Closer Distance

I think one of the things that makes Kenya beautiful to me is the way everything feels close enough to touch, too far to reach.
The din of humanity; the hustling, the busyness --too far to penetrate at times like this:
At times when the moon casts shadows, when the clouds seem to swirl around your fingers, when a mountain 26km away is visible by moonlight.
In these times the rolling hills of acacia scattered savanna seems to hold every depth of vision despite the distance. Its the magical feeling of Aladin soaring on his magic carpet; of Simba chasing his father's image in the clouds. But here it isn't animated; its more alive than I've ever been; its nature.
Its beautiful.

It's not a beauty that can contend with the proud Sierras: their towering spires of bared granite, the sheer might of the earth exposed in the thinned atmosphere of heightened reaches. It can't content with the umoving miles of tall and majestic pines, of noble furs with a stubborn jaw.
No, it is not the breathtaking beauty of California, not the meandering contrast of beauty after beauty as granite turns to oak turns to grape vines turns to sand turns to sea. No, it cannot dare compete with such royalty, but it need not. It is seperate, not ranked. It is the majestic beauty of thousand acre after thousand acre of the unending raw nature.
It has somehow overcome the precepts of man; it has taken us into it. The acacia a day's walk away seems as ready to be felt as the dirt track beneath my feet; the sedated clouds as near as the grass under me. And yet each as far. It is a soft beauty, but fierce. Unmerciful, but kind.
And to my eyes; to the senses that compose me, it is beautiful.

Kenya Comments, Vol I

1) A comment Mr. Arensen made: "You know, a few years back I was praying a lot for Kenya and the one word that stuck out to me was this: greed." At first it struck me as completely obvious, but the significance is also very true: there is so much political corruption and violence, but it can all be traced back to greed. Twice now I've heard people make comments about how this is also shown in how Kenyans drive: they are crazy! But what it all comes back down to is, "Its my fare, my customers, my money that's most important. You and everything else comes second."
A prime example of this is when the lorreys had a minor collision. What had actually happened was that at a narrow place in the road neither had slowed down or moved over for the other, so they scraped sides and ended up interlocked, blocking both lanes of traffic. And this was on the main road connecting the Mombasa sea port and the Ugandan border. When they finally did become unconnected, there was several kilometers of vehicles piled up behind. But instead of orderly waiting their turn in line, a bus cut to the front and tried to squeeze through behind the lorrey going its direction even before the bus going our direction could get through. So traffic stopped again, and for no better reason than that the busdriver found his personal journey and money more important than the operation of one of Kenya's most used roads.

2) A comment Mr. Wagner made: "It's all about 'me' when driving in this country."
To which I said: "Its no different in the States, its just that there are enough rules that people obey to make it not seem as bad."
To which Mr. Bouchard said: "I think the 'me' desire is universal; its just that America is a culture governed by rules, and Kenya is a culture governed by survival."

3) A snipet of conversation:
"When I look at Kenya, I see such great potential that goes untapped!"
"You know, pretty soon --once some of these younger men and women come into power-- we'll see a lot more of that potential tapped, because they are all so sick of seeing this country suffocate from corruption."
"What Kibaki has done since he's been in power has been good: he's realized that Kenya has more problems than he can fix, so he's just focused on a few and made progress so the people can see results."
"Well, not everything Kibaki has done has been good..."
But Kenya has been improving so much in the last few years! Education and Roadways, especially, as those were the things Kibaki chose to focus on. Now all public schools are "free" (because they still charge for books and uniforms), and there is a million road projects going on at once! I have yet to travel a road in Kenya that is not getting redone --and that is a huge change over just a few years ago!
It is so encouraging to see Kenyans taking ownership and pride in their country and truly making it a wonderful place.

