:42). When they returned the next week, however, some Jews were jealous and spiteful of their popularity and made it clear they were no longer welcome. They "talked abusively against what Paul was saying.... They stirred up persecution against Paul and Barnabas, and expelled them from their region" (13:45, 50b).<br /><br />Sometimes, when we do what God asks, there are mixed results and it looks and feels like God hasn't made up His mind about what's happening.<br /><br />They moved on to Iconium where they also received a divided response (14:1-7). Although "a great number of Jews and Gentiles believed" Paul and Barnabas ultimately had to flee because of "a plot afoot among the [unbelieving] Gentiles and Jews, together with their leaders, to mistreat them and stone them." This was the second time in a row a visit had ended poorly.<br /><br />Sometimes, when we do what God asks, we experience the joy of fruitful ministry only to be rewarded by an attack from the enemy, and it looks and feels like God is playing a joke on us.<br /><br />They fled to Lystra and, persevering, continued preaching the Gospel (14:6-20). One day Paul encountered a crippled man who'd been lame since birth. By the power of God, Paul healed the man. The crowd that witnessed the miracle could only understand it in light of their own Greek worldview and thus interpreted the act as the gods appearing among them. They're not far from the truth - "the living God, who made heaven and earth and sea and everything in them" (14:15b) was truly there and had truly worked a miracle in this man's life - but they're in need of further explanation about this one true God they are confusing with their false gods. They ascribe godhood to both Paul and Barnabas which, understandably, upsets them greatly and thus ensues a back-and-forth about what really happened. The public spectacle consumes enough time that the apostles' enemies from Pisidian Antioch and Iconium have time to catch up with them and convince the crowd to stone Paul. He'd successfully escaped being stoned by them earlier, but now he is caught and stoned in the end - stoned so badly that he was presumed dead and his persecutors disposed of his body by dragging it outside the city (14:19).</p><p>Sometimes, when we do what God asks, it ends in shambles because God doesn't protect us and instead allows us to suffer great persecution. (Notice that Paul wasn't given the ability to blind any of his enemies in Lystra like he had on Cyprus).<br /><br />Remarkably, Paul soldiers on and together with Barnabas he goes to Derbe and preaches the Gospel yet again (14:20-21a). Seemingly, all goes according to plan in Derbe and they "won a large number of disciples without any disruption to their ministry (14:21).<br /><br />Sometimes, when we do what God asks, he gives us a break and lets us not only experience success but lets us bask peacefully in it too.<br /><br />Paul and Barnabas then decide it's time to return to Syrian Antioch, where they'd began this journey, and they choose to go back the way they'd come, passing through Lystra, Iconium, and Pisidian Antioch. What fortitude! To go back to the places where they'd been stoned, run out of town, and persecuted! They are either complete fools with a glutton for punishment, or they are so convicted of their call and filled with the Holy Spirit that they can't help but take the risk. I believe the latter is true.<br /><br />As it happens, their return trip continues without a hitch. Paul and Barnabas strengthen and encourage the believers in these places, specifically reminding them "we must go through hardships to enter the kingdom of God" (14:22). Paul is surely saying these words to himself as well, remembering that part of his initial call included the injunction from Jesus, "I will show [Paul] how much he must suffer for my name" (9:16), but Paul wants other believers to know they are also included in this reality by virtue of being a follower of Jesus. Paul's sufferings are unique in their prevalence and difficulty (see 2 Corinthians 11:23b-27), but all followers of Jesus should expect to face trials and sufferings. Paul wants them to know this so they can be encouraged that their hardships are not in vain.<br /><br />Along with encouraging them, Paul and Barnabas also appointed elders in the local churches. They ran into nary a problem on the way back to their home base. Why? Perhaps they kept quiet as they visited those cities again. Perhaps their influential enemies were all out of town. Perhaps God placed His hand of protection over them. Who knows? Regardless, they were successful and the churches were strengthened and encouraged.</p><p>Sometimes, when we do what God asks, His favor is abundantly clear and His kindness and generosity knows no bounds.<br /><br />Paul's first missionary journey is a study of contrasts. So much success and so much struggle. As a missionary, the struggles have a way of catching my attention in particular. I can't help but wonder how I would manage if faced with the same animosities and despairs. I can easily imagine that I wouldn't have the same fortitude or commitment that Paul did.<br /><br />As we studied Acts 13 and 14, one glaring question presented itself: "In the face of so much opposition and persecution on his first missionary journey, why didn't Paul give up?"</p><p>I've been tempted to think that Paul just had an overwhelmingly intense personality - the kind that never runs out of energy or passion or vision, the kind that truly <i>runs</i> their race. (And to be honest, missions definitely attracts an uncanny number of those personalities.) Maybe that's part of it. There's certainly enough evidence in Scripture to attest to Paul's fiery and zealous persona.<br /><br />But there's more to Paul's steadfastness than a strong personality.<br /><br />We must remember that he had a blessedly clear call from the Lord. And what a gift! To know without doubt what the Lord has invited you to do? Such a thing should never be taken for granted. Paul had this, and he took it seriously. The Lord informed Paul at the very beginning, on the road to Damascus, that he would be preaching the Gospel to the Gentiles (and also suffering along the way), and then the call was confirmed at Syrian Antioch. So whether the mission was going well or not, Paul could always remind himself of that clear call from the Lord Jesus Christ and could therefore stay the course with confidence.<br /><br />The other incredibly important thing to remember was Paul's motivation to share the love of Christ. He did not give up despite opposition and persecution because his desire for others to also know the transforming power of Christ was so great that he could do nothing else but press on. Paul well knew what it was like to live in darkness, to be separated from God, to live for self and self alone. He knew what bitterness and anger taste like. He knew that hatred and vengeance lead to destruction. He knew the agony of living with a complete lack of hope and peace.<br /><br />He also knew life, light, joy, and <i>shalom</i> when he surrendered his life to Christ. Because of that, he couldn't stop sharing the Good News with anyone who would listen. Paul wanted others to have the same experience he had of learning to trust and love the Savior.<br /><br />Not everyone can claim a clear call from the Lord, but every follower of Jesus can be motivated by His love and grace and forgiveness. Like Paul, that motivation should compel us to not give up being a witness, by word and deed, to the love of Jesus. Wherever we find ourselves in the world, we can pursue being a source of light in this dark world.<br /><br />As for me, I'm encouraged by this part of Paul's story. The Lord helped him throughout his entire first missionary journey. God strengthened him, empowered him, granted him courage, brought other believers alongside to help and assist him, and brought him back "home" to testify to what God had done and to receive a time of rest and refreshment (14:26-28).<br /><br />I'm encouraged to not give up, and to believe that the Lord will watch over me and provide for me as He sees fit, like He did for Paul, and to trust that what He sees fit is truly for my good and for His glory.<br /><br /></p>Eli and Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12311174284530197477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6331630386919482630.post-65291522721143489392023-05-15T05:19:00.000-07:002023-05-15T05:19:00.622-07:00Faithfully<p>This year marks seven years since we moved to Kenya. Africa had been on our hearts and minds for more than a decade before we moved here, and now we've spent the past seven years pouring our hearts and minds into living and loving here. This place, this life, is home.<br /><br />Although a myriad of reflections come to mind, the one at the forefront has to do with a song. Since my memory is terrible, I can't remember when it became pivotal to us. I can't remember when Eli made the connection between this song and our life, or when he started singing it to our boys at night. But many years ago the song became an anthem of sorts, and ever since it's been a way of putting into words what we sometimes can't voice ourselves but resonate with completely when we hear the familiar opening strain and subsequent lyrics.<br /><br /><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OMD8hBsA-RI" target="_blank">"Faithfully"</a> by Journey has reminded us of the call we pursue and the commitment we make every day, to the ministry and to each other.</p><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Highway run into the midnight sun</div><div style="text-align: center;">Wheels go 'round and 'round, you're on my mind</div><div style="text-align: center;">Restless hearts, sleep alone tonight</div><div style="text-align: center;">Sendin' all my love along the wire</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">They say that the road ain't no place to start a family</div><div style="text-align: center;">Right down the line, it's been you and me</div><div style="text-align: center;">And lovin' a music man ain't always what it's supposed to be</div><div style="text-align: center;">Oh, girl, you stand by me</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm forever yours</div><div style="text-align: center;">Faithfully</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Circus life under the big-top world</div><div style="text-align: center;">We all need the clowns to make us smile</div><div style="text-align: center;">Through space and time, always another show</div><div style="text-align: center;">Wonderin' where I am lost without you</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And being apart ain't easy on this love affair</div><div style="text-align: center;">Two strangers learn to fall in love again</div><div style="text-align: center;">I get the joy of rediscovering you</div><div style="text-align: center;">Oh, girl, you stand by me</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm forever yours</div><div style="text-align: center;">Faithfully</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Whoa-oh, oh-oh</div><div style="text-align: center;">Whoa-oh, oh-oh, oh</div><div style="text-align: center;">Whoa-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh</div><div style="text-align: center;">Faithfully</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm still yours</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm forever yours</div><div style="text-align: center;">Forever yours</div><div style="text-align: center;">Faithfully</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p>I would not have felt a particular connection to this song on my own, but when Eli first told me what the song meant to him and why, I recognized how meaningful it was.<br /><br />The song is about a musician touring on the road and spending long days away from his love, away from his family. But if you replace the musician in the song with a medical missionary, it hits home for us. (And, I would wager, it would hit home for any number of staff working at a mission hospital. We have dear friends/colleagues who similarly struggle to balance life and ministry and who would definitely resonate with all of these thoughts.)<br /><br />"They say the road ain't no place to start a family."<br /><br />Medical missions ain't no way to start a family either. Although Eli isn't literally travelling away from home most of the time, he gives a significant amount of time to the hospital and is gone from home because of it. I vividly recall the lonely days and nights of taking care of our three little kids single-handedly while Eli took care of everyone else at the hospital. Even now, our kids are familiar with the routine of calling Dad to say goodnight because he won't make it home before bedtime. I don't feel the weight of it as much as I did when we had babies and toddlers, but it's never easy for the boys to say goodbye to Eli in the morning and then not see him again that day.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnUMDhJU7Z9wcg5X50WwgTbdfak2_94hLK6KUDfKl8BholfnXv5dUw6ywbfBpxBlxoj0t4wLuEl3iTQwt-c9n1Tw4ek-26hN2SEOdgfQWUCEQDNJWeCLlbky6jKMCpjgA2tXS7yc7fTl0FMIyjatDtBjEHhW_PqfnJI_yo5wpZ5ToMWNeRq1O71vQ/s4272/IMG_3362.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnUMDhJU7Z9wcg5X50WwgTbdfak2_94hLK6KUDfKl8BholfnXv5dUw6ywbfBpxBlxoj0t4wLuEl3iTQwt-c9n1Tw4ek-26hN2SEOdgfQWUCEQDNJWeCLlbky6jKMCpjgA2tXS7yc7fTl0FMIyjatDtBjEHhW_PqfnJI_yo5wpZ5ToMWNeRq1O71vQ/s320/IMG_3362.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p>"And lovin' a music man ain't always what it's supposed to be."<br /><br />The work of a medical missionary can often sound exciting and exotic - working in a remote, resource-deprived context and saving lives. While that is true, it's also true that living the life of a medical missionary takes a huge toll on these healthcare workers who see more death than anyone should have to in a lifetime, and who feel completely inadequate on a regular basis to meet the insurmountable needs of too many people with too few personnel to bear the load. And this life also takes a toll on the family members of the medical missionary. When Eli comes home depleted after a long day at the hospital, it impacts us. When he has to take phone calls at all times of day or night, it impacts us. When he has to attend another meeting after the meeting he just finished, it impacts us. "Lovin' a medical missionary ain't always what it's supposed to be." It's not always glamorous.<br /><br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPDPjqkgLsrFOzADKPNto4H7Vw8OwuoA2kulBmVbBvw6fE635RkGIWt_4ErKchN45HItU2CQTykfft9cNk6auneSlT57eQizomGiGBdjdI8veu47Y0DchglNpd8murfBuWTVH9vud7QPTe3Zcffy0K4hLyWuac63lgOTpOpe9ychtvCqZeyJ7paV4/s4272/IMG_7392.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4272" data-original-width="2848" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPDPjqkgLsrFOzADKPNto4H7Vw8OwuoA2kulBmVbBvw6fE635RkGIWt_4ErKchN45HItU2CQTykfft9cNk6auneSlT57eQizomGiGBdjdI8veu47Y0DchglNpd8murfBuWTVH9vud7QPTe3Zcffy0K4hLyWuac63lgOTpOpe9ychtvCqZeyJ7paV4/s320/IMG_7392.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />"Through space and time, always another show."<br /><br />We really resonate with this. There's always something else to be done, always someone else who needs his attention, always one more phone call before coming home. There's never an end to the work, just pausing until it demands to be picked up again. And often the work follows you home. One of the themes of medical missions is that there's never enough people to do all the work. It's a reality that doesn't change, and a reality every medical missionary has to come to terms with and learn how to cope with.<br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ2yXcjM6cJVPL5XfZbLe-xMr80xcfvqbvTOxW6h8HerroPAJcfomAiFubWIZu0Oh-mNkvwVKIVcDfrGHoU6H9NL5V9f9jtyHRukZGJiD3hqPajd7s-d0zC0iC8YqKMtThifznIqg4ADUs-PJPM9S7_7bAiiwd7sVnz69Q0_bU95hh1kpesLgCpVc/s4107/IMG_5025.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4107" data-original-width="2738" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ2yXcjM6cJVPL5XfZbLe-xMr80xcfvqbvTOxW6h8HerroPAJcfomAiFubWIZu0Oh-mNkvwVKIVcDfrGHoU6H9NL5V9f9jtyHRukZGJiD3hqPajd7s-d0zC0iC8YqKMtThifznIqg4ADUs-PJPM9S7_7bAiiwd7sVnz69Q0_bU95hh1kpesLgCpVc/s320/IMG_5025.JPG" width="213" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIMdkVZaNozJV7Dsy8V7Gyz-lknxttLhOz2Ua_oO5nWWNMjhugqqriehnA4jQMcvp3HTApd99tnaRlqw26Eetndbb1IvHQZM9SqnmNFf9ARqusRnScZHpuhwDIc2Kz8p6-dUDxw_qs0lMjOaXqEHdATK635yjCFPCz9MTTvvepTLaEGRU2ZYwpwsQ/s4032/IMG_1630.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIMdkVZaNozJV7Dsy8V7Gyz-lknxttLhOz2Ua_oO5nWWNMjhugqqriehnA4jQMcvp3HTApd99tnaRlqw26Eetndbb1IvHQZM9SqnmNFf9ARqusRnScZHpuhwDIc2Kz8p6-dUDxw_qs0lMjOaXqEHdATK635yjCFPCz9MTTvvepTLaEGRU2ZYwpwsQ/s320/IMG_1630.JPG" width="320" /></a><br /><span style="text-align: left;"><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">"<span style="text-align: center;">I get the joy of rediscovering you."</span></div></span><span style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It is true that absence makes the heart grow fonder, whether you're literally not in the same geographic location or whether you're like ships passing in the night and much of life together gets exchanged for other commitments. Eli's long days make the reunions all the sweeter. When I get to have a full conversation with my husband, or when we get to snuggle on the couch late at night and watch a sitcom, is particularly sweet after days of mere snippets of conversation and a complete lack of time for real connection. I also love how our boys display their joy at seeing their daddy again after he's been at the hospital. They have a beautiful habit of running to Eli every time he comes walking home. Their sweet shouts of "Daddy!" matched with the immediate forfeiture of whatever else they're currently doing in order to run and jump in his arms - every single time - gives me joy like little else can.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnyK497MoaAVxWTZCC6RkMGVtjFXb6-fiUHJbQkE2KmpDrdyOGGdLeOO-g9bzWcB58653eXAs86DoeR5Y5Nn-YtSwfKUrVRb6RCyg5QmSQSMfL354evfKFqX58HhfVPWzo8XOEbZpSGkCZgq4_wCCm1m6Eh3aSD9dyW6WWOsaCFe-Lc5RgwMi7Pp0/s4032/IMG_1527.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnyK497MoaAVxWTZCC6RkMGVtjFXb6-fiUHJbQkE2KmpDrdyOGGdLeOO-g9bzWcB58653eXAs86DoeR5Y5Nn-YtSwfKUrVRb6RCyg5QmSQSMfL354evfKFqX58HhfVPWzo8XOEbZpSGkCZgq4_wCCm1m6Eh3aSD9dyW6WWOsaCFe-Lc5RgwMi7Pp0/s320/IMG_1527.JPG" width="240" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieoq_Fqy8NQ1GltQcOR_r0Iw9CdPllqxXrkVN1lWUTfNCIVZf91MzPIID9PnadMv2X95tyFV3Y4AyaU1CQ03911xGCauYWvOskD0W4cxLX78hTDM6vXuNjhhpUWraOAAD8LSgzzcGJS646Eaw3b1ephxXvwkmpWbM22veafSE_lwkg_iVG1-WV36U/s4032/IMG_2285.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieoq_Fqy8NQ1GltQcOR_r0Iw9CdPllqxXrkVN1lWUTfNCIVZf91MzPIID9PnadMv2X95tyFV3Y4AyaU1CQ03911xGCauYWvOskD0W4cxLX78hTDM6vXuNjhhpUWraOAAD8LSgzzcGJS646Eaw3b1ephxXvwkmpWbM22veafSE_lwkg_iVG1-WV36U/s320/IMG_2285.jpg" width="320" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">"Oh, girl, you stand by me."<br /><br />Yep, I do. Because this life is worth it. It has its fair share of sacrifices, and it's worth it. It's worth every life saved, every resident trained, every step forward in improving the overall healthcare of a continent in desperate need of better medical outcomes.</div></div></div></div></span></div><p></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgiEZlCm5Hs2b8WjNJta5s8A1WPn__pL86EwtOyI4rNt5vQ5kqk551Teowu0JgJQyk8hpWPKkGwyyFw_bSEvO5EnlLpWZ8AJk3V1-LUb5f_lpA4hxXdL47C95SWoRZcCrvioS0UIAd7kBFPQGNHHtBrx52Bx5iZYwvi8362uhl1gDnczgA5DGbDq4/s3088/IMG_3963.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgiEZlCm5Hs2b8WjNJta5s8A1WPn__pL86EwtOyI4rNt5vQ5kqk551Teowu0JgJQyk8hpWPKkGwyyFw_bSEvO5EnlLpWZ8AJk3V1-LUb5f_lpA4hxXdL47C95SWoRZcCrvioS0UIAd7kBFPQGNHHtBrx52Bx5iZYwvi8362uhl1gDnczgA5DGbDq4/s320/IMG_3963.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>"I'm forever yours."<br /><br />I made a promise to Eli the day we married to pursue this calling of medical missions together for as long as the Lord directed us down this path. That promise remains.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCiaMkM78z56hZuHW0A3Oug8ke6S-CxnRSvx4paOfZ84rKzNTVZ9mVpCyQ4UYJuAh__pZ_hqva_aHDAkcfs1XK9gbaOGExjfLyD9LojcSsWKmu-VQKhRUpgvte5lzN3rPocl_wp_0-KL2aqOpLFqQi0AkgWPlJpoyKxMxY28_j3WAoiNT32R2x1q0/s4272/IMG_5307.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCiaMkM78z56hZuHW0A3Oug8ke6S-CxnRSvx4paOfZ84rKzNTVZ9mVpCyQ4UYJuAh__pZ_hqva_aHDAkcfs1XK9gbaOGExjfLyD9LojcSsWKmu-VQKhRUpgvte5lzN3rPocl_wp_0-KL2aqOpLFqQi0AkgWPlJpoyKxMxY28_j3WAoiNT32R2x1q0/s320/IMG_5307.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br />"Faithfully."<br /><br />Yes, yes, and yes again.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIULHvXNsw2mUQULLoR8CKRk8ZeRx84FnxXJTZl_dIUNiSeregtM_5lyK68EJIKt7Xt5M4ro8D9gsJiQTERGgG2Xd6BJDRzPhqQeNKNXsltOOEAUYeAtqNUyPn_sP9AJsrvqL0UuHBjF9Up0je-5eRR_0HwOZ5oIzqNoXq9u31DKTHAreAX7OWGoo/s3088/IMG_3429.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2320" data-original-width="3088" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIULHvXNsw2mUQULLoR8CKRk8ZeRx84FnxXJTZl_dIUNiSeregtM_5lyK68EJIKt7Xt5M4ro8D9gsJiQTERGgG2Xd6BJDRzPhqQeNKNXsltOOEAUYeAtqNUyPn_sP9AJsrvqL0UuHBjF9Up0je-5eRR_0HwOZ5oIzqNoXq9u31DKTHAreAX7OWGoo/s320/IMG_3429.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;">*********************************************<br /></div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">Boyce Avenue does a fantastic cover of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ALph_u2iee8" target="_blank">Faithfully</a> and it's worth a listen.</div><br /><p></p>Eli and Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12311174284530197477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6331630386919482630.post-81428598632743560662023-01-07T11:47:00.000-08:002023-01-07T11:47:40.424-08:00Legacy of Encouragement<p>It was our first year of marriage and we were at the Horn family farm in Cambridge. Alma, who was in her early 80s, stood among the flurry of family and beamed up at us.<br /><br />We were young and <span style="font-family: inherit;">na<span style="font-size: 11pt;">ï</span>ve. </span> We were also eager and hopeful and confident in our call (which often comes with being young and na<span style="font-size: 11pt;">ï</span>ve). The combination of being fledgling adults with such a clear yet highly unusual trajectory in life certainly made some people pause and question what we were thinking. Other people didn't believe that we'd follow through with it. Still others thought we were simply insane.<br /><br />But that day at the farm, Alma looked at us as if we were more sane than insane. She looked at us with joy and pride. She knew of our plans - to go to Cameroon, then return to the States for medical school and residency, and finally go back to Africa for long-term missionary service - and she believed in us.<br /><br />Her reassuring opinion of us newlyweds bolstered us because Alma and her husband Dale had done the same thing half a century before. When they were young and na<span style="font-size: 11pt;">ï</span>ve (and eager and hopeful and confident in their calling), they went to Asia and served as missionaries.<br /><br />Alma saw a bit of herself in us. We triggered memories and she told us of taking a boat to China and about their later transition from there to Japan. She didn't give a sermon or a soliloquy (although her years of living overseas could certainly warrant such), but instead she spoke simple words of encouragement that made a forever impression on our hearts. She encouraged us to stay the course of pursuing missions, even though it would take us years to get there. She blessed the path before us and promised to pray for us. That day, Alma created a milestone marker in our missions journey because her encouragement came from genuine excitement as well as first-hand experience.</p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHuOLXYoe2s0hq-cdkCYoxW8e3xzh_HI-VD4Um2qdHtknoMCH3nHVBGe4PKx_r4SSLRXkRQBeW5FcfxqCt3yhoXjwRuJng74jGhVgtjQnMKlZEBFrrrmdGjqVawE3tuWEbDP_-1T2nhQ5fQuh0S9xxRRNyZPdUn0rhcO7WtCV3s419Ibdv3z-BcUI/s2004/Dale%20and%20Alma%20Bjork%20before%20sailing%20to%20China.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2004" data-original-width="1430" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHuOLXYoe2s0hq-cdkCYoxW8e3xzh_HI-VD4Um2qdHtknoMCH3nHVBGe4PKx_r4SSLRXkRQBeW5FcfxqCt3yhoXjwRuJng74jGhVgtjQnMKlZEBFrrrmdGjqVawE3tuWEbDP_-1T2nhQ5fQuh0S9xxRRNyZPdUn0rhcO7WtCV3s419Ibdv3z-BcUI/s320/Dale%20and%20Alma%20Bjork%20before%20sailing%20to%20China.JPG" width="228" /></a><br />Alma and Dale before sailing to China</div><br /><br />Alma was Eli's great-aunt and she passed away this month at the age of 99. Her husband, Dale, was Eli's Grandma Horn's brother, and although I never had the privilege of meeting Dale, we've been encouraged by him also. A scrapbook we discovered at the farm during our first Home Ministry Assignment told a bit of his story of being called to ministry. When one of his high school teachers asked why he was choosing to pursue ministry after graduation, Dale responded, "This is not my choice. If it were simply a matter of choice, I would be choosing more scientific pursuits. This is God's choice for me and I am just making His choice mine."<br /><br />Alma clearly did the same, and together they obeyed God's choice for them by going overseas and eventually coming back to America when the Lord called them to return.<br /><br />During our first year of marriage, when we were raising funds and putting things in order to go to Cameroon, we didn't even know what questions to ask Alma that day. We couldn't possibly understand what moving overseas and ministering cross-culturally truly meant. We thought it would stretch and grow us, but we didn't know how. We imagined it would be a complicated mixture of joy and struggle, but we couldn't understand what that would look like day to day. We had vague ideas but no concrete perception of how being a missionary would impact our hearts and minds.<br /><br />But Alma knew. And even though she didn't regale us with scads of stories of the triumphs and tribulations of life and ministry overseas, we knew that she understood what we would understand for ourselves someday. She knew the delicate balance between ministry and family as well as the guilt when the balance fails, she knew the pressures of being responsible to supporters, she knew the depths of joy of cross-cultural friendships, she knew the satisfaction of toiling for something for years and finally seeing the goal realized, she knew the sensation of loving and loathing different cultural values, she knew the loneliness of not being able to articulate all the thoughts and feelings of missionary life in a meaningful way to anyone else but Jesus. She knew things we were years away from beginning to comprehend.<br /><br />That day at the farm was over 16 years ago, and although we've only been living overseas for 7 years now, we've come to understand some of what must have been in Alma's heart that day as she looked at two newlyweds wanting to embark on a similar path that she and her husband had taken. And we appreciate her encouragement all the more now. We understand the gratification of staying the course and actually moving overseas and raising a family here. We are continually experiencing how the Lord transforms our worldview and increases our understanding of His ways - how He works in individuals and communities and cultures. We know how blessedly diverse and beautiful the Church is. We've seen that God's kingdom is built more with small bricks over time than giant blocks in a hurry.<br /><br />But we understood none of this that day at the farm. We couldn't have understood. We were too young and na<span style="font-size: 11pt;">ï</span>ve. Thankfully, Alma saw people with potential, and she poured encouragement onto that potential and covered it with prayer.<br /><br />Of all the legacies this 99-year old woman is leaving behind, that is the legacy she's left for us. We can only hope that one day the Lord will put some young and na<span style="font-size: 11pt;">ï</span>ve people in our path that we can encourage on their journey toward missions. Because being encouraged by someone who's gone before you on such a unique and often questioned course can make an indelibly positive impact.<p></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMJFeEcMA6wQpwb01EFrfz-Gd3-qSvAm_PFqWEvDibW6rwV1X1ARABUQiFNT-OmzRDIstlcxXxK8EndTdMQRcRADb_biGMPljk72rkm12z98sJQE5tKYAh9PsCRzGmmz4mg2oee_Co89VgpbhDxaR2kf05PJi6ajBhZv0U9mD8yegusqfhn-ZCn6Y/s3084/June%20(Bjork)%20Horn%20and%20little%20brother%20Dale%20Bjork.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3084" data-original-width="1847" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMJFeEcMA6wQpwb01EFrfz-Gd3-qSvAm_PFqWEvDibW6rwV1X1ARABUQiFNT-OmzRDIstlcxXxK8EndTdMQRcRADb_biGMPljk72rkm12z98sJQE5tKYAh9PsCRzGmmz4mg2oee_Co89VgpbhDxaR2kf05PJi6ajBhZv0U9mD8yegusqfhn-ZCn6Y/s320/June%20(Bjork)%20Horn%20and%20little%20brother%20Dale%20Bjork.JPG" width="192" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Eli's grandma and her brother Dale</div><p><br /></p>Eli and Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12311174284530197477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6331630386919482630.post-60744722543851248812022-12-13T23:03:00.001-08:002022-12-13T23:03:55.390-08:00Writing and Life<p>This year has not been a great year of writing for me. Even though writing is a creative outlet and something that often gives me energy, the fact is that it's also a lot of work and requires a lot of energy at the outset.<br /><br />But this has not been a year in which I've had a lot of energy at the outset.<br /><br />The demands of homeschooling wring out most of my allotted energy for the day, and the constant noise and interruptions that occur around our house throughout the rest of the day drain whatever energy may be left.<br /><br />For the record, the noise and interruptions are not just from our own boys. Our community has been blessed with many children and they do what children do: create noise! Trying to silence everything around me so I can pull from the reserves of my creative energy has been a most difficult task this year.<br /><br />And it's simply been a busy year. Lots of visitors to host, lots of events to plan or participate in, lots of traveling for meetings, appointments, conferences, and weddings and funerals. And for me personally, lots of hours logged on Zoom meetings for our field leadership team. The number of available hours to sit and write have been few.<br /><br />Besides the literal lack of hours in a day to write, I've felt a lack of emotional energy towards that end. A lot of my emotional energy has been put toward a long season of trying to be an anchor while others around us have gone through seasons of stress and/or transition. There's been a lot of transition within our community this year. Constant comings and goings are a norm around here, but there've been some unexpected comings and goings on top of it all which have added another layer of grief and stress. After nearly seven years of learning how to say goodbyes and hellos like it's our job, it's still hard, and harder still when it happens suddenly. Despite how hard it is, these situations require people who are in a season of stability to step up and hold down the fort, to keep an eye on the community and plan the events and farewells, to be "the mom of the compound" and check on the kids whose parents are gone, to be "the keeper of the keys" to the houses that are empty and need cleaning and oversight and management of househelpers, and to host official hospital visitors that no one else is available to do.<br /><br />Our family has been stable. We haven't had any major life transitions or literal transitions to navigate (except helping each other process how the transitions of others impact ourselves), so we've tried to offer a sense of stability and normalcy for those around us. We've made ourselves available to be the people others can come to, to be a listening ear or a logistics coordinator, to be an anchor.<br /><br />It's been good for us to fill this role. I feel (I hope) that we've carried it well for this season. But it's demanded a lot of energy and has forced other endeavors to take a backseat, like my writing.<br /><br />Although my personal writing projects have taken a hit this year, as well as regular blogging, the one thing I've been able to consistently maintain are my newsletters sent every few months. That has been the most important way to maintain some level of connection with people interested in our missions journey.<br /><br />And despite my overall discouragement at the output (or lack thereof) of writing, I've been recently encouraged because one of my projects this year was to print off every blog post and newsletter I've written since beginning this missions journey and put them in a binder so they could read like one big story. To date, I've written 76 posts on our missions blog (including this one), 7 posts on the blog <i><a href="http://www.alifeoverseas.com" target="_blank">A Life Overseas</a></i>, and have created 31 newsletters (and am about to send #32). These numbers are significant to me because writing is how I process. It's how I remember, reflect, and sometimes reorient myself in order to learn and grow and move forward.<br /><br />I'm encouraged because, overall, that binder (which is actually two big binders at this point) is a kind of physical proof that I've done a lot of processing since I started writing missions-related material over eight years ago. I've done a lot of reflecting, a lot of soul-searching, a lot of growing. And I hope a lot of encouraging as other people have read my writing and been able to reflect as well.<br /><br />It's humbling to know that other people read my writing even though it's just my unprofessional musings, and even more humbling when someone reaches out and tells me they were blessed by it.<br /><br />My hope is that as we enter into a new season of more stability in our community, there will be a bit more time and space and energy for me to focus on writing. There are no guarantees because if there's one thing that's true of this life, it's that there is always something else to demand your attention and relegate the non-essentials to the bottom of the priority list. But writing is an essential for me. At least, it's supposed to be. I'm hoping it can feel that way again, like a core part of myself that serves a good purpose.<br /><br />Because the ultimate purpose of writing, for me, is to process life. I desire to live life <i>and</i> to process it so I can live it more deeply and graciously moving forward.<br /><br /></p>Eli and Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12311174284530197477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6331630386919482630.post-39800933967217050232022-06-10T07:34:00.001-07:002022-06-10T07:34:57.362-07:00The Healing Ministry of Jesus<p>Although most people understand that we are medical missionaries, meaning that we work at a mission hospital and provide physical and spiritual care for people, it's not necessarily understood why we're passionate about this particular area of ministry.<br /><br />Last year, during our Home Ministry Assignment, we explained to many people why we do what we do and now I'd like to write it down.<br /><br /><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFdf1X2_2yYxXAc5odMPoV_tCXCF2cO-dnkGZuNSKFxptR6Uy-BImNvT1Of8ZlyxTuyBKDrUD4_oEARVB3iqkdQB3ka90_eCrYpAxBgvYqD_RLf8D72YLKhUgaCIg37HvIkUPLXV72cel31wbbloWhp7y1f6YRvuCsC0iWaKzl0pxA-MwNIMGMNVA/s4272/IMG_7392.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4272" data-original-width="2848" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFdf1X2_2yYxXAc5odMPoV_tCXCF2cO-dnkGZuNSKFxptR6Uy-BImNvT1Of8ZlyxTuyBKDrUD4_oEARVB3iqkdQB3ka90_eCrYpAxBgvYqD_RLf8D72YLKhUgaCIg37HvIkUPLXV72cel31wbbloWhp7y1f6YRvuCsC0iWaKzl0pxA-MwNIMGMNVA/s320/IMG_7392.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><p></p><br />So, why do we do this medical missions thing?<br /><br />Because it's close to the heart of Jesus.<br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Jesus healed people. He spent a significant part of his time on
this earth healing people - from the fever ailing Simon Peter’s
mother-in-law to literally raising people from the dead and everything in
between. <br /><br />Jesus was willing to touch
people who shouldn’t be touched, such as the man with leprosy who begged for, and received, healing</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">He was willing to incite the ire of the
Pharisees and synagogue rulers by healing on the Sabbath, like the man with a
shriveled right hand and the woman who’d been crippled for eighteen years. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">He was willing to heal people He’d never even
seen, like the centurion’s servant. Jesus even healed a person He didn’t know
was asking for healing - the woman who’d been bleeding for twelve years and
secretly touched his cloak. The ministry of healing was very close to the heart
of Jesus.<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"><br />This is why: healing
points to the Father. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">Jesus’s ministry
of healing revealed God. Healing was about physical healing, yes, but it was
also about understanding spiritual truths, like our need to be forgiven of our
sins, which Jesus taught when He healed the paralytic man that was lowered
through the roof.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">It opens our eyes to
know more of God.<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"><br />Here's another example: After
Jesus raised the widow’s son back to life, “They were all filled with awe and
praised God. ‘A great prophet has appeared among us,’ they said. ‘God has come
to help his people’” (Luke 7:16).<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"><br />Healing
points to the Father.<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"><br />Here's yet another example: A blind man
named Bartimaeus was sitting along the roadside and cried out to Jesus to be
healed.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">Jesus did heal him, then and
there.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">“Immediately he
received his sight and followed Jesus, praising God.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">When all the people saw it, they also praised
God” (Luke 18:43).<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"><br />Healing points to the
Father.<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"><br />When Jesus sent out the
72 ahead of Himself, one of the instructions he gave was, “When you enter a town and are
welcomed, eat what is set before you. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">Heal the sick who are there and tell them,
‘The kingdom of God is near you’” (Luke 10:8-9).<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"><br />Healing reveals God.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">Healing and God go hand in hand.<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"><br />Furthermore, the healing ministry of
Jesus didn’t stop when Jesus left the earth and ascended into heaven.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">In Acts we read of the disciples
in the early church who were given the power to heal people in Jesus’ name. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">Peter and John healed a crippled beggar
outside the temple, and Acts 5 tells us, “The apostles performed many
miraculous signs and wonders among the people…. People brought the sick into
the streets and laid them on the beds and mats so that at least Peter’s shadow
might fall on some of them as he passed by.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">Crowds gathered also from the towns around Jerusalem, bringing their
sick and those tormented by evil spirits, and all of them were healed” (5:12a,
15-16).<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"><br />Even after Jesus was resurrected
and ascended into heaven, healing was still an important part of spreading the Gospel, and it still pointed to the Father and still revealed Him to
people.<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"><br />And it still does that
today.<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"><br />So why do we do medical missions?</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">Because healing matters, i</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">t’s close to the heart of Jesus, and there is a great need for healing.<br /><br />When we originally started looking into where in the world we could go and serve in medical missions, we wanted to find a place that had an obvious need as well as great opportunities for impact. The Lord showed us Africa.<br /><br />It wasn't until after we'd already moved to Kenya that we discovered the </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">following map created by the </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">World Health Organization. It shows the global distribution of physicians.<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"><br />Regions in blue have anywhere from 20-40 doctors per 10,000 people.<br />Regions in dark red have</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> 0-1 doctor per 10,000 people.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcNPaUK3bPM-cvy4FIOFA4T_FWcPI4uI2yr1O6YuYHOztHS6EZwvcovgYdrt_oYsfOFwej6-pk-c-GwgjFooarfjMsxzY17Gl88I4F9iT5h2vxmY3pAzCqhh4CcMAcG4LPl1ua7Sab2eCrAfpgCmXew0-YVgP5-9GJnfYUIU3IS41CmZX3bMODPs4/s751/global%20distribution%20of%20physicians.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="751" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcNPaUK3bPM-cvy4FIOFA4T_FWcPI4uI2yr1O6YuYHOztHS6EZwvcovgYdrt_oYsfOFwej6-pk-c-GwgjFooarfjMsxzY17Gl88I4F9iT5h2vxmY3pAzCqhh4CcMAcG4LPl1ua7Sab2eCrAfpgCmXew0-YVgP5-9GJnfYUIU3IS41CmZX3bMODPs4/s320/global%20distribution%20of%20physicians.jpg" width="320" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We felt all the more convicted and confirmed that doing medical missions in Africa was a good and worthwhile thing to do.<br /><br />Because it's close to the heart of Jesus, and it points to the Father. Anything like that is a good and worthwhile thing to do.<br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_6fcAw5IdcOM6PFpB9m0S2RfTmw-vWbh2S63NgwP76iVfZiHB49kcfb4agLGjbA0V4BrbqlMbawfC52q8u4AWn_bHCN40K1rUk0JiOqsJXe5QnXc-cSgRiNJ5l0LpIadQOifAWMI8Def0aibb2xKEhEeHvN3rhWmKhbNnjk_QdVDwZoF6KZ-_XSQ/s4272/IMG_7379.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_6fcAw5IdcOM6PFpB9m0S2RfTmw-vWbh2S63NgwP76iVfZiHB49kcfb4agLGjbA0V4BrbqlMbawfC52q8u4AWn_bHCN40K1rUk0JiOqsJXe5QnXc-cSgRiNJ5l0LpIadQOifAWMI8Def0aibb2xKEhEeHvN3rhWmKhbNnjk_QdVDwZoF6KZ-_XSQ/s320/IMG_7379.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br />**********************<br /><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Scripture references:<br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">Simon Peter’s
mother-in-law (Luke 4:38-39)<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">man with the shriveled
right hand (Luke 6:6-11)<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">man with leprosy (Luke
5:12-15)<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">the paralytic (Luke
5:17-26)<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">centurion’s servant (Luke
7:1-10)<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">woman bleeding for 12
years (Luke 8:40-48)<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">woman crippled for 18
years (Luke 13:10-13)<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">blind Bartimaeus (Luke 18:35-43)</span></p><p><br /></p>Eli and Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12311174284530197477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6331630386919482630.post-64643108749835569962022-04-12T08:12:00.002-07:002022-04-12T10:58:18.024-07:00Listening and Learning From My Children<p>Sometimes I wish that I could get out of the house more. I wish I could pour more time into relationships, practice my Swahili, learn more about the culture, do something with my skillsets that helps people outside my house, or know more about what's happening at the hospital. Being a full-time homeschooling mom sometimes feels like I live in a cave. Have I seen the light of day today? Yes, off in the distance, way over there, if I try hard enough, I can see the light.<br /><br />Sometimes I imagine that I wouldn't be functioning with half a brain if I could switch things up a bit. If I could think past the inane conversations about finishing the ugali on their plate, or the frustrating moments of reviewing for the thousandth time what the second step of long division is, or the exhausting exercise of extending grace to my child who took the precious Scotch tape outside to tape cardboard with his friends even though he knows we can't get more of that tape in Kenya... If I could think past all of that, maybe I could be more productive or fruitful or lifegiving.<br /><br />Despite the long, long hours of days on the homefront, I am deeply committed to my role as the anchor of the family. I know how important it is to be home with the boys, to pour into them, to be a rock for them, to be their safe space and comforter and encourager. I know they are benefiting greatly from my constant presence (which I remind myself of in the moments I want to run away and be alone for even five minutes). I know there is much good coming from the fact that I am a full-time homeschooling mom.<br /><br />But sometimes I just wish I could get out of the house more and do other things.<br /><br />Since that's not possible, I find it particularly sweet when the Lord uses my children to bless me and teach me. And isn't it just like Jesus to use a weak and small and less-learned child to remind me of great truths or show me the way forward? And what a mercy that God uses the people around me the most, even though they're children, to grow me when life is so nuts that I don't have time to read Scripture or pray regularly (true confessions).<br /><br />Here are some gold nuggets from recent moments with my boys...<br /><br />After attending a building dedication at the hospital, which was hot and long (and boring for the kids who had never been to an event like this before), I left early with the boys after only sitting there for 2 hours. While walking home, I explained to them why this was an important event and why it was good for us to be there. I also explained why it takes the better part of a day to dedicate a building, to which Caleb replied with great insight, "Kenyans are way more patient than Americans." And he is right. We ended up having a great conversation about some of the ways Kenyan culture and American culture show honor and respect differently, and why I appreciate how Kenyan culture does it. It was a beautiful reminder of how we can learn from each other if we take the time to participate in each other's cultures.<br /><br />Learning about other places and cultures around the world is really important to our family, even when the news is hard to swallow. As the war in Ukraine continues, we've had several conversations with our boys about what's happening and why it breaks our hearts. One day Asa blurted out, "War is the worst thing ever! Well, except for sin." And he is right. We proceeded to talk about sin and the corruption of our hearts and how that's directly connected to what's happening in Ukraine and Russia right now. It was a powerful reminder of the severe significance of our sin - why it's so serious and why it matters, and therefore why Jesus' love and sacrifice is also so important. Sin has led to every war ever. But Christ came to deal with sin, to rescue us from sin, to give the hope of abolishing sin forever. That is really good news, and my 6-year old helped me remember that.<br /><br />Speaking of current world events, Kai is more faithful than any of us to pray persistently for what's happening around the world. When we pray at meals, he will pray for God "to stop the riffraff in Afghanistan and help the people there" and "to stop the war in Ukraine" and "to please stop the coronavirus forever." That kid remembers what needs prayer, and he is faithful to it. He believes that prayer matters, that it helps people, and that God hears and answers. And he is right.<br /><br />Kai is also our kid with big questions burning in his heart. A couple weeks ago he wanted to know why God would create Adam and Eve if He knew they were going to sin anyway. Whew, good question. We had a long conversation about that and it was good to think deep thoughts together and to rest in God's insane love for us even though He knew we would break His heart with our sin.<br /><br />Most recently, Caleb comforted me in a unexpected but powerful way. I was crying after hearing about a death in the family and was feeling terrible for filling the room with my tears yet again (since I had shed many tears in previous weeks due to hearing of several deaths in a row). Caleb hugged me and I apologized for being so sad. His reply: "It's okay, Mom. You're grieving. It's okay to be sad." And he is right. My child gave me permission to cry as much as I needed, and I felt infinitely more free and light because of it.<br /><br />Moments like these make me forever thankful that I am a full-time homeschooling mom. These moments are birthed out of the immense amount of time I spend with our kids. I will never deny the desire to get out of the house more, or to have more adult conversation throughout the week, or to find ways to use my God-given gifts that remain mostly dormant in this season of life, but I will also never deny how much the Lord uses the little munchkins in my care to teach me and mold me and stretch me in transformative ways.<br /><br />This life in Kenya has made that happen. I am convinced that part of our call to missions was a call to listen and learn from my children. I hope and pray I do it well.