Malewa River and Lake Nakuru

On Friday Mr. Arensen took me to see some property he has just bought. He and a few other missionaries went in together to buy 56 acres of beautifully untouched real estate along the Malewa River. It'll be perfect for the Arensens because once they build a house they'll be within a three hour drive of every single church they are ministering to, instead of several hours longer like they are now by living in Kijabe. He also hopes to develop a retreat centre on the land so that pastors can have a place to come and fellowship together.
The one drawback of land being beautifully undeveloped is that, well, it is undeveloped. No electricity, no water, nothing but a dirt two-track leading down to the river. Oh, and there is a half dug well, done by an expatriate who was going to buy they land then backed out.
So Mr. Arensen and I spent a few hours talking about his hopes and dreams for the property, checking the fence (only to find that sections as long as 50m had been stolen), but mostly walking the lay of the land to begin thinking of what would be required to pump water from the bore hole to the top of the property to provide clean water for the houses soon to be built.
I have no idea when it comes to water systems, and since it was quite literally just a walk around, all the numbers I am working with are sheer estimates. But it has been fun trying to teach myself a little about water as I mull over questions like, "How much horsepower will they need to pump water 120 vertically and 700 horizontally in a 3 inch pipe at a rate of 90 gallons per minute?" {ROB, JANINE: If you read this and also want to think about it, I can give you more "accurate" estimates --like the slope of the hillside, etc.}
I discovered a gem of a website called engineeringtoolbox.com which has been a wonderous help as I go through this. I just love learning! Especially when it has real-life application. I hate the textbook examples and hypothetical situations, but I absolutely love walking around under the African sun, wrestling over engineering problems, coming back to a computer and spending a few hours gathering information, then setting up the next problem to tackle!
Okay, I can tell you are bored. Moving on!
After spending time at the Malewa property, we went in to the Naivasha Sports Club and played a short nine-hole golf course. Then again, if "golf course" means beautiful green fairways, putting greens, water traps, etc. then this definitely wasn't a "golf course". There was no fairway. There was no green. And when they say "the rough" they mean, "get out your machete and spend a few hours making a trail!" Oh, and about there being no greens? They call them "browns". No joke. They are quite literally nothing more than packed dirt that is swept daily. But we had fun; its not like either one of us is any good at golf! I loved the two days I got to bum around with him, even if they didn't include drinking goat's blood.

On Saturday, after writing my extremely long post about Eburru and thinking over the water system some, I decided to hunt down a movie to watch to help kill the time. On the way up to one of the staff member's houses, I was stopped by Steve Taylor, the band teacher. After a few minutes of small talk he invited me to go with him and a few other staffies to Lake Nakuru Game Park for Sunday and Monday. Unfortunately, game parks in Kenya have gotten extremely expensive (Yes, Erin, even compared to Yosemite!), but it was a great escape from what I thought would be an excruciatingly boring two days. I just downloaded 225 pictures I took of animals on our three game drives, and we saw pretty much everything but cat. Which, ironically, was the whole reason the guys organized this trip: to get some good pictures of leopard. See, once you've lived here more than a year you've seen so many of the "lesser" animals that the only thing you really want more pictures of is rhino, lion, leopard, or cheetah. Well, we took lots of pictures anyways and even some of rhino, but still no cat.
We did see some cool things though: like a hippo chasing a flock of pelicans, or a hyena eating a flamingo. That was cool. Once I get back to the states and pare down the pictures to a manageable amount, I'll load them on Facebook so everyone can see!
Nothing too exciting happened on the trip though. There was a minor lorrey collision which backed up traffic a ways on the way in; a cape buffalo (Africa's most unpredictable animal, and one of the most feared) almost decided to charge our car to the point where it lowered its horns and took a few steps towards the car, it rained really heavily on Sunday, making all the roads into rivers which made for a good amount of four-wheel-driving-fun!
But, thank God, we were all safe and well rested after a great two days in the thick of God's beautiful creation!

Eburru

I am amazed to find myself still waking up at 7 am everyday! Quite literally, I have woken up within minutes of 7:05 every single day, to the point that when I woke up this morning at 7:01 am I thought, "Hum, four minutes early." Silly the way our minds work!
Its been good since today and tomorrow will be spent with Mr. Arensen, visiting the Dorobo and his property along Malewa River.

(Okay, I started this post on Thursday, got too tired and now its Saturday. So! I won't try to continue to present tense...)