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHu1qbuly7YQEKiFiOJg3Qva1GE_A76HIs3QB3E2lwbBj5JYSFi6hcUANqoJLN1WJ1-A958T8kHdE_v8jDy7hq4rZHOhzB00H8AO0-d1xAoQ3izi--A1aL3CABI42wU8eetAmDPo5pf5lf1XBCAXM9wXm-vU30c2Xu-76agOXzL8HER4olI8n9MbU/s4223/IMG_0074.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2815" data-original-width="4223" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHu1qbuly7YQEKiFiOJg3Qva1GE_A76HIs3QB3E2lwbBj5JYSFi6hcUANqoJLN1WJ1-A958T8kHdE_v8jDy7hq4rZHOhzB00H8AO0-d1xAoQ3izi--A1aL3CABI42wU8eetAmDPo5pf5lf1XBCAXM9wXm-vU30c2Xu-76agOXzL8HER4olI8n9MbU/s320/IMG_0074.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>Eli and Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12311174284530197477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6331630386919482630.post-67456141867531733022022-02-05T02:36:00.000-08:002022-02-05T02:36:02.373-08:00Home Again<p>Even though it was the middle of winter when we left Michigan, we made sure to pack T-shirts, shorts, and flip-flops in our carry-on bags because we knew we'd get to wear them as soon as we made it back to Kenya. It's been a beautiful 75 and sunny almost every day for the past few weeks and we aren't sad about it!</p><p>We're extremely grateful to my parents for their help in getting us to the airport and then helping to manage all of the luggage: 15 checked bags, car seat bag, plus carry-on bags and backpacks for everyone. We're a bit of a traveling circus every time we head back to Kenya. Between all the homeschool curriculum and books, supplies for the residency, chocolate chips and other America food essentials (pepperoni, cheese powder to make mac 'n cheese, taco seasoning, etc.) we easily filled all of those bags and bins!<br /><br />The flights back to Kenya went well, praise God. Our flight out of Amsterdam was delayed, so by the time we landed in Nairobi and retrieved our luggage and arrived at the guesthouse, it was 4am East Africa Time. But all in all, that was a minor hiccup and we had no complaints.<br /><br />The boys did extremely well overall with only a couple mini meltdowns from Asa. Caleb barely slept the entire time but somehow didn't suffer for it. And Kai was as happy as a clam as long as he could play games on the screen. We are extremely thankful for such wonderful little travelers!<br /><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTnhiRjU-BEUbskfQypf6h2wL1syYOEvX3imaj-QEgVR6ZtlByCgPZLtvsZTUQGwcXC9x7EAvmb_fh9vX2PIC6jKVsSpKODdptHdVAmmj00Qo9V9QHtQTqbXwn8JvdeydUeJeKFDs_xp3LhXLh98TdGt0AXmvAKi4rPC_cXNfPVhWP2yd-bItanxY=s1600" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTnhiRjU-BEUbskfQypf6h2wL1syYOEvX3imaj-QEgVR6ZtlByCgPZLtvsZTUQGwcXC9x7EAvmb_fh9vX2PIC6jKVsSpKODdptHdVAmmj00Qo9V9QHtQTqbXwn8JvdeydUeJeKFDs_xp3LhXLh98TdGt0AXmvAKi4rPC_cXNfPVhWP2yd-bItanxY=s320" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">leaving Detroit</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEicg7t-R4pjidTaEuoiMGYf2yObVd3YtFn91vFZTWwxq-rJAK8wj_xBeeqZHefTPRz87NC2PCSGtaiIaSiTOEPNM5KvPV4mUvEcnJ8akLKsHU4C6WV-0m_MOsampoqUjbyj5ALes3Q9htLln2BaNdIonM9BlLLI2WNHLzQd9kEaetVTaKGsyN67NWc=s3088" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2320" data-original-width="3088" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEicg7t-R4pjidTaEuoiMGYf2yObVd3YtFn91vFZTWwxq-rJAK8wj_xBeeqZHefTPRz87NC2PCSGtaiIaSiTOEPNM5KvPV4mUvEcnJ8akLKsHU4C6WV-0m_MOsampoqUjbyj5ALes3Q9htLln2BaNdIonM9BlLLI2WNHLzQd9kEaetVTaKGsyN67NWc=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">happy campers</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEidSjfR_Bf7PLWMwzvJYlcTr3OMFxhaXLe3vc7_6OGQ2mo1thG_dFmLuSmxGdOapHglHSXzjLPunBord-plR1pzCwXyNyr-VnHiTmZYP77le66WhgaI2Sskg0D5_SxxQCMhteiEPmZeD0TyPAiGVOg-trJfPrQYZzKOfmshDZmyP8KcCKERrktMrTU=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEidSjfR_Bf7PLWMwzvJYlcTr3OMFxhaXLe3vc7_6OGQ2mo1thG_dFmLuSmxGdOapHglHSXzjLPunBord-plR1pzCwXyNyr-VnHiTmZYP77le66WhgaI2Sskg0D5_SxxQCMhteiEPmZeD0TyPAiGVOg-trJfPrQYZzKOfmshDZmyP8KcCKERrktMrTU=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">collecting our luggage in Nairobi</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhf7ixcx_xo3j5QNByL5bEyAdeVHzRv22xvZRE1JSyjc0HXJfq-SYBYO7zIC1edG_w7nokrlnYQVPrXf0knoWt6CoQqn5nKoP6h3b_H-4TEPngGxuP51aoCdFsxmelJOO542B6CQ9D7gYAv5Dxbhqq0f-KYs3Np8wNmmKpY8lpq--MQnSKs3SqoNwU=s3088" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2320" data-original-width="3088" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhf7ixcx_xo3j5QNByL5bEyAdeVHzRv22xvZRE1JSyjc0HXJfq-SYBYO7zIC1edG_w7nokrlnYQVPrXf0knoWt6CoQqn5nKoP6h3b_H-4TEPngGxuP51aoCdFsxmelJOO542B6CQ9D7gYAv5Dxbhqq0f-KYs3Np8wNmmKpY8lpq--MQnSKs3SqoNwU=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">breathing the fresh Kenyan air</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We spent a few days in Nairobi to get over jet lag, see some dear friends, and visit the dentist before heading back to Chogoria. Then it was time to head home! The boys were <i>hyper</i> as we drove out of Nairobi. We were going home and everybody felt it in their bones.<br /><br />The drive to Chogoria is beautiful with a wide range of scenery. We pass pineapple plantations, rice fields, banana groves, and tea fields on the way to Chogoria. My favorite parts are the rice fields (because they offer a vast beauty with plenty of white egrets scattered across the fields) and the tea fields (because they're picturesque against the lush green hills, and it means we're almost home). We live in such a lovely place on earth and we don't take it for granted.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjeufpv7dytJJ6toUaHQPBnv6x48ys7MFa0rumLNVAuu7SWJ7UAekEER1Ll1_eDBeKBRS1YOVjrT9ccFPINXdLhXEPIwzvPtXcrFY_-j0lEenHhRgYl8RSNgDLppFECyPED9UDMADJJ9nBxVacKCHhSAhDUrOPj4PveP-fzF6fuGY0FOqqessdg1Pc=s3164" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3164" data-original-width="2360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjeufpv7dytJJ6toUaHQPBnv6x48ys7MFa0rumLNVAuu7SWJ7UAekEER1Ll1_eDBeKBRS1YOVjrT9ccFPINXdLhXEPIwzvPtXcrFY_-j0lEenHhRgYl8RSNgDLppFECyPED9UDMADJJ9nBxVacKCHhSAhDUrOPj4PveP-fzF6fuGY0FOqqessdg1Pc=s320" width="239" /></a><br />herding cattle</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiToqr0N8QroGdkm2_ctWLth52Jp6Q6nprKnoTbCRYEL3Ay18iuPy3QZ_n8I5v_Wr2Aso7BHrLb-Ty6AKztK4kS1z5LMLMOaiRiQBQKw0MXfKfx1-MQ5VTqRPobrc3LrORqemnzgkkx3twwIjTqCj0Jd73hWQdfUnbgO76SFD8Dr1qxapuzXwGHxVs=s3010" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3010" data-original-width="2370" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiToqr0N8QroGdkm2_ctWLth52Jp6Q6nprKnoTbCRYEL3Ay18iuPy3QZ_n8I5v_Wr2Aso7BHrLb-Ty6AKztK4kS1z5LMLMOaiRiQBQKw0MXfKfx1-MQ5VTqRPobrc3LrORqemnzgkkx3twwIjTqCj0Jd73hWQdfUnbgO76SFD8Dr1qxapuzXwGHxVs=s320" width="252" /></a><br />donkey cart</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgzMkPMAfs_g9KLnmZ2jPcmesiWQfRm1ZDGmvX8Q7xlLZZZE2W36gX-oqIXwovMWVVBdPSje0EeHpT8sV6-LYOPqJEdNN7YVaxMNZxPyCHECqTU6oHsXM2Pbb8kucUqtFH3Y6dQGnRr7uU4GuD4ZETf_ktvW_w3N6DeO2j-7qYgAQdnyjBoD7dSGhk=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgzMkPMAfs_g9KLnmZ2jPcmesiWQfRm1ZDGmvX8Q7xlLZZZE2W36gX-oqIXwovMWVVBdPSje0EeHpT8sV6-LYOPqJEdNN7YVaxMNZxPyCHECqTU6oHsXM2Pbb8kucUqtFH3Y6dQGnRr7uU4GuD4ZETf_ktvW_w3N6DeO2j-7qYgAQdnyjBoD7dSGhk=s320" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">one of the many rice mills we pass by</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEijfr0trD-0UWMVQOj8mLH4JszPORu3Gor2wfct5jdXjQBfOwSZYzXvRQ3rt0M3wq7jWkZhRTZl-Ld7hE8ZMbDVevpk2BNS0d1ogRsrrAebwyC9KjkohiitCzd8NDIcXIflDxYBlxUzx_0HrGDHf-ylib-uXzW_n8qVYtcBLPNZEBtrKlNdy5nGl1A=s3430" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3430" data-original-width="2659" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEijfr0trD-0UWMVQOj8mLH4JszPORu3Gor2wfct5jdXjQBfOwSZYzXvRQ3rt0M3wq7jWkZhRTZl-Ld7hE8ZMbDVevpk2BNS0d1ogRsrrAebwyC9KjkohiitCzd8NDIcXIflDxYBlxUzx_0HrGDHf-ylib-uXzW_n8qVYtcBLPNZEBtrKlNdy5nGl1A=s320" width="248" /></a><br />a typical means of transporting large items</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjpjjAhz-C3ppDRhz8szFjnpJBh87JQdgfrn5RFvGfAmVqmBQCC1vLiXDiLu2f_Q72N2xOG__TG5188zXqAyivDfEvapUuAp3o866160NGaQud1T2fkHtI2OOxRTGe8okdXOktCv9lDFUn8J6vtz-0X-Bc0qZ-EP51mipI3npLrFBDzqFIQAOY2-lU=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjpjjAhz-C3ppDRhz8szFjnpJBh87JQdgfrn5RFvGfAmVqmBQCC1vLiXDiLu2f_Q72N2xOG__TG5188zXqAyivDfEvapUuAp3o866160NGaQud1T2fkHtI2OOxRTGe8okdXOktCv9lDFUn8J6vtz-0X-Bc0qZ-EP51mipI3npLrFBDzqFIQAOY2-lU=s320" width="240" /></a><br />tea fields</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;">When we reached Chogoria town, the boys began chanting with excitement. Caleb shouted, "We're here! Somebody hug me!" So Kai said, "Okay!" and gave his brother a giant squeeze. It filled our hearts to be surrounded by such joy in our boys! Knowing your children are happy in the deepest part of their soul - well, there's nothing like it.<br /><br />Goodness, it felt good to be home again!</div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjl0oHdwBzXV6kKtNpltPylQTdWtoAkZS_KVqzF_0dLKSN0AkEM1i4kpvU3rA2urYlzEAGe2F9kWAXhEK59homDz3xssTYkdBnAAyUB5vq8GgkwWeEwn5zi5A17sVYx6VhoC6SBaRxtSViKrxixRcNp1ggXi3Lh388EZitwexmeev3-VwjYwA0O6uM=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="958" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjl0oHdwBzXV6kKtNpltPylQTdWtoAkZS_KVqzF_0dLKSN0AkEM1i4kpvU3rA2urYlzEAGe2F9kWAXhEK59homDz3xssTYkdBnAAyUB5vq8GgkwWeEwn5zi5A17sVYx6VhoC6SBaRxtSViKrxixRcNp1ggXi3Lh388EZitwexmeev3-VwjYwA0O6uM=s320" width="240" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The boys jumped out of the car straightaway and found their friends. The Webbers were waiting for us and Asa and Jack fell over as they hugged each other intensely. A sense of rightness filled the moment: we are where we belong. The gift of being confident in knowing you're doing exactly what you're meant to be doing in the exact place you're meant to be doing it cannot be discounted or underestimated. We all take turns wondering what we're supposed to be doing and where, so being in a season where all of it makes sense and there's peace to go along with it offers a particular kind of contentedness. We are thankful.</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;">In an instant we jumped right back into life in Chogoria! So many friends came over to say hi and to play with the boys. We were greeting people late into the evening and felt so loved and welcomed.</div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFSv9DS81trvTvzIH1ET2WJoIsYTEUlRrQwVdCsfbTtOikzJ1ekUU7E88rjPTyY5z1X6PA9weCYRUAz3qYEqoCnBRCyGWxc0XOmLWaZnP-4jkqeuRZEg-n9ukpJ4o2p1iWlYcgt6AZcIGe5mkUmG2BMgDN6iytHghyFDLqKupnf8fdT0NHCCBQJ0o=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFSv9DS81trvTvzIH1ET2WJoIsYTEUlRrQwVdCsfbTtOikzJ1ekUU7E88rjPTyY5z1X6PA9weCYRUAz3qYEqoCnBRCyGWxc0XOmLWaZnP-4jkqeuRZEg-n9ukpJ4o2p1iWlYcgt6AZcIGe5mkUmG2BMgDN6iytHghyFDLqKupnf8fdT0NHCCBQJ0o=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We were blessed with a week without any official responsibilities so we could get unpacked and settled back into our house, as well as meet with lots of folks to get up to speed on everything. It was a fairly gentle reentry, for which we are thankful.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">And then real life began. The first week of homeschooling was exactly what I expected - a bit of a struggle to get back into routine and to get the boys to focus well on their work. In their defense, it's hard to focus when the perfectly sunny days are calling you outside where trees are begging to be climbed and chameleons are waiting to be found a pair of black kites are swooping around the yard to find sticks for building a nest in a nearby tree. Adventure awaits! But school needs to be done too, so we're figuring out the balance day by day.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Eli hit the ground running, as you can imagine. But he's happy to be back, especially to be working with the residents again. The residency breathes life into him, and it makes me happy to know how much he enjoys his work.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">And me? I've had several Zoom meetings since donning the hat of Director of Member Health again, and have dived deep into planning our annual retreat (which I'm in charge of), and have led our weekly Bible Study, and am doing all the things on the homefront like managing the brood of boys that seem to end up playing at our house most days and baking bread and making granola from scratch and other domestic things required in this setting. The days are full, but life is good. We are grateful for this season.<br /><br />Because goodness, it's good to be home again!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">**********************</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>[This is a shortened version of a post on our family blog. </i><i>You can visit <a href="https://ekhorn.blogspot.com/2022/02/home-again.html">here</a> for more photos and visit our Instagram </i><i>account if you want to see a few videos of our drive from </i><i>Nairobi to Chogoria.]</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Eli and Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12311174284530197477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6331630386919482630.post-82839645525383692702021-11-08T19:42:00.002-08:002021-11-08T19:42:55.891-08:00Home Ministry Assignment 101<p>It's been rather quiet on this blog for awhile. That hasn't been because I haven't had things to write about or things to communicate, but because we've been on Home Ministry Assignment (HMA) since June and our time has been filled to the brim with other things. Good things, but lots of things!</p><p>Back in January, when we looked toward our HMA halfway through the year, we weren't sure what would be possible in terms of meeting with people and doing our normal HMA routine. By the time we arrived in the States, the world had begun opening up again and we found ourselves able to do HMA with relative normalcy. We've been extremely grateful for that because it's allowed us to travel and speak at churches and simply spend time with people.<br /><br />Even though we've been doing this missionary thing for over 5 years, we've realized there are still many questions about what this time in the States looks like for us. In light of that, here's a brief "Home Ministry Assignment 101" to help explain what we do here.<br /><br /><br /><u>Mission Headquarters<br /></u><br />We travel to our mission headquarters for a time of rest and renewal, as well as a debrief of our last term on the mission field. It's a time when we can reconnect with all the staff at HQ that works on our behalf and also to meet with people in our Member Health department as needed. It's a time when we pray together and worship together and tell stories. A childcare program takes care of our kids and even does age-appropriate activities to help them debrief also. The boys love going to HQ because it's always a ton of fun for them!</p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7QVuY1Hr7iVB2-elHtIkQiUFWYEivdN7tnAk7s3Pfvwm-JPWJIXw4yACsbEYZ_hFe5G7jkju-hZ8yDg60tXuq_B-vuN2PAAiVHexGVQ-Gnc6Lv_clQUuPbtSnkpgWPpA8kHMkbhFfP7Y/s2048/IMG_8016.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7QVuY1Hr7iVB2-elHtIkQiUFWYEivdN7tnAk7s3Pfvwm-JPWJIXw4yACsbEYZ_hFe5G7jkju-hZ8yDg60tXuq_B-vuN2PAAiVHexGVQ-Gnc6Lv_clQUuPbtSnkpgWPpA8kHMkbhFfP7Y/s320/IMG_8016.JPG" width="320" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Additionally, this month we will participate in a training event with our mission headquarters. It will be virtual, but we'll still see people from WGM and discuss topics that pertain to the administrative side of ministry.<br /><br /><br /><u>Fundraising</u></div><div style="text-align: left;"><u><br /></u></div><div style="text-align: left;">We also fundraise every time we're in the States. Fundraising is necessary for various reasons, such as attrition of previous support, increased ministry expenses due to inflation over time, and new ministry projects that need funding. Often we'll make our needed expenses known when we speak at churches.<br /><br /><br /><u>Speaking at Churches</u></div><div style="text-align: left;"><u><br /></u></div><div style="text-align: left;">We always visit our supporting churches and speak about the ministry in Kenya. That happens while standing around a display table we put in the lobby, as well as when we have the privilege of speaking from the pulpit. We've also engaged with people through other creative means, such as organizing a book club discussion, speaking at an evening fireside chat, having a drop-by open house, and speaking at a mid-week luncheon. Basically, we travel around and talk about Kenya a lot!<br /><br /><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqeNvd2T5NQy9h6W445JGxZncspWgrXhuMqStNvalAXX35sk3yRhe1YXjTNdKUKwUiz-CgjwDSvtKmvVXBNzpDNPimXVOgSxixWqB6GrXbJNd60aiAR51V-CA8QMCu5LOjkEPxSs6behU/s2048/IMG_9320.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqeNvd2T5NQy9h6W445JGxZncspWgrXhuMqStNvalAXX35sk3yRhe1YXjTNdKUKwUiz-CgjwDSvtKmvVXBNzpDNPimXVOgSxixWqB6GrXbJNd60aiAR51V-CA8QMCu5LOjkEPxSs6behU/s320/IMG_9320.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM-TIoob2z9zFrRYhjexEXwr9m-RE47MC8oKeWn_PUAHXeMEBByHaHO3sBuxKs4YbvxmKoSsRCdVM3TELOuK4xAvx7gsmDYYpvMccP1oTL3vk8gBMkC0hQjF6eKjn_xzhKholX_qjjdCI/s636/speaking+at+Journey+8-1-21+%25282%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="416" data-original-width="636" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM-TIoob2z9zFrRYhjexEXwr9m-RE47MC8oKeWn_PUAHXeMEBByHaHO3sBuxKs4YbvxmKoSsRCdVM3TELOuK4xAvx7gsmDYYpvMccP1oTL3vk8gBMkC0hQjF6eKjn_xzhKholX_qjjdCI/s320/speaking+at+Journey+8-1-21+%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYkGF6-Hav_0Gb53ZPK7F5mmhhiBnjcf2u1oMal4OEuxNDOO7ajJ5UTXdB7ZcGTI8xyaAl-v72rPz-ekIj8AZRd75FUxyKdz95RQvzRkAO8KwoOHrmFEFGZRX3es7A-53xMoktSIDPziM/s831/speaking+at+Journey+9-12-21+%25285%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="544" data-original-width="831" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYkGF6-Hav_0Gb53ZPK7F5mmhhiBnjcf2u1oMal4OEuxNDOO7ajJ5UTXdB7ZcGTI8xyaAl-v72rPz-ekIj8AZRd75FUxyKdz95RQvzRkAO8KwoOHrmFEFGZRX3es7A-53xMoktSIDPziM/s320/speaking+at+Journey+9-12-21+%25285%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXEB8A5l3IkQrpwBYJlpkoJzUkmntMyuw3ERfkwwdJX9zVRMBQYjIKnRsGMuIPLZ1zYLwI0IJLQO_mVlr5L7RBE0MXEJ1cEkWAPLqHPk-jS7Xado9kjnANSCsDtzQ1C44bqpwryXSfNJI/s2048/IMG_9226.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXEB8A5l3IkQrpwBYJlpkoJzUkmntMyuw3ERfkwwdJX9zVRMBQYjIKnRsGMuIPLZ1zYLwI0IJLQO_mVlr5L7RBE0MXEJ1cEkWAPLqHPk-jS7Xado9kjnANSCsDtzQ1C44bqpwryXSfNJI/s320/IMG_9226.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Wlm-cwQ9lrL6r0IUcSQ659Xt8gfiAXy4DFPQXgueIkEhmbKQKC3zHXF6vYqbQnKimojXQWHs53IHIylkzB7ny7IM33LgVVWhipxLPrZUkuXn0TcgDtmFV_sbJFzeXS7g70jtMogqSfI/s1022/speaking+at+Central+10-3-21+%25284%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="549" data-original-width="1022" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Wlm-cwQ9lrL6r0IUcSQ659Xt8gfiAXy4DFPQXgueIkEhmbKQKC3zHXF6vYqbQnKimojXQWHs53IHIylkzB7ny7IM33LgVVWhipxLPrZUkuXn0TcgDtmFV_sbJFzeXS7g70jtMogqSfI/s320/speaking+at+Central+10-3-21+%25284%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><u>Connecting with Supporters</u><br /><br />We spend a significant amount of time connecting with individual supporters in person. It requires a lot of scheduling and communication beforehand, but then we get to hang out with people and talk more about Kenya! We often share meals with people as we do this, and sometimes that means going from a breakfast meeting to a lunch meeting to a supper meeting all in one day, but that's one of the reasons we're in America: to connect with people who care about what God is doing in Kenya.<br /><br /><br /><u>Working at the Hospital</u></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><u><br /></u></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Eli picks up shifts at an ER every time we're in the States. He does this to maintain connections and work relationships here, as well as to simply keep doing medical work while we're gone from Kenya. It also helps our personal finances so we can afford to do extra things as a family while we travel across the country.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><u>Attending Conferences</u></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><u><br /></u></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We have the privilege of attending some conferences when we're here. The most important one is the Global Missions Health Conference that takes place in Louisville every November, which offers helpful and pertinent sessions, as well as the chance to connect and network with others in the medical missions world.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><u>Time with Family</u></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><u><br /></u></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This should be obvious, but perhaps the most important part of our HMA is spending time with our families. Living half a world away from them is not easy, so getting time with them is crucial and refreshing.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMtmJukspj1NybBk7mdrHxeNHKayYti2N-aBApseCvucC-i98WEo1rTEghjB_RIK-gELDYK2X2NEA-aTDBlnoQf0jMf9aeMDMeBcqIPs39qH8zEErZiWbRc3BZij6xf7AU0TSWEFTzO4E/s2048/IMG_7618+-+Copy.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMtmJukspj1NybBk7mdrHxeNHKayYti2N-aBApseCvucC-i98WEo1rTEghjB_RIK-gELDYK2X2NEA-aTDBlnoQf0jMf9aeMDMeBcqIPs39qH8zEErZiWbRc3BZij6xf7AU0TSWEFTzO4E/s320/IMG_7618+-+Copy.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrozsyN10d5hjcR_xiTaAhJHiF5KqQuBpbfuJscm-pr2JDNntfpcmHQXYvINiZ35hy55ZgMhz7kcmRZKc4lWAVvHvRxb8Uz0196-ZgnBqS5ZaFdQCi6a9u7Ndx3c0Ed7niZZJSgWChLPw/s2048/IMG_9020.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrozsyN10d5hjcR_xiTaAhJHiF5KqQuBpbfuJscm-pr2JDNntfpcmHQXYvINiZ35hy55ZgMhz7kcmRZKc4lWAVvHvRxb8Uz0196-ZgnBqS5ZaFdQCi6a9u7Ndx3c0Ed7niZZJSgWChLPw/s320/IMG_9020.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /><u>Life Chores</u></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This isn't a fun part of HMA, but a necessary part. There are always things to do - what we've termed "life chores" - that we can only do when we're in America. Things like sorting through our long-term storage, scanning and printing documents, calling banks and insurance companies, updating our technology, finding size 14 wide shoes for Eli to take back to Kenya, etc. We're always surprised at how time-consuming these chores are, but they must be done.<br /><br /><br /><u>Planning for Homeschooling</u></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I do my best to take advantage of the access to education resources here in America. I try to plan 2 years of homeschooling in advance so I know what to bring over ahead of time and what to ask visitors to bring over when they come. I stock up on supplies that I can't get in Kenya, like Scotch tape, glue sticks, folders, etc. I spend days (literally) looking through homeschool catalogs and scouring the internet to compare curriculums to decide what to use with our boys.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><u>Rest and Rejuvenation</u></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><u><br /></u></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's actually hard to find time to rest and rejuvenate on HMA because we're so busy traveling or recovering from traveling. But I must emphasize how important this is for us, especially for Eli who's at the hospital nearly every day in Kenya. Living cross-culturally can be tiring, and living/working at a mission hospital is particularly tiring because of all the effort required to work without resources, to be constantly understaffed with patients constantly coming through the hospital doors, and to be surrounded by so much death. Having an extended time to be away from the hospital is extremely important for Eli's mental health. When we return to Kenya after HMA, Eli's strength has returned and he is ready to dive back in to work at the hospital.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As for me, this time in the States is extremely important for getting help with the kids. We have easy access to grandparents and friends and babysitters who help watch our boys and pour into them. It's one of the biggest ways that I can take a breath while we're here.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">**********************</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /><br />So that's what we do on HMA! It's a busy time. An important time. An encouraging time. It's something we're grateful for because it enables us to keep doing what we're doing in Kenya.<br /><br /><br /></div><p></p>Eli and Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12311174284530197477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6331630386919482630.post-48296971740074227552021-06-03T07:09:00.000-07:002021-06-03T07:09:52.595-07:00Reflections on Ministry<div>As we are on the cusp of another major transition, I am finding myself in a mode of reflection. Our second term on the field has blessed us with some of the highest highs of our life, and has also cost us some of our lowest lows. It's an enormous task to process the past 2+ years, where we've lived in a place that has felt more like home than anywhere else in years, and where we've experienced so much loss that when I made a list of griefs and losses I almost forgot to include Covid-19.</div><div><br /></div><div>Interestingly, what I've found myself thinking about so much lately is the medical ministry. Perhaps that sounds odd - aren't we always thinking about the medical ministry and aren't we medical missionaries after all? Yes. Well, at least half of us are. Eli is a medical doctor working in medical ministry every day and it does consume much of his thoughts. I, on the other hand, have little to do with the medical side of our ministry and think of it rather infrequently. Despite that, I am fully committed to the medical ministry in the sense that I am fully committed to supporting Eli and I deeply care about what happens at our hospital and with our residents and I desire to see God's kingdom built up because of it all. But my daily life has nothing to do with medical anything (which is probably best for all involved).</div><div><br /></div><div>Yet what my husband does every day is the whole reason we live and serve in Kenya. What my husband does every day impacts our family and requires commitment from all of us. What my husband does every day is <i>ministry</i> and that is what keeps us doing what we're doing.</div><div><br /></div><div>We are not humanitarian aid workers. We are not adventure-seekers. We are not tourists. We are not transplants who find enjoyment in living someplace different for its own sake.</div><div><br /></div><div>We are missionaries. We have a specific purpose. We have a mission. We desire and hope and pray to have lasting impact by what we do.</div><div><br /></div><div>If we didn't desire to have an impact - a Kingdom impact - then we wouldn't live and serve in Kenya. </div><div><br /></div><div>There are many expats who live in this country who don't have a mission to be impactful by living here. They are doing all manner of other occupations and living normal lives. Sometimes I envy them. Living a normal life in this country would be wonderful. There's so much beauty here in Kenya, so many adventures to experience, so much good food to enjoy, so many cultures to appreciate, so much good fun to be had.</div><div><br /></div><div>But that's not what we signed up for. We signed up to be on mission, to have an impact by what we do and maybe even see that impact come to fruition.</div><div><br /></div><div>And that is why this life of ministry can be so hard. If we didn't concern ourselves with patient outcomes at the hospital, if it was neither here nor there what the spiritual ministry of the hospital was, if discipleship wasn't a main motivation behind all that we do, then our life would be much easier.</div><div><br /></div><div>But we do care very much about all these things and we pour ourselves into them.</div><div><br /></div><div>We moved to Kenya to be in medical ministry. No one goes into ministry because it promises success or happiness (although it can and does offer such). People go into ministry because they are called and because they believe in the impact of the Gospel.</div><div><br /></div><div>We are such people.</div><div><br /></div><div>And it's because of a life of ministry that we've experienced some of the highest highs and lowest lows of our life. Some of our highs would have never been enjoyed if it had not been for ministry. Some of our lows would have never been suffered if it had not been for ministry.</div><div><br /></div><div>We have been shaped by our experiences these past 2+ years. We've learned more about ourselves, we've been strengthened and humbled, we've endured and pressed on. We've been lost and confused, found and encouraged. I actually thought when we started this term that it would be easier than the last, which goes to show how naive I still was. I'm not sure seasons of life ever get easier - they are all hard in different ways, just as they all have blessings to be enjoyed in different ways. This term was hard, harder than we expected, and it was also good. We're grateful for it, and we're hopeful the lessons we learned will help us with the lessons we have yet to learn.</div><div><br /></div><div>Because, Lord willing, there is much more ministry ahead of us.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7zh3RrZQEui9BWsP48o6afY6-KDOX-T1XxtkuHUAei9IG8vcgX2u9IWjpM7pIQGOeNDVfsUVwTubLPBpc3gQ1lnJSg05TgLFPPcT_-5VB-DVEZtQnpiLylFl5OIQF1-TjfXCDrHEy09E/s2048/IMG_7379.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7zh3RrZQEui9BWsP48o6afY6-KDOX-T1XxtkuHUAei9IG8vcgX2u9IWjpM7pIQGOeNDVfsUVwTubLPBpc3gQ1lnJSg05TgLFPPcT_-5VB-DVEZtQnpiLylFl5OIQF1-TjfXCDrHEy09E/s320/IMG_7379.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Eli and Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12311174284530197477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6331630386919482630.post-62080814254332658832021-03-15T11:33:00.001-07:002021-03-16T06:24:41.587-07:00When Callings CollideI recently read a novel that was hard to finish, not because the storyline wasn't interesting or because the pacing was off, but because the main characters were entirely too one-dimensional. Each of the main characters had a specific calling in life that guided all their thoughts and actions. They were passionate about their callings, but singular in them. What I mean is, there was nothing else to motivate them or drive them, nothing else to talk about even. The characters were rather myopic in their outlook on life. Their entire worldview was funneled through the one lens of their one calling.<div><br /></div><div>It was boring to read about them. It was frustrating because it didn't feel realistic or relatable at all. I almost gave up on the book because the characters bothered me so much.</div><div><br /></div><div>In reality, most people have more than one calling at the same time.</div><div><br /></div><div>In reality, most people have doubted those callings at one time or another.</div><div><br /></div><div>In reality, not every day is full of joy because you're living out your calling.</div><div><br /></div><div>In reality, discovering and living out your calling in life is often a sticky, jumbled mess full of high highs and low lows. It is, quite simply, complicated.</div><div><br /></div><div>The messiness is multifaceted. Some callings are lifelong, some are seasonal. Some are thrust upon us, some are chosen by us. Some are obvious, some are difficult to discern. Some are ours alone, some need to be shared and navigated alongside others. Some are vocations, some avocations.</div><div><br /></div><div>And many of them exist in tandem. I don't set aside my calling as a mother in order to pick up my calling as a missionary. They coexist today, and will coexist again tomorrow. The same goes for everything I'm called to. I'm called to marriage, to motherhood, to missions, to writing. Every day of my life I am a wife, a mother, a missionary, and a writer, and it's the regular collision of these callings that is so difficult to balance.</div><div><br /></div><div>Things can get very messy when callings collide.</div><div><br /></div><div>But that's true for most of us. I am certainly not the only mother out there struggling to find time and energy to pour into my marriage at the end of a long day on the home front. I'm not the only missionary in the world needing to process my cross-cultural life through writing and finding next to no time to do it. I'm not the only spouse on the mission field scrambling to justify the label "missionary" when she spends all day at home teaching the kids while her husband spends all day helping and serving the poor.</div><div><br /></div><div>When callings collide, it can be rather difficult to keep track of all those callings, let alone live them out all at once.</div><div><br /></div><div>Which is why it's so complicated, and also why we need God's grace every day to live out the callings He's given us.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's nearly impossible - if not actually impossible - to succeed let alone excel in multiple callings at once. Most days I completely fail at one or another, and sometimes I fail miserably. A couple weeks ago my son told me how upset he was because I'd broken a promise to him and, compiled with a bunch of other negative emotions he was experiencing at the time, he said to my face, "I'm just done." Meaning, he was done with me. I won't attempt to explain the depth of my grief at being told by my son that I was a failure of a mother, but I use it as a recent example of how hard it is to fulfill even one of our callings let alone anything more.</div><div><br /></div><div>Today marks the day that I had set a particular writing goal for myself on a certain project. I set the goal months ago, thinking I could actually achieve it in time. Well, today is here and I'm nowhere near that goal. I have completely failed and I'm forced to wonder how this failure figures in to my long-term writing goals.</div><div><br /></div><div>What does it mean to be a wife <i>and</i> a mother <i>and</i> a missionary <i>and</i> a writer? What does that look like day in and day out?</div><div><br /></div><div>I honestly don't know. Because even when I focus solely on one calling at a time, I don't do it well every day, or even most days. I get annoyed with my husband, I yell at my kids, I shut myself in the house to avoid any cross-cultural encounters, I ignore my writing project because eating chocolate and watching Netflix is just plain easier. I fail, and fail, and fail, and fail again.</div><div><br /></div><div>BUT. But God's grace remains just as constant as our failures do, and His grace speaks truth into the lie that we probably weren't actually called to this and God must've made a mistake (which is a lie I've been battling a lot recently).</div><div><br /></div><div>God's grace declares, "You were made for this even though you aren't perfect at it."</div><div><br /></div><div>His grace speaks, "Acknowledge your failure but also acknowledge My presence and My strength to hold you up."</div><div><br /></div><div>His grace breathes, "I created you and I chose you for this. I <i>still</i> choose you for this. <i>I did not make a mistake</i>."</div><div><br /></div><div>When callings collide, so does God's grace and love and mercy. He is gentle with us when we fail. He is comforting when we grieve. He is kind in His encouragement, tender in His care, patient in His guidance. And perhaps more than anything, He is bold in His continued claim of us. God never called me to be a perfect wife, a perfect mother, a perfect missionary, or a perfect writer. He called me to be these things and to make of them whatever I could, with His help. When He called me to them, He knew I would fail at every one of them. And He still claims me as His own. And He still invites me to fulfill these callings.</div><div><br /></div><div>I think God is pleased that I accept the callings He's given me, and that I wrestle through the difficulty of when those callings collide rather than throw them away because it seems too hard or downright impossible to figure it out any other way.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I keep taking them up, these callings of mine, and wrestle with balancing them most days. And I pray that God will always send this reminder when I need it most: when callings collide, so does God's grace and love and mercy.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Eli and Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12311174284530197477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6331630386919482630.post-90956772926547011822021-02-05T06:44:00.000-08:002021-02-05T06:44:12.615-08:00In the Grief of Goodbyes, I Lift Up My EyesIn the last seven months of 2020, we said no less than seven goodbyes.<br /><br />That's a lot of people leaving in a relatively small amount of time.<br /><br />That's a lot of tears.<br /><br />And grief.<br /><br />And loss.<br /><br />I've said it before and I'll say it again: nothing could have prepared us for the never-ending parade of goodbyes in this missions life, and it is one of the hardest aspects of this calling. We've been on both sides of the coin. We've been the people who've left - from family and friends in our home country, as well as from friends and colleagues at our first ministry site. We've also been the people left behind - left to hold down the fort at our ministry site, left to stay the course when other people's courses have changed. It's not easy on either end of the goodbyes, but it's particularly strenuous when the goodbyes topple on top of each other in short order.<br /><br />Last weekend we said another goodbye, the first of this year. One of our graduating residents officially moved away, taking his beautiful wife and precious baby boy with him. They moved on to their next season of life, to a place where God has led them and provided for them, to a place where they will sow seeds of love and kindness and compassion that will bear fruit for God's Kingdom.<br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTortSnu7vpxQ-2R6Je2do45DyvByi-iF9mN6chdRvUGkkVm1dHjm4iHU7DYr4F-xN1qBm9UR8pJQbFu8Dv11g5xXzWaKsSWhBObBNXRqEwNohMhNq5d2Xbta17F-0dWRgPhYiRPTQa94/s2048/IMG_5562.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTortSnu7vpxQ-2R6Je2do45DyvByi-iF9mN6chdRvUGkkVm1dHjm4iHU7DYr4F-xN1qBm9UR8pJQbFu8Dv11g5xXzWaKsSWhBObBNXRqEwNohMhNq5d2Xbta17F-0dWRgPhYiRPTQa94/s320/IMG_5562.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>When they drove away, I turned around and cried. Because we love them and didn't want to say goodbye.<div><br /></div><div>But goodbyes are guaranteed here. We live in a transient place. It's not just the missionaries who come and go; it's everyone. My Kenyan friend once noted how hard it is to live and work at a mission hospital because there are so many goodbyes. Interns come for a year, then leave. Residents come for four years, then leave. Doctors come for various amounts of time, but many of them leave because they are far from home and home has a way of calling people back.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm sure that, someday, home will call us back too.</div><div><br /></div><div>But that day is not today and we have found ourselves in the position of staying put and saying goodbye over and over again.</div><div><br /></div><div>I daresay it is a cross to bear.<br /><br />I've come to think that saying goodbye is a product of this broken world. When Adam and Eve sinned in the garden, part of their punishment was <i>to leave</i>. They were forced to say goodbye to all that was familiar, to leave the place where everything they knew was together in one place. Granted, they were the only people on the planet, but they were at home in the garden and with the creation around them and it was good.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>They were together in one place and it was good.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>And one day, when the Lord restores all things and sets the world right, we will be together in one place and it will be good. I've heard it said that all these goodbyes make us long for heaven even more, and I agree. Heaven will be Home. One home for all of God's people. No more moving from here to there, no more saying goodbye and feeling a part of yourself break as the car drives away with a piece of your heart in it. Heaven will be a place where we can find each other easily, where no one is beyond reach because of distance or time zones, where no one has moved on to a new season of life. We will all be in the same season - a forever season of being together with Jesus and with each other.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, how I long for that!</div><div><br /></div><div>In the meantime, I've been reading and meditating on Psalm 121. I've especially loved this psalm since moving to Chogoria, where we can see the peak of Mt. Kenya from our front porch on a clear day. I've been reading it as I grieve so much loss in this season, loss which makes me hang my head and weep.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">I lift up my eyes to the hills --</div></div><div style="text-align: center;">where does my help come from?</div><div style="text-align: center;">My help comes from the Lord,</div><div style="text-align: center;">the Maker of heaven and earth.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have sat on our porch in the morning and chosen to raise my head even as I weep. I lift up my eyes to the hills - the foothills and the mountain peak of Mt. Kenya - and ask myself, "Where does my help come from?" And I answer as the psalmist does: my help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmtUDG0XGdNEq0UxojLmRDhTquNg2iEx-FSVJOuTp-yE-BJbDFPMQbys3RZDWkYWAMdd3ewqfZnBy1ZK8xoWdX_8NZdJZ6E3YYOp3GcyQj4t9n11FZwVnExyZXVuSYLJy03GVd-qsFztU/s2048/IMG_5918.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmtUDG0XGdNEq0UxojLmRDhTquNg2iEx-FSVJOuTp-yE-BJbDFPMQbys3RZDWkYWAMdd3ewqfZnBy1ZK8xoWdX_8NZdJZ6E3YYOp3GcyQj4t9n11FZwVnExyZXVuSYLJy03GVd-qsFztU/s320/IMG_5918.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Recently I've latched onto the final verse of Psalm 121, which has somehow escaped my notice before but has become a lifeline:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The Lord will watch over your coming and going</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">both now and forevermore.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">What a promise for us all. He watches over our comings and goings, and He watches over the comings and goings of those around us when it's our turn to stay. None of our movements are unseen by Him and none of our goodbyes are unnoticed by His ever-watchful eyes. We come, we go. Others come, others go. The Lord watches over it all. I am helped and comforted by that.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So I will keep lifting up my eyes to the source of help, to the Maker of heaven and earth, to the One who created us to be together in one place and who declared it to be good as such, and who will make it so again.</div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Eli and Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12311174284530197477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6331630386919482630.post-61950417648366435912020-11-20T10:49:00.000-08:002020-11-20T10:49:57.143-08:00A Reminder of Why<p>Our 7-year old son surprised me the other day with this question: "Mama, did you know you would live after having babies?"<br /><br />I think his question was two-fold. First, did I ever wonder if I would die in childbirth like so many women throughout history have (and so many who still do today)? And secondly, was I afraid to have babies because of the prospect of death?<br /><br />My answer to his question was simple: Yes, I knew I would live after having babies. I was never concerned that I might die.<br /><br />Why is that? Because I had babies in America. I had three beautiful baby boys in America.<br /><br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFtDEES6eMr76i67M-bMwPN7kWPuojHHUSonMUndvIvQuH3fCK-bpQvKyCXqqxgVoXlXGABmexLSCeZriwoSqKQLV4P3mlVJO2r1WUR04Q6cd7b-3l4nZNAOYoZSJU10Af5KHamoI368c/s2048/DSC03020+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFtDEES6eMr76i67M-bMwPN7kWPuojHHUSonMUndvIvQuH3fCK-bpQvKyCXqqxgVoXlXGABmexLSCeZriwoSqKQLV4P3mlVJO2r1WUR04Q6cd7b-3l4nZNAOYoZSJU10Af5KHamoI368c/s320/DSC03020+-+Copy.JPG" /></a> <br />Caleb</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFcBsWjM0TijV_tHPwNXcjaQT_o7zstYMA3UdGCbDkEt1_V35KxcWMO-9empehmjBEf34UDhb2nB0rUu11UOBwQWeJ6RSNucPKLCk6nUmiLZPU24hzZRtaZhJpFMxdnUmVVi0D30LKKQ8/s2048/IMG_7371.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFcBsWjM0TijV_tHPwNXcjaQT_o7zstYMA3UdGCbDkEt1_V35KxcWMO-9empehmjBEf34UDhb2nB0rUu11UOBwQWeJ6RSNucPKLCk6nUmiLZPU24hzZRtaZhJpFMxdnUmVVi0D30LKKQ8/s320/IMG_7371.jpg" /></a><br />Kai</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZqLijUnelEi5Mt04vYywj64AXekIbBpfdias10Z_a5Xp4IzeOQUF8SaXlDP9b3IHpOiMNjYTx_S0fpzf2EM8A4nt2_pjvCYFTnp-C6YwPWpo5eFdVxz0ovbheQoWe9BLyxHpudtfe800/s2048/IMG_5880.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZqLijUnelEi5Mt04vYywj64AXekIbBpfdias10Z_a5Xp4IzeOQUF8SaXlDP9b3IHpOiMNjYTx_S0fpzf2EM8A4nt2_pjvCYFTnp-C6YwPWpo5eFdVxz0ovbheQoWe9BLyxHpudtfe800/s320/IMG_5880.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />Asa</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I then explained that being in America meant I could be taken care of the whole time I was pregnant and while I was having a baby. I had a good doctor who knew how to take good care of me and the baby in my tummy, and she had everything she needed to take care of me. And if there had been a problem, she would have known what to do and she would have had what she needed to do it.<br /><br />I didn't deny that some women do still die in childbirth in America, but that it's so rare I wasn't worried or scared for myself to have babies.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">My son was satisfied with this answer, but I sensed an opportunity to explain more.<br /><br />The reason so many women can still die in childbirth in other places around the world (like here in Africa) is because they don't have enough doctors to take care of them. And even if they have doctors, they don't necessarily have the resources needed to take care of them. They might not have medicine or surgical tools or knowledge of how to do C-sections or post-partum emergency surgery. Quite frankly, there's a lot required to keep pregnant women healthy and safe throughout a pregnancy let alone labor and delivery.<br /><br />I explained to our son that his daddy is someone who knows how to take care of women having babies. He spent years learning how to be a good doctor, and he even learned how to do C-sections (which was something our son had never heard of, so I explained, which was a bit ironic since our children still don't know how babies are normally born). Having someone like his daddy around is a really good thing for women having babies.<br /><br />But far too many women in this world do not have someone like that around. Far too many women do not have a doctor within reach when they need one. Far too many women still die in childbirth because they simply don't have available healthcare - no doctors, no medicine, no tools, no life-saving resources of any kind.<br /><br />And so I explained to my son: <i>That's why we're here. Because Africa needs more doctors</i>. <i>Your daddy is one more doctor in Africa right now, and he's training more people to be doctors, to be </i>good<i> doctors who love Jesus and want to help heal people like He did</i>.<br /><br />So far we've helped six new Family Medicine doctors get trained, and next month there'll be six more graduates who will be helping people in Africa. I named people that our son knows from our compound here at Chogoria - one who is staying in Kenya, two who will be returning to Burundi, and one who will be returning to Congo - all of whom will be a huge blessing to many people who need the help of a doctor. Imagine how much good they will do, how much healing they will bring! That prospect is why we are here.<br /><br />Our conversation was unexpected, but I am so thankful it happened. It gave our son a bit of insight into how blessed and privileged we are to be from America, where his mama didn't have to wonder if she would live after having babies. And it gave our son a specific understanding of why we live here in Kenya. <br /><br />As of yet, our children have never questioned why we live here. They've been told why, but they've never questioned it. They accept it in the way children often accept things - with a shrug of the shoulders and no further thought about it. But we want them to know why. It's important to know why because moving halfway around the world isn't something done flippantly. And it's important because if our children ever do question our choice to live here, we can point them back to why.<br /><br />In truth, sometimes Eli and I have to point ourselves back to why.<br /><br />The day our son prompted this whole discussion was the day Eli watched eight people die at the hospital in a 24-hour period (and most of them had nothing to do with Covid-19). Days like that can really force the question of why we're here. Why are we here where Eli has to witness such suffering over and over again, and feel the perpetual stress of working in an under-resourced area?<br /><br />Earlier this week I reached the end of my rope and said, "I want to go home" and meant it. Seasons like this with extra burdens on our shoulders and an inability to handle those burdens without the presence of our family and all that's familiar can really make me wonder why we're here. Why do we stay here when we could be close to our families instead?