History of the Dorobo:
First, a few clarifications for those of you whom I shared about the Dorobo with. I wasn't all wrong, but I was sorely mistaken regarding this specific area that the Dorobo live in. Apparently the tribe is considerably spread out!
We visited a young man aspiring to be a pastor on a mountain called Eburru, which rises 1000m above the Rift Valley to a peak of around 3000m above sea level. Because of this, the area is actually quite lush; there is greenery peeping out of every crevice and rock. Also because of the amount of deforestation and some extremely shady politics, the Dorobo are now mostly farmers.
Let me explain. First, understand that Shel Arensen is a published author several times over, and he is now the editor of a magazine called "Old Africa" which is a magazine all about Kenya's colonial days and is rather popular among the expatriates. Anyways, since he has been the editor of this magazine he has become the fundi of everything that happened in pre-indepenance Kenya, as well as being very knowledgeable of the current goings-on of the Kenyan government. It made for one of the most entertaining and informative 2-hour bumpy-car rides of my life!
Basically, the Dorobo are the Palestinians of East Africa. They are the trodden on, to the point where no one can clearly remember the actual name of the the tribe, but the word "Dorobo" is Maasai for "poor person," and have long been regarded as the lowest form of humanity. To the Maasai it is because they didn't herd cattle; to the Kikuyu it was because they didn't farm. No, the Dorobo relied on the forest: hunting wild boar and buffalo, and harvesting honey with extreme skill. However, when the land was settled by the English at the turn of the century, there was a lot of land divied up between the whites and the Africans. Around the time this was going on Kenya's population was around 2.5 million, and there were about 4000 White Settlers. Now, to their credit the reason they did a lot of this was to end slavery and begin a commerce, but as with all things human, it didn't go completely right.
See, there was 20 million (or billion --Mr. Arensen couldn't remember the magnitude, but it is the ratios that are important to note) acres of land set aside for the various tribes numbering 2.5 million people, but also 14 million acres set aside for the whooping 4000 White Settlers. There was also considerable tracts of land set aside for forest and wildlife conservation. But the Dorobo were left with nothing. They couldn't live in the forest because it was "protected" but they also couldn't live in the rest of the land, because it had been given to other tribes who were already there! Of course the Dorobo weren't the only ones screwed, because most of the other tribes were nomadic or practiced migratory agriculture, and when the Whites started building their farms, some of the key corridors or watering holes were taken from the people who relied on them a few months out of the year. Anyways. That was the first time the Dorobo were forgotten.
The second time was when the First President Jomo Kenyatta took power in 1963. The British government told all its people that if they wanted to leave, Her Majesty would buy their land, since it was she who initially encouraged them to go to Kenya. Because of this, vast amounts of land that had previously been White-owned was now turned over to the newly formed Kenyan Government. Many tribes were quite excited to finally receive back land that had been taken from them, but when Kenyatta re-distributed the land, it was almost solely to his people, the Kikuyu. And of course the forests were still Government owned, so the Dorobo were left a second time without a home.
Even more recently in the Eburru area, the Government came in a moved several close knit Dorobo communities, telling them that they could no longer live even on the edge of the forest, as it had to be used for "other purposes." The land the government gave them in exchange was on the rainless side of the mountain (is that the leeward or the windward?) which had poor soil to farm, was steep, and forced the once-close communities to spread out over several hours hike from one another. It was the last straw for some, and they moved to other parts of the country where Dorobo are still allowed to live on the edge of the forest (but never in the forest), further destroying the community at Eburru.

What We Did!
One of the people to uproot from Eburru and move was the sole elder of the church there. Leaderless and spread too far apart, the Body began to disinigrate. There is a young man named Marten who wishes to become the leader of the church, but has had no formal training and only got to have a conversation with Mr. Arensen on Thursday. (Mr. Arensen was the AIC missionary who started the church, and he is still responsible for its survival, although he is encouraging more and more of the nationals to take responsibility so it will truly be their church --which is why we went to encourage Marten, not take over)
It was incredible to see how this man lived. He is what we here in Kenya called a Jua Kali. Literally, it means "sun hot" but has become slang for day-workers, because they are always out sweating under the hot sun. It is also used to refer to something made with poor quality, under the assumption that someone who only works out in the sun never learns how to make something of high quality. So when we arrived at Marten's house we were met by his wife who informed us he would return "shortly" as he had gotten work that day. His house was probably 7'x14' and consisted of a "main room" which was just large enough for five people to sit against the mud walls and a kitchen/bedroom/washroom. The ceiling was a cavernous 5' high, and was covered in patches of pastic to keep the elements out.
And in walks Marten, all smiles, the sweat still on this brow, jabbering away in a mixture of Kiswahili, Kikuyu, and Maasai about his excitement in the Lord for this body of believers. Luckily, Shel speaks all three languages, and occassionally translated into English so I could understand. After Marten heard I was interested in how they collected water, he excitedly led us out, through other small shambas, past his brothers house (who joined us), and over a hill to where steam came straight out of the mountain. They say there is no surface water, but there is surface steam! Its true. What the Dorobo do is cut off 10' lengths of Bamboo from the forest, then bury the ends in the ground where the steam comes out at an angle, so as the steam travels up the bamboo it cools, then trickles down to a small hole in the bottom where is empties into a 20L jug. You always know where the steam is close to the surface, because it is surrounded in an intensely red clay called Kaolin. Marten said that they usually come in the morning and in the evening to empty their jugs --meaning they get 40L of fresh water a day from these steam vents! And not just him or his family, but everyone on the mountain gets their water this way!
We returned to his house and spent the next hour encouraging him along with two other Dorobo Christians who had heard we had come. It was good to hear what had been going on, and what Marten planned to do to reach out to people. Mr. Arensen is an excellent listener and is quite familiar with the culture, knowing when is the right time to give advice or not.