<br /><br />Moments like those make our son's unlooked-for question so appropriate and so helpful. They give us the reminder we need, and the encouragement we need, to keep doing what we're doing on the days that it's hard to live in a foreign place. When we need the occasional reminder of why God has placed us here, we remember that He put Africa on our hearts all those years ago, which He did because there aren't enough doctors in Africa and He wanted us to play a part in changing that. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's that simple.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Our hope and prayer is that someday, if our son ever asks, "Mama, do these women in Africa know they will live after having babies?" we will be able to answer, "Yes. Yes, they know they will live."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><p></p>Eli and Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12311174284530197477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6331630386919482630.post-6954108128740912252020-10-22T13:41:00.000-07:002020-10-22T13:41:04.228-07:00Social Anxiety in a Collectivist Culture<p>Our son Caleb has struggled with social anxiety for a long time. I use the word "struggle," but there've been days (and sometimes still are) when he's wrestled, battled, waged war, succumbed, or been all-out defeated by his social anxiety. It's been a defining part of our parenthood journey as well as a defining part of our cross-cultural life.<br /><br />We started seeing signs of social anxiety when Caleb was just 2 years old, but we didn't understand what was happening at the time. We thought he was a difficult toddler and he'd simply phase out of it. But he didn't phase out of it, and by the time he was 3 the struggle had increased, and it peaked at age 4 with several scenarios in which he was completely debilitated by the social situation he found himself in. I have too many memories of our son falling apart, sobbing out of control, and literally hiding under tables or under beds or in the folds of my skirt in order to escape the social situation that was causing him stress.<br /><br />Most of us feel like hiding from a social situation sometimes, but the picture below shows what our son actually did during the height of his social anxiety. I laugh at it now (because it's so ridiculous), but the reality is that his 4-year-old self didn't know how else to cope with social anxiety any other way. Hiding was his best strategy.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGa-4YTX2jcrUJkRP-vCfVfyinnl5n2lYABYfnMSZ3h5yEkNRJVZL3Gkcz1eGCaFNzgGIvq2u7n8A2oN_aXaYt3SvZzvGkhFgtRMAKRpZcggnU3HhDwSFqW_Xi2Waa4lo9XG5gWmdrjf4/s2048/IMG_0305.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGa-4YTX2jcrUJkRP-vCfVfyinnl5n2lYABYfnMSZ3h5yEkNRJVZL3Gkcz1eGCaFNzgGIvq2u7n8A2oN_aXaYt3SvZzvGkhFgtRMAKRpZcggnU3HhDwSFqW_Xi2Waa4lo9XG5gWmdrjf4/s320/IMG_0305.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The onset of this particular struggle was distressing to us not only because our son was clearly unwell but because this was something he would have to work through and figure out in order to live life. Most people can excuse a young child hiding under the table, but he will not be a child forever and neither will the hiding strategy be excused forever. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Caleb's social anxiety was also distressing because by the time he was 3, we were headed overseas to live in a collectivist culture.<br /><br />Our own American culture is individualistic. We give priority to individuals - to their wants, needs, opinions, etc. It's okay, if not applauded, for someone to stand out from the crowd. It's okay to not participate in something if you don't want to. It's okay to spend time alone and be a quiet introvert.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Conversely, collectivist cultures (like Kenya) give priority to the group. People choose to align themselves with a group because there's strength in the group. People find their identity in the group and will form group opinions and not separate themselves unless there's some drastic reason to. People stand together (even literally) and don't feel the need to have space from each other. The herd mentality is strong. If someone starts an activity (like singing or dancing), others tend to join in. People spend almost all of their time with other people because no one wants to be alone.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">As you can imagine, living in a collectivist culture can feel like a nightmare for someone with social anxiety.<br /><br />I once joked with a Kenyan friend that I'd never met an introverted Kenyan and she surprised me by saying, "Oh, my brother is an introvert." It was the first I'd heard of introversion here and I was a bit relieved to know there <i>were</i> people here who could identify with some of our own introverted ways. But then my friend said, "He liked to be by himself a lot as a child and was very quiet. Everyone thought there was something wrong with him."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And I again found myself confronted with our old nemesis, Parental Distress, because it seemed to remain true that the average Kenyan does not understand people who like to spend time by themselves let alone someone with a distinct aversion to group gatherings. Therefore, it also seemed to remain true that the average Kenyan does not understand our son whose behavior is rather un-average in this cultural context.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Our son Caleb has always needed extra space and time to adjust to social situations, especially in a new place with new people. When Caleb displays signs of this need (such as distancing himself from others), a typical Kenyan interpretation is that he's shy. And if someone in Kenya is shy, the appropriate Kenyan response is to come closer to them and encourage them to participate in the group because, the thought goes, being in the group is the best and safest place to be.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">That thinking, however, is directly opposed to what Caleb thinks and feels. Having strangers get in Caleb's face and tell him to come, come, come, while also putting an arm around him to physically direct him where they think he should go - well, let's just say it has never gone over very well.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">He would cry, shake his head no and physically try to escape from their touch. So they would try harder to bring him into the group, which made him resist harder, and we quickly had a dramatic scene on our hands.<br /><br />Basically, everyone thought there was something wrong with him.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But there is nothing wrong with our son. He has a weakness, to be sure, and needs help in managing his social anxiety and learning coping strategies for stressful social situations, but there is nothing <i>wrong</i> with him.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Interestingly, there were many times when I'd watch in frustration as a Kenyan tried to interact with my son who clearly did not understand or appreciate his need for space and I would think to myself, "What is wrong with you?"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I would allow myself to think there was something wrong with a Kenyan for behaving that way toward my child because, from my cultural lens, needing space is okay. Wanting to be alone is okay. Not wanting to participate in a group activity is okay.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">From a Kenyan cultural lens, however, needing space is strange and perhaps unhealthy. Wanting to be alone marks you as odd. Not wanting to participate in a group activity just means you need more people to gather around you and encourage you to participate and then you and everyone will be okay.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Our son does not fit into a typical Kenyan framework. He is misunderstood by almost every Kenyan who meets him. Our usual explanation is to say that he's shy, because people can at least understand a shy person. But the reality isn't that Caleb is shy - it's that he struggles with social anxiety. There isn't a frame of reference for that here, however.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So our son's struggle has been our struggle too. We've fought for him to have the time and space needed in new situations. We've let him stay outside when visiting someone's home for the first time, and we've excused him from participating in group activities, and we haven't forced him to greet strangers.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But we've also worked and worked and worked to help him grow in this area so it won't be such a struggle. We've brought him to places that were new to him while assuring him that he could stick close to us the whole time. We've made him attend birthday parties even though he didn't play all the games or sing along with the rest of the kids. We've expected him to greet people he already knew. We've stretched him as far as we could without breaking him, and when he grows comfortable with something, we've stretched him again.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And that beautiful boy of ours has grown so incredibly much. I will never forget the time he joined me on an errand and a stranger greeted him and asked his name, and without any hesitation or prompting on my part, Caleb answered the man as if it was an everyday occurrence for him to respond in such a way. My mouth nearly dropped open. I could hardly believe it was <i>our</i> kid who said that.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And I will never forget the day he walked into a house in the village without hesitation or any discomfort.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-Zc2Aii87thshDAeSM4M4LeHiE1WkMJWWbswoNVFnVVvqEQx8pc9hxVRQtps7RPfsFXNCeOKGkgQ2RAHSdgcPz74Kdu9U1-bl8G80yjm_438pI4ICypdRKr6Q1RRozmI8urYhmLWYXY/s2048/IMG_0260.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-Zc2Aii87thshDAeSM4M4LeHiE1WkMJWWbswoNVFnVVvqEQx8pc9hxVRQtps7RPfsFXNCeOKGkgQ2RAHSdgcPz74Kdu9U1-bl8G80yjm_438pI4ICypdRKr6Q1RRozmI8urYhmLWYXY/s320/IMG_0260.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And I will never forget the day he shook the tambourine as we caroled around the wards of the hospital with a big group of people and liked it.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2LMUoBT4MdHBI1PVicVe4Xq4lklKFcLywO3s1sbhYtcK5_pMFzAUPrrHDbUZNuVxfaXaUM3pVQLbcZKTB2_9oYfXXBI24HZIoUljKNA15Tm7sj1m05fFqUc25yHTo-BeXQgZWHdMTa9o/s2048/IMG_1535.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2LMUoBT4MdHBI1PVicVe4Xq4lklKFcLywO3s1sbhYtcK5_pMFzAUPrrHDbUZNuVxfaXaUM3pVQLbcZKTB2_9oYfXXBI24HZIoUljKNA15Tm7sj1m05fFqUc25yHTo-BeXQgZWHdMTa9o/s320/IMG_1535.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And I will never forget the day he participated in a relay race and then wanted to do it again.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/-sWzhBYG8i0" width="320" youtube-src-id="-sWzhBYG8i0"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And I will never forget the day he started clapping along to the songs in Sunday School like all the other kids were doing.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtnLO6EpU_4Ih8KAPNSqbLXbiwk3ol0Xw3dk06vBn9qe-IYM7MQ1UHvVR31VvRq5RFREAedu8cqXbfW3ejiHJU2fKpbF2Tzx9myN0KpYXlvjCnPBuWFbEwUygUFzr3yhN_x9AVCL9kCJw/s2048/IMG_6088.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtnLO6EpU_4Ih8KAPNSqbLXbiwk3ol0Xw3dk06vBn9qe-IYM7MQ1UHvVR31VvRq5RFREAedu8cqXbfW3ejiHJU2fKpbF2Tzx9myN0KpYXlvjCnPBuWFbEwUygUFzr3yhN_x9AVCL9kCJw/s320/IMG_6088.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Our son has come so far. Caleb has grown by leaps and bounds with his social anxiety and we know he will grow continually because God has proven Himself faithful to bless and help our son. In the moments when he's still struggling and it's obvious that Kenyans are confused by him, I find myself wishing I could shout, "But he's come so far! You have no idea!" Which is true. But getting someone to understand why our son is the way he is or trying to explain how far he's come from the days of hiding under tables isn't the end goal. The end goal is recognition of and adoration for what God has done, whether anyone else knows it or not. As Caleb's parents, who have been with him throughout this entire journey of social anxiety, we have been front-row witnesses to his struggles and subsequent victories, to God's grace and God's deliverance.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We've also become more aware of how deeply ingrained our cultural worldviews are and what we consider to be "right" or "wrong" until we stop and think about things from another cultural perspective. What is true of Caleb's social anxiety - "He's come so far!" - I hope is also true of us as his parents. I hope it can be said that we've come so far from when we first landed in this country - in our understanding of the culture surrounding us and in our ability to live our days filled with grace and growth.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">That is the end goal. Not to declare "We've done it!" but rather to say "We've come so far!" and to give glory to God along the way.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div>Eli and Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12311174284530197477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6331630386919482630.post-31247816283734509892020-09-06T14:38:00.000-07:002020-09-06T14:38:16.552-07:00The Stuff of Fiction and What God Thinks of Our Stories<div>
When writing fiction, all the experts say you need a good hook to draw your readers in - an inciting incident to propel the story forward and keep readers turning the pages. That, and you have to make your readers care about your characters. If readers feel invested in your characters, they'll keep reading.</div>
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A fair amount of drama doesn't hurt either. A secret past or hidden identity is often a good move.</div>
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And action if possible.</div>
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And engaging dialogue. Definitely that.</div>
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And good pacing in tandem with a good story arc.</div>
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In other words, it takes a lot to gain a reader's interest in a story and then to subsequently hold that interest till the end of the book.</div>
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This is all well and good in the fiction world. People tend to read fiction for the enjoyment of entering another world and living vicariously through fictional characters. I am one of those people. My particular preference is historical fiction set in 1800s America or the WWII era set anywhere in the world. Add in some romance and my satisfaction is complete. I love learning history through the eyes and ears of fictional characters, and I love exploring the cultures of bygone ages through the narrative descriptions filling the pages of a novel.</div>
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I'm also a rather critical reader. I fully invest in the main characters to the point that I can get frustrated when there's a hole in the narrative that did a disservice to the characters or when the backstory isn't believable or when the character acts out of character in a way that isn't purposeful to the story line. The reason I nitpick over details is because I expect fiction to be neatly packaged even if the characters themselves are a hot mess or the story doesn't lead to an ending I'd prefer.</div>
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But that's the way of fiction. It can be well constructed and delivered because it's completely made up. Characters can grow and change over the course of the story. They can speak only the words worth speaking that will drive the story along. They can appear in scenes that are interesting and critical because any uninteresting or uncritical scene has been deleted from the draft. The story can move along with smooth transitions from one chapter to the next, and loose ends can be tied up.</div>
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That's why I love fiction. It's relatively crisp and neat, no matter what events are actually happening in the story line.</div>
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When I think about what makes an interesting story - about what the fiction experts say is necessary - I'm struck by how much those requirements do not fit reality.</div>
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Even people who have plenty of drama in their life can't say they've always had smooth transitions from one scene to the next. They can't say they're experts at spoken exchanges, always saying whatever is compelling and eloquent at the right time and place. They can't say they didn't have long stretches of nothing new happening and wishing they could skip ahead to the next interesting part of the story.</div>
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If people with plenty of drama in their life can't say that, then people without much drama can't say that either.</div>
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I'm someone without much drama in my life. Anyone hearing my story wouldn't find much to be interested in. Perhaps the most interesting thing about me is that I moved overseas to be a missionary, which has proven interesting to many people, but isn't the stuff of fiction per se. There's very little action in my story and certainly no secret past or hidden identity to kick things off. I live a relatively simply, mundane, uninteresting life.</div>
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My story will never be told in a fiction narrative because the one problem with fiction is that it doesn't recognize a universal truth: all stories are interesting page-turners to God.</div>
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God is the creator of all things. He is the creator of the earth and everything in it. He is the creator of humanity. He is the creator of stories. He is the creator of <i>our</i> stories and He is very much interested in them.</div>
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One thing my attempts at writing fiction has taught me is this: creators of characters and their stories care deeply about those characters and their stories, even if no one else does, even if no one else understands why that scene pricks your own heart or why that part of a personality resonates with you or why that choice kept you thinking long past your bedtime. Creators of characters care deeply about their characters.</div>
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And God, as the creator of us and our stories, cares deeply about us and our stories. He was hooked the moment He created us and He's invested in how the story goes and where it goes. Every page is meaningful to Him and there isn't a single human story that He'll give up on because it just wasn't engaging enough to Him. His interest and His love for our stories have no bounds.</div>
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He is the Author and the Reader. He simultaneously writes our stories and reads them. I imagine Him writing with one hand and turning a page with the other, devouring what's there because He's so moved and captivated by our stories.<br />
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Psalm 139 paints a poignant picture of how much God invests Himself in us. Our lives are at the center of His thoughts, at the heart of His consideration:</div>
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O Lord, you have searched me and you know me (and are interested in me despite my boring life).</div>
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You know when I sit and when I rise (even though most of my sittings and risings are not worth mentioning).</div>
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You perceive my thoughts from afar (and understand them even when they're jumbled and unintelligible and not worth putting into words much less putting on paper).</div>
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You discern my going out and my lying down (because You care about every coming and going and watch over me even as I sleep).</div>
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You are familiar with all my ways (even the monotonous ways).</div>
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Before a word is on my tongue, you know it completely, O Lord (and love me the same whether the words coming off my tongue make You proud or make You cringe).</div>
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You hem me in - behind and before (even though sometimes I should probably be hemmed out).</div>
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You have laid your hand upon me (and keep it there no matter what).</div>
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Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain!</div>
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Psalm 139 was written by someone with more drama than even the greatest fiction writers could possibly concoct. King David's life seems like the stuff of fiction on steroids, so it's ironic that his words speak so strongly to someone as uninteresting as me. Yet I take heart in these truths written by someone whose life was a riveting page-turner. </div>
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God knows me and is familiar with all my ways and His hand is laid upon me.</div>
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God is interested in my story. He's invested, <i>deeply</i> invested, and such knowledge is too wonderful for me.</div>
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Especially because it means I can connect with my Creator without wondering if He'll want to connect with me too. If anything, He is the one reminding me that He loves my story and that it matters.</div>
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Henri Nouwen once wrote to a student, “[Y]our story is the story with which you can come to know God’s story better, and it is his story that makes your story worth living.”<br />
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Our stories are not the end-all. None of us have the greatest story ever written, but all of us have a story that intersects with it. Our stories are possible because God, the Creator, wrote a grand story that includes all of us and which gives our stories purpose and meaning.<br />
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Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain!<br />
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Eli and Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12311174284530197477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6331630386919482630.post-27447211039667190852020-08-12T12:40:00.000-07:002020-08-12T12:40:17.044-07:00Song for this SeasonThis summer has not been what I expected. I thought Summer Break meant Mama Break, and maybe in another time and place that would be true. But it has not been true in this time and place. I had expectations of sending the boys outside all morning while I catch up on projects and read to my heart's content. I had hopes of writing a lot. I had dreamed of waking up early for the sole purpose of reading Scripture and actually starting my days with prayer.<br />
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Apparently those were high expectations.<br />
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Instead, Summer Break has meant Mama Gets No Breaks because in this time and place there are hearts that needs tending, relationships that need mending, and hopes kept from rending. It's been a season not of keeping all the plates spinning, but of holding the one plate we've got tightly and securely. It's been a season of hanging onto each other in the midst of relatively mundane days, learning to meet each other's needs in new ways since most of our anchors have up and gone.<br />
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A few years ago I wrote a song which has crept into my mind lately. At the time we were finishing our first year on the mission field, and there were a thousand thoughts and emotions surging through me. I still have a thousand thoughts and emotions, and although our circumstances now are vastly different than they were then, my heart easily identifies with the words and sentiments of this song. So I've been singing it again, just to myself, just to pour something tangible out.<br />
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It's been a song for this season.<br />
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I love this picture below: our sons running home from the hospital with boundless energy, and the jacaranda tree in full bloom in the dry season.<br />
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For anyone else whose anchors have up and gone and who needs the encouragement of trees blooming in the dry season, here's a piece of my heart from me to you.<br />
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<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/gTXh5EFVfl4" width="560"></iframe></div>
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Narrow Way<br />
© 2017 Krista Horn<br />
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Some say to take the road less traveled,<br />
the path that’s not well-worn.<br />
As I’ve journeyed down that road,<br />
my heart’s grown as it’s been torn.<br />
Torn for hopes not realized,<br />
and yet grown through anguished cries.<br />
As I’ve walked this narrow way,<br />
He’s sustained me day by day.<br />
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Some say the harvest still is plenty,<br />
and the workers still are few.<br />
As I’ve seen this truth before me,<br />
I’ve felt a harvest in me too.<br />
Room to grow in love and peace,<br />
pride and judgements – oh, to cease!<br />
As I’ve walked this narrow way,<br />
He’s refined me day by day.<br />
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Some say how great is the reward<br />
for all those who pay the cost.<br />
But some days the price is steep,<br />
and His promises seem lost.<br />
Is it true that there’s still worth<br />
serving the ends of the earth?<br />
As I’ve walked this narrow way,<br />
He’s grieved with me day by day.<br />
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Some say that going against the current<br />
requires being both strong and brave.<br />
Yet as I’ve swam through this deep ocean<br />
I’ve been floundering in the waves.<br />
Floundering but sustained along<br />
by a God who shames the strong.<br />
As I’ve walked this narrow way,<br />
He’s upheld me day by day.<br />
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Some say success is simply measured<br />
by results that can be seen.<br />
But what gauge can know the merit<br />
of obedience to the King?<br />
For a faithful heart is more<br />
than the triumphs we long for.<br />
As I’ve walked this narrow way,<br />
He’s smiled on me day by day.<br />
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Some say to take the road less traveled,<br />
the path that’s not well-worn.<br />
As I fix my eyes on Jesus,<br />
I still walk though I am torn.<br />
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<br />Eli and Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12311174284530197477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6331630386919482630.post-19837673816449212332020-05-14T11:27:00.000-07:002020-05-14T11:27:24.954-07:0060%One of our greatest pre-field training components took place over the course of a month in Colorado. At the time, Eli had just finished a job in an ER, we just had a baby, and we had just moved from Minnesota to Michigan as part of our eventual transition to Africa. In other words, our life was in utter chaos as we arrived at training. I personally was an exhausted, bleary-eyed mess, nursing an infant round-the-clock on top of managing a toddler and preschooler. The information we acquired during that month was only minimally heard and understood by my malfunctioning brain at the time.<br />
<br />
There were, however, some nuggets I <i>did</i> hear and understand and have carried around with me ever since. One of those nuggets was a statistic from someone somewhere. (You'll have to excuse the fact that my postpartum, transition-ladened brain wasn't able to process or remember the someone somewhere this statistic came from.)<br />
<br />
We were told this: that a person living cross-culturally is, on average, only capable of functioning at 60% of their normal, living-in-my-own-culture capacity.<br />
<br />
<b>60%</b><br />
<br />
I was shocked to hear this. That's a ridiculously small capacity to be functioning at. That's also a huge frustration to deal with daily, especially for folks like ourselves who come from a work-driven culture. We know how to work hard, how to make the most of our day, and how to push through till the job is done.<br />
<br />
Except when we literally can't because the normal energy we conjure to do said things simply doesn't exist.<br />
<br />
I had a hard time wrapping my mind around this concept. I wasn't sure if I believed the statistic. I certainly didn't want to believe it. Especially because it meant sacrificing so much to live overseas and only being able to accomplish 60% of what we set out to do on any given day.<br />
<br />
That's discouraging. That's defeating. That's frustrating.<br />
<br />
So I did what a lot of pre-field missionaries do. I told myself that it probably didn't apply to me. Surely that statistic is not true for everyone. It can't be! It's only a statistic and statistics, by nature, don't apply to everyone.<br />
<br />
Well, that is true. Statistics don't apply to everyone, and I have some missionary colleagues who this doesn't seem to apply to.<br />
<br />
But it didn't take long of living overseas for the inclination of "that doesn't apply to me" to come crashing to the floor.<br />
<br />
That was discouraging. That was defeating. That was frustrating.<br />
<br />
That was also humbling (as were so many things in those first weeks and months of life on the mission field).<br />
<br />
It wasn't that I had notions of grandeur, thinking I'd be some kind of superhero missionary. I really didn't. I knew I'd make a million mistakes on the way to glory, as many missionaries have quipped before. And I was totally okay with that. It's just that I really thought I was a highly capable person, certainly more capable than functioning at a mere 60% capacity.<br />
<br />
But it turns out I'm not. I am a rather average missionary whose brain feels muddled most days and who tires out way earlier than I ever imagined possible before living overseas.<br />
<br />
And here's why:<br />
<br />
Whenever I go into town in Kenya, my mind is racing with energy-sapping thoughts. <i>Should I greet that person? Should I not? How will they perceive me if I greet them? If I don't? Do I speak in Swahili at the market? What's that one Swahili word again? Will I confuse them with my blundering language attempt? How will I answer if they speak Swahili back but it was too fast for me to understand? Why is that man calling out to me? Is there a rational reason and I should acknowledge him, or is he just another creep who finds a mzungu woman novel and attractive? How are my actions (or lack thereof) affecting the general perception of missionaries in this community? </i>All of these thoughts swirl through my head before I even reach the market.<br />
<br />
Conversely, whenever I go into town in America, I never think about how to interact with those around me. I inherently know what is and isn't appropriate behavior without even thinking about it. I also don't have to wrestle with language hurdles while inquiring about tomatoes.<br />
<br />
Here's another example:<br />
<br />
Whenever someone requests financial assistance from us, we have a lengthy discussion about what to do. Even after we make a decision, we usually have a lengthy discussion about whether we did the right thing. <i>Why are they asking for money at this particular time? Is their need genuine? Have they asked for help from anyone else yet? What kind of relationship do we have with this person, and therefore what role would we assume if we choose to help? Are we helping as a friend or a sponsor? What ramifications will our assistance have on this person within their own community? If their family or neighbors find out that wazungu provided help, will it cause problems and throw the community equilibrium into upheaval? How much is an appropriate amount to give? Whatever we give sends a message - so what message are we sending? Who can we talk with and seek advice from? How do we know what to do???</i><br />
<br />
Conversely, if someone was to request financial assistance from us in America (and I say <i>if</i> because that hasn't happened yet), we'd still have a discussion about what to do and maybe even question if we made the right decision, but we wouldn't have to do mental gymnastics about the cultural implications of whatever decision we might make. It would simply be an easier thing to manage within our own cultural context.<br />
<br />
And that's the thing. <i>Everything</i> is easier within our own cultural context. Communication is easier. Conflict is easier. Decision-making is easier. Everyday life is easier!<br />
<br />
But because we spend our days living cross-culturally, we also spend our days expending an incredible amount of extra energy just to get through these days. <br />
<br />
That's why I'm often totally spent by lunchtime. <br />
<br />
That's why answering the door sometimes feels like the hardest thing I do all day (and the biggest achievement). <br />
<br />
That's why I drink so much Coke - to give myself a kick of energy to get through the afternoons and evenings.<br />
<br />
That's why I haven't succeeded in my goal of writing a blog post here every month - because writing takes so much creative energy, and creative energy is a hard-to-come-by luxury in the 60% functionality I'm capable of.<br />
<br />
Experiencing the reality of this statistic is hard. But experiencing the reality of this statistic has also helped me have grace for myself. Since it's true that I simply cannot function at full capacity while living cross-culturally, it's also true that I need to have extra grace for myself and to be satisfied with whatever I <i>am</i> capable of.<br />
<br />
The fact that I can scarcely get out of the compound let alone have next to no ministry outside the home? Oh well. My responsibilities on the homefront and within the compound are more than enough for me to handle. I will rejoice in what I <i>am</i> able to do within the walls of my own home and within our compound community.<br />
<br />
The fact that my writing life creeps along at a frustratingly slow pace? Well, that's frustrating, but whatchya gonna do? I can't pull creative energy out of nothing - and I truly mean there is <i>nothing</i> to pull from some days - so I will rejoice in any writing I <i>am</i> able to accomplish, like this blog post here. Major victory!<br />
<br />
I've come to accept the 60% statistic, even though it still irks me at times. Oh how I wish I could be more productive in this cross-cultural life! But apparently I am limited, severely limited. And thankfully that's normal. <br />
<br />
So I choose to have grace for myself when I routinely set out to accomplish more than I'm able to and routinely fail at it. And I have grace for myself when I choose to give up before getting started because I already know how my limitations will impede whatever task I've got in mind. <br />
<br />
Grace, grace, so much grace is needed. I pray not only that I will continue having grace for myself in this, but that others will have grace for me as well.<br />
<br />
<br />Eli and Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12311174284530197477noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6331630386919482630.post-23623279242789310192020-04-24T12:57:00.000-07:002020-04-24T12:57:32.968-07:00Entitled to Suffer<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Several
years ago, a missionary friend of mine made the difficult decision to leave the
mission field because of serious health concerns that couldn’t be addressed in
her host country.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She had spent a long
time enduring physical suffering and attempting to find answers locally before
her condition became so complex and so unbearable that she was forced to return
to the States for medical help.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Once in
the States she still endured a long and painful journey of recovery.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In the midst of all that, my friend
reflected, “In order to attain a theology of suffering, one must suffer.”</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">I
have never forgotten those words.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">They’re
particularly poignant coming from an American worldview.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">The American psyche does not accept suffering
well.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">Our culture feels entitled to not
suffer, as if all the hard work and thinking and planning and determination and
zeal that were instilled and passed down by our forebears grants us a “get out
of suffering free” card.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">This is our
American Theology of Suffering: we have the knowledge and willpower to combat
and defeat suffering if we choose to.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">We
get confused at best, offended at worst, when we suffer anyway.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">That
perspective doesn’t seem to line up with a biblical view of suffering.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">Living
and working at a mission hospital in Africa has given us an opportunity to see
how other cultures view and understand suffering.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">While Americans (in general) experience
comparatively little suffering and fight against it at all costs, Africans (in
general) experience a lot of suffering and accept its existence in their lives as
normal.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">Death is known here.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">Death is fairly understood and even expected.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">And although death is greatly grieved,
somehow it’s also accepted.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">While we
struggle sometimes with how easily it’s accepted – we fail to understand the
lack of “Why God?” in so many situations – we’ve also been learning something
from our Kenyan brothers and sisters that is so hard for us as Americans: how
to identify with our Savior through suffering.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">Because
of Covid-19, the entire world is suffering right now and disciples of Jesus in
this present age have an opportunity.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">We
have an opportunity to draw closer to Jesus and to know Him more by willingly
walking down the road of suffering.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">I
would argue that “to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and </span><i style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">the
fellowship of sharing in his sufferings”</i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> (Philippians 3:10, emphasis mine)
is best done by suffering willingly.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">I
don’t mean welcoming suffering in a masochistic sense or never fighting against
sickness and disease.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">I mean that it’s
beneficial to acknowledge that suffering is a part of this world and no one is
exempt from it, and that for followers of Christ it’s beneficial to invite Him
to use our suffering as a way of connecting with Himself – the man of sorrows
who was familiar with suffering (Isaiah 53:3).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">No
one saw a global pandemic coming and no one saw the acute, increased suffering
in our present world.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">No one saw the
sickness and death, the separation and isolation, the stress and anxiety, the
financial failures and economic disasters.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">No one saw a world imploding and crying out for answers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">Answers
may elude us, but opportunities do not.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">Opportunities abound for displaying kindness and compassion, for increasing
our prayers and study of the Word, for choosing to connect and encourage each
other in an era of social distancing, for giving of our limited resources
because someone else has even more limited resources.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">And another opportunity has presented itself:
to identify with Christ through our suffering.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">Most
of Paul’s writings on suffering refer specifically to suffering </span><i style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">for</i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">
Christ, </span><i style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">for </i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">the Gospel.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">“For it
has been granted to you on behalf of Christ not only to believe on him, but
also to suffer for him” (Philippians 1:29).</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">The average world citizen suffering in this pandemic is not suffering </span><i style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">for</i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">
Christ, </span><i style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">for </i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">the Gospel.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">But that
doesn’t exclude the reality that suffering for its own sake is opportunity to
identify with Christ.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">Paul tells of a
time when his “brother, fellow worker, and fellow soldier” Epaphroditus became
ill and nearly died, a circumstance that no doubt caused Paul great anxiety
since he acknowledges that a deadly outcome would have spiraled him into
“sorrow upon sorrow” with grief for his friend (Philippians 2:25ff).</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">God had mercy on Epaphroditus, and on Paul
too.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">The life of his dear friend was
spared.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">Yet I’m sure his experience of
stress and anxiety (and for a time the loss of his fellow worker’s presence)
caused Paul to lean heavily on Christ, the Savior who also knew stress and
anxiety and the loss of His fellow workers’ presence.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">I’m sure Paul turned to Christ for help and
for comfort, and I’m sure Paul understood his Savior a bit more too.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">Even
for the times when our suffering is granted by God (such as Paul’s thorn in the
flesh and of course Christ Himself who submitted to the “the Lord’s will to
crush him and cause him to suffer” (2 Corinthians 12:7-10; Isaiah 53:10a), we
can take heart that God’s grace is sufficient for us.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">His grace sustains us, it teaches us, and it
helps us to know Him more.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">Charles
Spurgeon, </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://www.crossway.org/articles/did-you-know-that-charles-spurgeon-struggled-with-depression/" target="_blank">who was no stranger to suffering</a></span><span id="goog_700798765"></span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_700798766"></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">,
once wrote: “Will the Head be crowned with thorns, and will the other members
of the body be rocked on the dainty lap of ease? Must Christ pass through seas of His own
blood to win the crown, and are we to walk to heaven in silver slippers that
stay dry? No, our Master’s experience
teaches us that suffering is necessary, and the true-born child of God must
not, would not, escape it if he could.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">As
we walk this road of suffering during Covid-19, let’s acknowledge the opportunity
before us.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">It’s not an opportunity to fight
against our current suffering because we’re entitled to </span><i style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">not</i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> suffer. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">Conversely, we have the opportunity to endure
suffering as people who are entitled </span><i style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">to</i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> suffer as followers of
Jesus.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">And maybe, if we’re willing,
there’s an opportunity to develop a biblical theology of suffering as we lean
into this time of identifying with and understanding our Savior, the Man of
Sorrows.</span><br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">[I wrote this article for </span><a href="http://www.alifeoverseas.com/" style="font-family: inherit;" target="_blank">A Life Overseas</a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> and it was originally published on their website earlier this week. I've had a few other articles published there, but haven't always re-posted them here. To see the other articles I've written for A Life Overseas, </span><a href="https://www.alifeoverseas.com/?s=krista+horn" style="font-family: inherit;" target="_blank">click here</a><span style="font-family: inherit;">.]</span></div>
<br />Eli and Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12311174284530197477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6331630386919482630.post-86514246783866750572020-03-29T11:37:00.000-07:002020-03-29T11:37:12.569-07:00A God Who Redeems the Worst for Good[This is from a newsletter I sent last week, giving an update on our life in the midst of the coronavirus pandemic.]<br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsa5ieA16xgjvw8Yyln_mErUZ3vT7t_Fjbaq01lmTDucTuQcoQRmtd4id5QEfi6odvHguv0xMe2ICs5GNOWNekTM9esbnEgg3nV00ppRdhbiG0MHfT17TcQLY7X4YlXkkYUXDeYo0gD_Y/s1600/Psalm+90.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="466" data-original-width="700" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsa5ieA16xgjvw8Yyln_mErUZ3vT7t_Fjbaq01lmTDucTuQcoQRmtd4id5QEfi6odvHguv0xMe2ICs5GNOWNekTM9esbnEgg3nV00ppRdhbiG0MHfT17TcQLY7X4YlXkkYUXDeYo0gD_Y/s320/Psalm+90.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<br />
<b>A God Who Redeems the Worst for Good</b><br />
<br />
First things first: we are doing well here in Kenya. The world is in chaos, and Kenya itself has now identified its first cases of coronavirus, yet we are doing well. Thanks be to God.<br />
<br />
Current world events have brought to mind the likes of Joseph, Naomi, and David. The current crisis has reminded me that our God is a God who redeems the worst of events by bringing good out of them. God helped a hated brother who was sold into slavery become a powerful leader in Egypt who went on to save countless lives during a severe famine and be reconciled to his family. God helped a devastated woman who'd buried her husband and both sons to find incredible joy through the kindness of a relative and the birth of a grandson. God helped a shepherd boy running for his life to escape danger time and time again and eventually sit on the throne of his enemy and oppressor. Our God is a God who redeems the worst of events by bringing good out of them.<br />
<br />
My prayer for the world right now is that God would bring good out of this, specifically that minds and hearts would be turned toward Him and that fear would be replaced with peace.<br />
<br />
My prayer for Kenya is that God would bring good out of this, specifically that this culture still in need of greater understanding of proper hygiene and sanitation would be awakened to that understanding. I also pray that fear will be conquered by love for our neighbors.<br />
<br />
My prayer for ourselves is that God would satisfy us each morning with His unfailing love, and that we would be glad in these uncertain times. Such an outlook would be a very good thing to come out of all this.<br />
<br />
The severity of the current crisis should not be minimized. And neither should the capacity of our God to do marvelous things in the midst of calamity.<br />
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<b>Loving Our Neighbor</b><br />
<br />
When I had typhoid in 2017, the Body of Christ took care of me. Our community checked on me daily, prayed over me, posted Scripture verses on the door of our house, watched our kids, made meals for our family, and literally set up an IV in our house so I could battle my sickness from the comfort of home. That horrible experience was enveloped with love and compassion and kindness from so many people around me. I will never forget how the support of our community built a foundation for my recovery.<br />