The Children
When we first arrived at the village centre, the primary school was just being let out, which means we were met by nearly fifty children all shouting, "How a'you?" to which the appropriate answer is, "Fine! Fine!" while their big eyes and small arms reach up to you, begging to be given something or simply touched. They are absolutely fascinated by digital cameras, finding it the most comical thing to see themselves in a picture. Because White skin was the biggest news on the mountain for the day, we were escorted by a gaggle of 20 kids from the centre to Marten's house --at least a mile walk, perhaps more. In fact, most of the kids hung around outside listening, or leading us by the hand as we walked, pointing and showing us different steam vents. I got a few pictures of some who "talked" to me the most: Damaris and Paulo, plus several pictures of the groups of kids following us. Unfortunately, this internet connection is really slow and can't handle uploading pictures.
They are the most beautifully inquizitive children you will ever meet, their eyes full of life and hope that stands in utter defiance of the landscape around them. It was a blessing to be their entertainment for the day, as they were humored by even the smallest and most mundane thing we did. It was fun to be surrounded in their mixture of giggles and snatches of conversations, as they swirled around us as we walked --clearly too slowly for most of the children.
Mr. Arensen told Paulo, who had taken to holding my hand, that since I was White I would get lost unless I had someone to lead me, and the young boy of four or five took his new responsibility quite seriously. And you know? I never got lost. :)


The Food
Have I said enough how much I love chai and chapatis? Well, on this day of visiting we each got four cups of chai and three chapatis. Wow, delicious! But I was so full by the end of it...
After being engulfed in children upon arriving at the centre, we visiting a "friend" of Shel's that runs a small duka. When I say "small" there is underexaggeration in the term. The "seating area" was smaller than a dining room table, and consisted of a small creaky bench and an outcropping of wood on the opposite wall for setting the food. We had to slide in to our seats, and luckily the two Kenyans already there didn't need to get out of their corner, or else everyone would have had to leave the building just for there to be enough space for them to get out. Including his "kitchen" (which was nothing more than a fire on the ground, a stack of chapatis, and the makings of chai), the whole building could've fit inside my room in the Alpine House.
When he brought us our chapatis, he didn't have any plates, so he ripped off corners of Uji mix (think of a bag of flour), set our chapatis in that and served us. Since there was obviously no space inside, people would lean in through the square hole in the wall acting as a window to talk to us. Conveniently, the window was just behind our heads, so we had Kenyans leaning over the top of us to talk, several going off in various languages at a time. It was a fun and unique experience, not to mention the best chai and chapatis I've had!
Next, when we returned to Marten's house after seeing the steam collection, his wife had prepared chai and chapatis for us, which were also excellent, and she insisted on us having two cups of chai! Later that night I learned that for a Dorobo to share their food is the mark of welcome into the community. Being a hunter/gatherer tribe, they historically never knew where their next meal was coming from, so they would never share with outsiders. They still never share with outsiders, so it was an honor to be welcomed into a Dorobo home and fed. This is startkly contrasted with the Kikuyu who will feed you no matter what; if you step into their home, they must feed you.
We experienced this under the Philipino culture as we made our way back to Kijabe: we stopped to visit with an expatriate friend and his wife --he is British, she is Filipino, and once again we were bombarded with food!
Finally we made it back to Kijabe, only to find myself invited to dinner at the Arensens where I was presented with the most delicious kiesh I have ever tasted, sided by a salad containing walnuts from our farm in California!
Needless to say, at the end of the night I was stuffed!