<br />
Even though social distancing impedes personal interactions, I encourage you to routinely check in with those in your community. They may not be suffering from the coronavirus itself, but many are struggling with isolation and anxiety and having kids at home round the clock (which is a very real struggle!). Check in with each other. Encourage each other. Do whatever you can to love those around you even as you remain physically distant. And receive encouragement from others too. Be the kind of community member who builds a foundation for all of us to climb out of this pandemic together.<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Q&A: Coronavirus</span></b></div>
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Q: Will you be coming back to the States during this crisis?</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A: No. Even though the U.S. State Department has encouraged all traveling Americans to return to the States immediately, we do not feel the need to do so. We are not traveling Americans - we are Americans who live abroad. Our home is in Kenya, and since we are safe and well here, we do not intend to leave before our next intended Home Assignment (which will be in 2021).</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Q: Is it safe for Eli to continue working at the hospital?</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A: Yes. Even though Kenya does not have the same infrastructure in place to deal with a global pandemic like America does, strict safety protocols have been put in place. We remind ourselves that Eli is regularly exposed to all manner of sickness and disease, and he is well equipped to face other contagions like the coronavirus (should it come to that).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Q: Are you being quarantined?</b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">A: No. Kenya is not in lockdown mode as of yet. All unnecessary travel has been put on hold, and we are prepared to stay in Chogoria for awhile. We recently stocked up on supplies in Nairobi and are extremely grateful for a refrigerator and freezer! The average Kenyan has no electricity or running water, let alone modern conveniences like fridges and freezers, and therefore is not able to stock up like we are. We consider it an incredible blessing to be able to stock up on supplies at all!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica neue, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span>Eli and Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12311174284530197477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6331630386919482630.post-64375779411201108452020-02-11T12:08:00.000-08:002020-02-11T12:08:41.884-08:00Glory in DeathO Death, I have felt your sting. I have seen you take Life again. I have been surprised, sorrowful, enraged, and numb because of your recent incursion.<br />
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Yet because of you, I have seen Victory. Not your victory, but <i>His </i>victory. Which became <i>her</i> victory. Because of you and your taking of life, I have seen again that New Life is the end of the story.<br />
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Even you, O Death, are being used for a greater purpose. Even you are playing a part in the grand plan to bring New Life to us. Even you submit to the Victor. Even you cannot foil what He purposes.<br />
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I will grieve and cry and sleep in sorrow because of what you've done, yet I will rejoice and sing and rise in hope because of what <i>He </i>has done.<br />
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One week before Sarah died, we were visiting with her husband and rejoicing in the good news that she was responding to meds and had finally turned a corner. We thought she was out of the woods. We thought she would soon recover. We thought we'd be gathering again in the near future to hear the testimony of how God had healed her.<br />
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Instead, one week later we gathered at their home to mourn her death and that of her unborn child.<br />
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It was shocking, to say the least. Even though she'd been in the hospital for awhile, no one saw this coming. We woke up on a Wednesday morning and heard the news. The burden of grief weighed on us immediately, and it felt like a stone around our necks.<br />
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Sarah was our colleague, our neighbor, our friend. She and her husband are an integral part of our community here, and the entire community felt the enormity of the loss. Not only did she die, but she died in our hospital, under our care. The loss felt personal. Sarah was given incredible care, but her condition was too advanced and she eventually succumbed to it despite everything we could possibly do being done.<br />
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How do doctors grieve the loss of a patient who is also their friend?<br />
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How does a community grieve the loss of a neighbor we greet on the sidewalk and sit next to at Bible Study?<br />
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The answer is together. We grieve together.<br />
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This is what love looks like. This is a community of people gathered together, leaving their shoes at the door, to be present with one another in a culture where no one grieves alone.<br />
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On the morning that Sarah died, our community immediately gathered at her house to collectively grieve with her husband, Daniel, and their families. That initial grief gathering was raw. Lots of tears and wailing. The loss was fresh and acutely felt by all. Later that evening we gathered again, cramming people into every corner of the living room and hallway to support each other and to pray and to fellowship in the aftermath of death.</div>
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That first evening of fellowship led to another, and another, and another. Our community gathered every single night for fellowship at Sarah and Daniel's house until the funeral 10 days later. Someone would give a devotion, we'd worship and pray, and somehow find ourselves laughing with joy in the midst of such sorrow. Those nightly fellowship gatherings were beautiful and life-giving.</div>
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I will admit it felt counter-cultural. Americans would never do this. We grieve much more privately and individually. Yet spending time together each night was a powerful source of healing. As a community who collectively suffered a loss, choosing to connect with each other every night in order to worship our Lord was a balm for the wounds of grief.</div>
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In the midst of this, we learned more about the African perspective on death. It was eye-opening and challenging for us Americans. We continually heard people say, "God has done it" or something similar. It was God's will for Sarah to die at this time. That's the reason she died. We must, and do, accept God's will in this.</div>
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Such a perspective offers great comfort to the African worldview.</div>
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It also goes against the grain of my own worldview.</div>
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My response to such tragedy is Why? It isn't fair! She was too young! She had more life to live! Why did You allow this, Lord? </div>
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My response was to weep with an American friend at the injustice that Sarah and Daniel will now never have what we have: years ahead of them and children in their midst.</div>
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My response echoed these lyrics by Bebo Norman:</div>
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Your broken body, it cannot weather</div>
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The years your youth still longs to spend</div>
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So go down graceful, sleep with the angels</div>
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And wake up whole again</div>
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'Cause it was not your time; that's a useless line</div>
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A fallen world took your life</div>
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I agree that a fallen world took her life. The Fall left us in a world where everything dies. But I also agree that God has done it. He at least allowed Sarah's death, as He allows all death. And I must wrestle with these truths.</div>
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As I wrestle, I also rejoice in another truth: that Sarah's death brought glory to God. I was reading through Philippians when Sarah died, and Paul's profound words regarding death rang out: "...now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death" (Philippians 1:20b).</div>
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<i>Whether by our lives or our deaths, Christ is exalted.</i></div>
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It was not only Sarah's death, but her baby's death, that brought glory to God. This is a really hard truth for the American worldview. The death of an unborn child bringing glory to God? The idea rankles. It's wrong, unjust, unfair, wholly inglorious. </div>
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But Daniel's perspective, which he earnestly expressed in the days following Sarah's death, is true: Sarah did not die childless, as some might assume because the baby was never born. (Bearing children is of preeminent importance in this culture.) Rather, Sarah and her baby are both in heaven together, and someone is calling Sarah "mom" even now.</div>
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I wept when I heard him say this. I wept because it's true. And I wept because my entire being still cried out against the unfairness of it all. I wept because there's a tension in my response to Death.</div>
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That tension remains, but I am grateful for it. The tension allows both grief and joy, exhaustion and rest, angst and peace. It allows room for the mysteries that surround Life and Death.</div>
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In the midst of the grief process, Philippians 4:8 struck a chord with me:</div>
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"Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, </div>
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whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, </div>
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whatever is admirable ⏤ if anything is excellent or praiseworthy ⏤ </div>
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think about such things."</div>
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Sarah loved the Lord and followed Him, and she and her baby are in heaven with Jesus right now. That is true.</div>
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The doctors at this hospital did everything within their power to try healing Sarah. That was noble.</div>
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Our community gathered around Sarah and Daniel and their families during her sickness. We supported them and encouraged them as best as we could. That was right.</div>
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There were ceaseless prayers being offered for Sarah's protection and healing. Those prayers were pure.</div>
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The memories of Sarah as a kind, loving, compassionate woman fill us with gratitude and joy. That is lovely.</div>
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The greater community, including hospital staff and our church community, worked together to raise funds for funeral expenses and the outstanding hospital bill. That was admirable.</div>
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Our community gathered every night to worship together and to remember God's goodness and faithfulness in the midst of death and sorrow, forsaking other commitments in order to do so. That was excellent and praiseworthy.</div>
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So we are thinking about such things. We are thanking God for a life well lived, a life that was devoted to serving Him, a life that gave glory to God even in death. We acknowledge God's sovereignty over all things, including death, and we stand amazed at the truth that "Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints" (Psalm 116:15).</div>
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There is glory in death. Glory to God.</div>
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<br />Eli and Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12311174284530197477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6331630386919482630.post-13494234546089837292019-12-25T11:51:00.000-08:002019-12-25T12:05:59.534-08:00Our History and the Hope of Christmas: Part Two<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
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"Only be careful, and watch
yourselves closely so that you do not forget <o:p></o:p></div>
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the things your
eyes have seen or let them slip from your heart <o:p></o:p></div>
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as long as you
live. Teach them to your children <o:p></o:p></div>
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and to their
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~ Deuteronomy 4:9<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Knowing our past informs the present and gives hope for the future. At least that's how it ought to be. We look back and reflect and then consider our way forward.<br />
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We cannot know the past unless we learn about it, unless we choose to engage with whatever is known of our history. Not everything is known, but often a great deal is. Knowing history has many uses and I like to think that it, like Scripture, is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness, so that the servant of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work (2 Timothy 3:16-17). When we learn about what was done wrong in the past we can hopefully find a better way forward. When we learn about what was done right in the past we can hopefully find ways to replicate that goodness.<br />
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History is a powerful and earnest teacher if we're willing to be her student.<br />
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I am an ongoing student of the history of missions in Kenya. I am learning both about what was done wrong and what was done right in the past, and hopefully finding solid ground to both reject what was done wrong and replicate what was done right as I live here now.<br />
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One of the greatest things I've learned that was done right, over and over again, was the faithful obedience of so many pioneer missionaries here in Kenya. I can only hope that my level of faithfulness will amount to even a fraction of theirs. Their stories have inspired me and moved me to tears, and I am eternally grateful to be following in their footsteps.<br />
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This is Johann Krapf, the first Protestant missionary to Kenya. </div>
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Krapf was from Germany and spent seven years in Abbysinia (modern day Ethiopia) before coming to Kenya in 1844 with his wife, Rosina, and their infant daughter. They arrived in Mombasa in May, and on July 13 his wife died of fever. Their daughter also died, and Krapf was forced to bury his wife and daughter just two months after arriving in Kenya.<br />
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He wrote this: "God bids us first build a cemetery before we build a church or dwelling place."<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">He also wrote a letter to his mission society afterwards and said this: "<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tell our friends at home that there is now
on the East African coast a lonely missionary grave.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">This is a sign that you have commenced the
struggle with this part of the world, and as the victories of the Church are
gained by stepping over the graves of her members, you may be the more
convinced that the hour is at hand when you are summoned to the conversion of
Africa from its eastern shore."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">After this horrendous beginning, Krapf continued on alone for the next two years before someone else came to join his efforts. He spent 13 years in Kenya (or British East Africa, as it was called then) and left with one convert to the Christian faith. A book published in 1906 explained it this way: "</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Looked at from a
human standpoint, Krapf’s life would seem to have had the word failure written
around it.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Thirteen years in Africa,
years of privation and suffering, and those at Mombasa of the deepest sorrow,
and what was there to show for the sacrifice?</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A broken-down body and a shattered constitution, two lonely graves on the
hillside at Mombasa and one African convert.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But God has ordered it that no effort for good in this world is ever
lost."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">As God would have it, approximately 30 years after Krapf's wife and child died, a mission station and church were built on the plot of land where they were buried. Krapf never saw that particular fruit of his labor. He saw other successes, like compiling a Swahili dictionary and translating the New Testament into Swahili, and of course his one convert, but he never witnessed the joy of seeing a church built in the end.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">I look forward to meeting Johann Krapf in heaven and saying thank you for his faithful obedience, for remaining in this land after it stole his family's lives, for not cursing the ground he stood upon but rather turning it into fruitful soil for the future - soil that we now stand upon and are continuing to reap the seeds that were sown by him 175 years ago.</span></div>
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I've been sharing his story with people who I know will be interested. And I intend to share his story with our boys someday, so they will know our history and remember it, and be grateful for it.</div>
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The person who joined Krapf in Kenya was this man, Johannes Rebmann. A fellow German, he remained in Kenya for 29 years without a furlough.</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="text-align: center;">At some point during that time, their mission board "</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;">had dropped Mombasa as being an unfruitful field.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;">But ‘Old John Rebmann,’ as he was familiarly called, never lost faith in his work and refused to leave his post.... </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;">In his lifelong battle…he had been able to keep together a little company of Christians whose number equaled the twelve of his Master, and John Rebmann was content."</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;">By the time he left Kenya, Rebmann was weak and nearly blind and yet had to be convinced to return to Europe for his health. This is a photo of him and his devoted servant Isaak Niondo.</span></span><br />
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I look forward to meeting Johannes Rebmann in heaven and saying thank you for his faithful obedience, for coming in the first place even while knowing the dangers and hardships, for working so diligently to learn several languages and preach the Gospel to the nations.</div>
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I could tell you stories about others who came after these men, who saw little or no successes, who battled diseases and rinderpest and famine, who laid down their lives, some of whose names are forgotten to history although their presence was known. There are too many to write about here, but I am learning about them so I can remember them and tell my children about them. We are standing on their shoulders, just as others will stand on our shoulders in the future.</div>
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And although so many of their stories include incredible heartbreak, I am encouraged. I am encouraged by their determination and resilience, by their absolute faithful obedience to Christ's call on their life. </div>
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They did what they did because of Christ. </div>
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Because He came, they went.</div>
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And I am reminded on this day of all days why we choose this life, why we spend Christmas halfway around the world from our families, why we reach across cultures to build the Kingdom in the here and now. </div>
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It is because of Emmanuel, God With Us.</div>
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It is because of Hope Come Down.</div>
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It is because of the Desire of Nations.<br />
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All the struggles and sacrifices of the past, present, and future are given worth in the Christ child and the hope He brings to the world.<br />
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<br />Eli and Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12311174284530197477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6331630386919482630.post-52495855539119416302019-12-22T12:02:00.000-08:002019-12-22T12:02:36.087-08:00Our History and the Hope of Christmas: Part OneDuring grad school at Wheaton, I had an assignment for a cross-cultural research class that required us to explore the Archives in the Billy Graham Center and write a simple report on something we found.<br />
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I didn't realize it before, but <a href="https://www.wheaton.edu/about-wheaton/museum-and-collections/billy-graham-center-archives/" target="_blank">the Archives</a> are laden with missions history.<br />
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Missionary journals, newspaper clippings, old photographs and more fill the carefully catalogued collections. Not only that, but the grad school library connected to the Archives is full of books on missions. It's basically a one-stop shop for all things missions-related!<br />
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For my assignment, I wound up reading a journal written by a woman named Florence who moved to Kenya in 1906. At the time we had no idea we'd also be moving to Kenya. Eli was still in medical school and we were years away from moving overseas. We knew Africa was in our future, but the specific country was still unknown to us. Regardless, the journal was fascinating.<br />
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Florence wrote a small entry every single day. She wrote about leaving America on November 1, 1905, and journeying on a ship across the Atlantic. She landed first in Liverpool, England, where she was delayed for four weeks because of diphtheria, but eventually continued on through the Mediterranean Sea, through the Suez Canal, around the Horn of Africa, and into the port of Mombasa. She landed in British East Africa (as it was called then) on January 9, 1906.<br />
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Florence's ministry included teaching Bible lessons, reading, writing, and sewing. She married a long-time friend a few months after arriving - his arrival in Kenya predated hers by a couple years - and together they worked among the Maasai tribe. Her husband, John, compiled a dictionary of the Maasai language and also translated their language into Scripture. They spent decades in Africa and had a fruitful ministry, and I am inspired by them.<br />
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I'm inspired not only because of their successes, but also because of their day-in, day-out reality. What fascinated me so much about Florence's journal were the non-ministry details, the behind-the-scenes daily living that is so much of life. She wrote about ants in the house, about ruining the bread, about her husband being sick much of the time, and about an elephant destroying their garden one night. She wrote about going for walks and enjoying picnics, and about looking for colobus monkeys to send back to the Field Museum in Chicago! This was their life, their faithful walk as they spent decades working to build the Kingdom of God in Kenya.<br />
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And I am inspired.<br />
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I, too, have battled ant infestations in our house. I, too, have ruined the bread. I, too, have suffered from extreme sickness here. And although we've never had an elephant in our garden (thank goodness!) we know well the battles of trying to keep our house and garden intact just so we can keep on living here. Some things, apparently, don't change much in a hundred years.<br />
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But many things have changed. Living here is infinitely easier now than it was for Florence and John. We have electricity (most of the time) and quick transportation. We have modern technology and the ability to communicate easily with family and friends back home. We have lots of options for food, even some Western goods, and access to basic medicine.<br />
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More importantly, though, is how much has changed in the last hundred years in the Church. The ministry that we are able to do now, at a mission hospital that openly shares the Gospel with patients, is only possible because of the foundations that were laid by pioneers like Florence and John. They advanced the Kingdom here. They shared the truth and love of Jesus and they discipled many. They prepared their generation for pouring into the next, which poured into the next and the next and the next... And now we are here, nearly 114 years later, walking on the foundations laid for us long ago and doing our part to keep advancing the Kingdom here.<br />
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It wasn't until we'd been in Kenya for awhile that I remembered reading Florence's journal in grad school. I wanted to look at it again and learn more of the history of missions in Kenya. So, on one of our trips through Chicago during Home Assignment last year, I took the opportunity to spend a couple days at Wheaton and look at Florence's journal in the Archives again. Furthermore, I took the opportunity to look through several books that pertained to the history of missions in Kenya. The more I learned, the more humbled and encouraged I became.<br />
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The missionary pioneers I read about (which I'll highlight in the next post) endured much suffering and seemingly little success. They sacrificed a lot and gained very little. Sometimes I feel like that too, because something that's remained the same over time is how slowly things change. We invest in time and energy and money and emotions and prayer and relationships...and the growth and change we came here to participate in happens very slowly.<br />
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When I, as a time-sensitive American, get frustrated or discouraged with the pace of change in our ministry, it helps significantly to remember where we've been. Not just where we, the Horns, have been, but to look even further back to those who have gone before us.<br />
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Florence wrote this at the very end of her journal in 1906: "What this little book contains of joys and sorrow, struggles, and smooth sailing - may never be seen by other eyes. Yet it has been a comfort to record them. God has kept a better record for which we praise Him and are happy to leave ourselves in His hands for the next 365 days."<br />
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I am so grateful to Florence for writing a record of her ministry in Kenya. I have read it and now I know and can remember what God has done. I can remember and be encouraged by God's work and God's timing. He intended to bring Florence to Kenya in 1906 and He intended to bring me here in 2016. We are both part of a bigger story, a story of ages past filled with people crying out for a Savior, and of a God who provided a Savior who embodied eternal hope. We are part of a story that declares "Christ has come" and "It is finished" and "Let the nations be glad."<br />
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I am filled with hope at this time of year as we reflect on all God has done this year. And I think it would serve us well to remember beyond this year - to years past, to ages past - and remember what God has done in times and places beyond our own that have made our own time and place of ministry possible.<br />
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<br />Eli and Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12311174284530197477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6331630386919482630.post-20443686001571521782019-10-27T23:08:00.000-07:002020-04-26T12:05:28.654-07:00Jesus Was Not a MzunguThe Swahili word for "white person" is <i>mzungu</i>. The word for "god" is <i>mungu</i>. With only one letter difference between them (the <i>z), </i>they sound very similar.<br />
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Recently I went to a local shop for bread and other staples. There were several school children outside the shop and I heard a couple of them saying something with the word <i>mzungu</i> in it. We hear that word all the time. We are an anomaly here, and children in particular like to point out the fact that we have white skin.<br />
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So it was not unusual to hear children saying, yet again, <i>mzungu</i> as I entered the scene. At least, I <i>thought</i> I heard the word <i>mzungu</i>. As it turns out, in actuality they were saying <i>mungu</i>. Two words that are so similar in sound, and yet sooooo different in meaning.<br />
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The children were saying that I was like a god.<br />
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I didn't understand the situation at first and I smiled at the kids as they called me <i>mzungu</i>, which is what I understood to be happening. But thankfully another woman who was standing outside the shop decided to address the very erroneous implication that I was like a god.<br />
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She called for one of the boys to come and see me, then told me directly, "They think you are like a god. I am telling him you are just a person. Let them come and see you are just a person."<br />
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And suddenly I realized the truth of the situation. They were using the word <i>mungu</i>, and I had been smiling at them as if it was funny at best, truth at absolute worst. I thank God for the woman who chose to speak up!<br />
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When I realized the situation, I also called for the boy to come. "Kuja, kuja. Habari yako?" He came obediently but skeptically, and we shook hands. The woman said something else in Swahili that was too fast for me to catch, and then the boy went on his way.<br />
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The woman was clearly upset and disturbed. She came into the shop with me and repeated herself, "They need to know you are just a person. I wanted them to know you are just a person." She relayed what had transpired to the shopkeeper and I wanted to encourage them both that I was in agreement.<br />
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"You're right," I said. "We are just people, the same as you."<br />
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"Yes! You are the same as us!"<br />
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"It can be confusing because there are so many pictures of Jesus as a <i>mzungu</i>, but Jesus was not white."<br />
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"Jesus was not white."<br />
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"Yes," I said. "Jesus has usually been portrayed as a white person with light skin and light hair. But he was born in Israel. He had dark skin and dark hair."<br />
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That caused a pause, but I charged on. "So it's easy to be confused, which is unfortunate, because Jesus was not a <i>mzungu</i>. I'm glad you said something. I also want them to know that I am just a person. I am just like them."<br />
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There was a general agreement with that, and somehow we moved on to making our purchases and I left for home.<br />
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But I was mortified. Those Kenyan children thought I was like a god? Just because I have white skin? There is no worse thing they could have imagined me to be! I was absolutely mortified.<br />
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I was reminded of Paul and Barnabas in Lystra. Paul healed a crippled man and immediately the people thought they were the gods come down. "The gods have come down to us in human form!" they said. They identified Paul as Hermes, and Barnabas as Zeus.<br />
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Needless to say, Paul and Barnabas were horrified. So horrified, in fact, that they tore their clothes. They shouted, "Men, why are you doing this? We too are only men, human like you. We are bringing you good news, telling you to turn from these worthless things to the living God, who made heaven and earth and sea and everything in them."<br />
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Granted, they were likened to gods because they did something miraculous while I was likened to a god only because of my skin color, but the erroneous falsehood remained. <i>There is only one true God. Period.</i><br />
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As for the misconception of the school children here, it's easy to understand their line of thinking. They have most likely seen pictures of Jesus like this:<br />
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And this:</div>
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Not only is our Savior usually depicted with white skin, but often His salvific work on the cross has been portrayed with a Savior that's as white as a Scandanavian in the middle of winter. Look at that pasty whiteness! It's blinding.<br />
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The idea that Jesus was white gets ingrained in us from childhood. What else would we expect when, on top of images like those above, we produce and read children's Bibles with a white Jesus?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg77waJM1TfSi4ZjhBipUWKcumhJzwJOiePEivfN7Rck64MzlYMFW44v8IA-ta76SCxheoSyBLhTlD0KXcMocjYuhQnqJzPP2QbJ5rlbF4FQrtnCI_JVd5-omWDpN8g8tiuP0rsCwYVyr4/s1600/children%2527s+bible.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="401" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg77waJM1TfSi4ZjhBipUWKcumhJzwJOiePEivfN7Rck64MzlYMFW44v8IA-ta76SCxheoSyBLhTlD0KXcMocjYuhQnqJzPP2QbJ5rlbF4FQrtnCI_JVd5-omWDpN8g8tiuP0rsCwYVyr4/s320/children%2527s+bible.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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It's actually quite normal to think of others from our own frame of reference. Therefore, I think it's natural for white children to think of Jesus as white because they're identifying Him with what they know - their own white skin. But unless they are taught otherwise, they will grow up thinking the falsehood that Jesus was white. In reality, because Jesus was born in Israel he <a href="https://www.churchtimes.co.uk/articles/2018/29-march/features/features/what-did-jesus-really-look-like" target="_blank">"would have looked like a Palestinian or Sephardi Jew, with brown skin and black hair."</a></div>
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Which means He probably looked more like this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiNZREVlBtJdO0FNKtSsndL5L2so7eysq1gDohM010Lp7Z1xwsYyOfE1_Wf_FufcvGDKGSRpyVMqgqqqcN0v9-m3X2CfK8PFkNeqQV_ZjiG18SQpwP4fxMl_pQx0WGAfH7HSC4TdrcJRo/s1600/dark+jesus.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="578" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiNZREVlBtJdO0FNKtSsndL5L2so7eysq1gDohM010Lp7Z1xwsYyOfE1_Wf_FufcvGDKGSRpyVMqgqqqcN0v9-m3X2CfK8PFkNeqQV_ZjiG18SQpwP4fxMl_pQx0WGAfH7HSC4TdrcJRo/s320/dark+jesus.jpeg" width="256" /></a></div>
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Or this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi83fUZAt5AMlZrxgKBviskDD2hENWwQLsO0d8DGVpSY9lPAzPKd3DoPtt_NOerjC_DNia5GzQPIHBjktFIlnBmpSPCIjwtHFRVZ_UkS-91V3nJioY8rTBvqLR_NooSjmPgd8Jt2Igoinw/s1600/brown+jesus+sketch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="779" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi83fUZAt5AMlZrxgKBviskDD2hENWwQLsO0d8DGVpSY9lPAzPKd3DoPtt_NOerjC_DNia5GzQPIHBjktFIlnBmpSPCIjwtHFRVZ_UkS-91V3nJioY8rTBvqLR_NooSjmPgd8Jt2Igoinw/s320/brown+jesus+sketch.jpg" width="246" /></a></div>
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Based upon my experience with the school children, it apparently remains necessary to continue spreading this truth.<br />
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I was also reminded of a story I heard a couple years ago. A Kenyan friend was telling me about the first time she saw a <i>mzungu</i>. She was a child at the time and a German missionary had come to the area. When she saw the white man she immediately thought she was seeing Jesus. She even went home and told her mother that she had seen Jesus. As my friend told me this story she was laughing, because she knew how ridiculous it was, and I laughed too. But my heart ached at the same time. The perception that Jesus was a <i>mzungu</i> was, and still is, needing to be squashed.<br />
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So let me add my emphatic voice: Jesus was not a <i>mzungu</i>! Jesus was not a white man! He was an Israelite, a Jew, who came to seek and save the lost, which includes all of us whether we are white or black or anywhere in between.<br />
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<br />Eli and Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12311174284530197477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6331630386919482630.post-64613130874223078512019-09-10T02:39:00.000-07:002019-09-10T02:39:14.338-07:00Culture Charts and Navigating CultureThis came about because of the day I inadvertently traumatized two of our three children. What I thought would be a good cultural experience for us all turned into one anxiety attack and one peak of frustration that culminated in two sobbing little boys desperate for an escape from said cultural experience.<br />
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Talk about a parent fail.<br />
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We had only been in Kenya for a few months, and our gardener mentioned that the nearby school was having traditional dance performances. I was intrigued and wanted to see this for myself and take photos. Better yet, I could take all the boys with me and we could learn about this cultural tradition together! I explained to Caleb and Kai what we were going to do. I told them there'd be singing and dancing and people dressed in costumes, even with paint on their faces. It sounded so fun and exciting to the boys. Costumes? Face paint? Who wouldn't want to see that?<br />
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So I strapped the baby on my back, and off we went with our gardener leading the way. <br />
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We could hear the singing before we entered the school compound, and it was loud. Music is usually loud here, so I wasn't phased, but once we entered the compound it was nearly deafening. That should have been my first clue that things were about to go south, particularly because Caleb struggled with some auditory sensory issues at that time.<br />
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The second clue, which was less of a clue and more of an in-your-face realization, happened about one minute after we arrived and the group of students which had finished performing came streaming out the side door of the school, right to where we were standing. They were dressed in traditional African attire and had various designs painted on their faces with white paint. It was an impressive sight. Or a terrifying sight, as it turned out to be for my boys. Without skipping a beat, the whole group of students literally surrounded us and squatted down to peer into the faces of my sons at an extremely close range.<br />
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Caleb instantly began crying, and I mean <i>crying</i>, deep and anxious tears. Kai buried his face into my side and clung to me like his life depended upon it.<br />
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I couldn't blame them. It takes a lot of strength to bear the stares we receive as a minority here. Our white skin attracts a lot of attention, and white children garner an even greater amount of attention. <br />
But to have that kind of attention literally in their face and without any prior warning? It was too much. My boys simply fell apart.<br />
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Except for Asa, who sat content on my back, oblivious that anything was amiss.<br />
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But while the baby was blissfully ignorant of the complete invasion of our personal space, my two other boys were acutely aware and utterly overwhelmed. So I told our gardener that we needed to move to a different spot. He took us to the back of the building where we could be alone and catch our breath a bit. I successfully calmed Caleb down and detached Kai from clinging to my skirt, then asked if they'd be okay standing with our gardener for a minute so I could take some photos. They agreed, and I went inside the school for literally two minutes to take some photos and a video. When I came back outside, I discovered that another group of students had descended upon my children and were doing the same thing as the first group: squatting down at eye level and staring at my children. They, too, were dressed in traditional dance attire, with face paint, and an intimidating presence. No one was speaking to my boys. They were just staring at them. And so <i>both</i> of the boys were now a sobbing, hot mess. Caleb was having an anxiety attack and Kai didn't know what to do with these people who wouldn't leave him be and so just resorted to crying about it.<br />
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And my inner Mama Bear came out. For better or worse, I couldn't contain her. I swept forward and threw my hands out to create distance between my children and these youth who didn't seem to understand the situation. I wasn't angry at them, per se, since I know that personal space doesn't really exist in this culture, but I was definitely defensive of my babies and needing to protect them from the turmoil I'd unwittingly dragged them into.<br />
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We left immediately and the boys refused to let go of my hands until we were a good distance away from the school. Eventually they both recovered from the trauma of being on display for a group of people dressed in traditional dance costumes. But I felt terrible for putting them through that experience and wanted to reward them somehow for surviving through it.<br />
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And that's when I inaugurated their Culture Charts.<br />
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The concept was simple: for every new cultural experience, they would earn a sticker. When they filled out a chart, they'd earn a prize. It was as simple as that. And I decided to backtrack for all the cultural experiences they'd already had, so they filled up their first charts pretty quickly with experiences like:<br />
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Learning how to greet people. <br />
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Going to church. <br />
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Shopping at the store.<br />
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Visiting someone at their home.<br />
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Traditional dances.<br />
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Other experiences included going to the U.S. Embassy, visiting the dentist, meeting Maasai women on safari, and drinking chai.<br />
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Some of these things seem so simple. Going to church, for example. They've been going to church since they were born. But going to church in Kenya is not the same as going to church in America. There are a lot of differences. Visiting someone at their home? Definitely not the same here as it is in America. The first time we visited someone in the village, Caleb couldn't go into the house. It was just different enough that he couldn't do it. We let him play outside and he was fine, and several months later he eventually he made the huge step of going into a Kenyan home and not batting an eye, but it took extra time for him. <br />
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It was a new cultural experience, and he earned a sticker for it. Which was rewarding and affirming and motivating for him. Which was exactly why I chose to do Culture Charts in the first place.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2npvmsNnpLLtKJWLn9p6FHM-v0zQ3Ne9WV1gO-uxRdTYtDVIuDwoxh6xCn-HKyhDadtLG5lMi91xdaA32KQ90L-2EdZodfJ4p362lIGrDSNl_6H5SFZQqOJ7jMtLpFngjQ-Y1Wlpv9yM/s1600/culture+chart.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2npvmsNnpLLtKJWLn9p6FHM-v0zQ3Ne9WV1gO-uxRdTYtDVIuDwoxh6xCn-HKyhDadtLG5lMi91xdaA32KQ90L-2EdZodfJ4p362lIGrDSNl_6H5SFZQqOJ7jMtLpFngjQ-Y1Wlpv9yM/s320/culture+chart.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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We don't use Culture Charts anymore. The boys have acclimated enough that they're not necessary, which is a good thing. I had almost forgotten about them until I found them while unpacking here at Chogoria. It warmed my heart to see the charts again and be reminded of how far our boys have come in navigating their way through this culture. They're still navigating their way through it, as are we. But now we can simply have conversations with the boys about culture. Culture charts are no longer needed to encourage and affirm these kids in their journey through cross-cultural living, and I'm thankful for that.</div>
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Sometimes, though, I wish they could still earn stickers. It was a tangible reminder of what they've learned, and how far they've come. </div>
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And sometimes I wish I could have a Culture Chart too. I wish I could've earned a sticker for the first time I ate ugali and sukumawiki. And I would've given myself a sticker for the first time I heard Swahili and understood what was being said. And for learning to drive on the left side of the road, with cows and goats and zebras in the way. And for trying and failing to make chai on my own. And for learning the difference between geckos and skinks. And for having my hair pulled during church because some kids were curious what long, blonde hair felt like. And for suffering through typhoid. I actually would've given myself two stickers for that one...or maybe three...or maybe ten...</div>
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But there was no tangible way for me to mark milestones in navigating culture. There was only the awareness that I had done something new, sometimes succeeding and sometimes not. And knowing that I had done something new was an achievement in and of itself.</div>
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The only way to acclimate to a new culture is to do all the new cultural things that come your way. And once you do them (or in some cases, once you do them over and over again), then you have the hope of mastering them and being more grounded in this new culture. And eventually it doesn't all feel new anymore. Some aspects of this culture begin to feel familiar. And that is an amazing feeling. That feeling, in fact, is the greatest prize I could ever hope to earn as I navigate my way through this cross-cultural life.</div>
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Eli and Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12311174284530197477noreply@blogger.com0