All in all, a good day of traveling, fellowship, learning, and eating! Ah, just what I could spend my whole life doing...

Wholly Me

[Written 2 April 2007, and in further clarification to the post "Clay and Magic"]

This morn, after a sobering class of dynamics, I chanced upon an delightful conversation with a friend, Janine.

(Okay, so I just read this blog written by my cousin who is at least 6 years younger than me, and her grammer and vocabulary was so much better than mine... it was sad. That's why I tried to make the first sentence sound cool. But I've got nothin'.)

Back to the conversation with Janine: "Kaben, are you often frustrated with yourself?"(I love it when people are completely to the point and open, but not in an annoying sort of, "hurry up and get this conversation over with" sort of way)
"Um, usually about two or three times a week." I replied.
"See, that bothers me..." And so the conversation started.
At the end of it, we decided that our psychologies interpret and respond to the word "frustrated" quite differently. We realized that when I say I am frustrated with myself, it is because I am aware of a fault which is slowing me down, and it confounds me that the flaw continues existence, despite my greatest adversion to it. What I told her was that there are parts of me I am frustrated with, but not the whole me. See, there are little itty-bitty parts of me I just really don't like; I think everyone knows what I am talking about. But I always want to grow, so it makes me "frustrated" with those parts of myself that they continue in their stagnation, refusing other parts of myself growth.

But I was thinking more on this as I walked across Caldwell Park, heading home.

What I realized is that I had taken the approach that the objects of my frustration were located in space, and multiple objects could exist within the same moment of time. For example, if I am frustrated with my mind, I may not necessarily be frustrated with my actions, or vice versa. What I then proceeded to discover is that my frustration lies not in space, but in time. I am not frustrated with my body, mind, soul, spirit at different times, I am frustrated with the whole me at specific times. (which, since the four attributes listed can all exist in the same time, they must be catagorized in "space" though plenty of people will argue that "spirit" cannot be catagorized as such. Just bear with me.) I side with Martin Luther here: There is no division of flesh and spirit; body, mind, soul, spirit; nor any other classical or contemporary classification. There is merely us. Our whole selves are brought into who we are, what we think, and what we do.

When Paul talks about "living in the flesh" or "by the Spirit" he is not referring to portions of us. He is referring to how our whole selves are living. Its actually Biblical. A great example is in 1 Corinthians 6:15 when Paul writes, "Do you not know that you are members of Christ? Shall I then take away the members of Christ and make them members of a prostitute?" Here it is clear that what we do, what we think, who we are -it is our WHOLE selves. There is no talk of 'Part X' being united with a prostitute, while 'Part Y' stays clear of that and is holy and with Jesus. No, it is just US.

Therefore I decided that my frustration was not with small portions of myself at any given time, but rather at my whole self at very specific times. Instead of saying, "I don't like this THING about myself," I ought rather to be saying, "I don't like this TIME about myself." It is completely counter-intuitive, but it makes tremendous amounts of sense. There are times -sometimes just fleeting moments, not even a breath; other times, it could be hours!- when I truly despise the person I am, and in every way it is exactly what Paul is talking about in 1 Corinthians. Because while Scripture affirms me as Christ's (Galations 4:6, Romans 8:15, the list is quite long) it is also very clear that God cannot be a part of sin, but that we still continue to be mired by it (Hebrews 10, 2 Peter 1-2, again the list goes on). Therefore, my whole self is given to Christ at some points, and wholly given to idols of sinfulness at others. I am not saying that you lose your salvation. Not at all. What I mean is that when I do something for Christ, my whole self does it for Christ, not just parts of me. We all like that idea. Well, equally so, when I sin, my whole self sins. My whole self forsakes the Living God and His indescribable gift of grace to me, because my whole self sins.

[as a blistering quick clarification as to why I don't think you can lose your salvation: "There was a porquopine crossing a road with its mother. The only way for the little one to cross was to hold tightly to its mother's belly as she walked across. According to that porquopine, 'The only chance I have of getting across is holding on tight and never letting go.' Now there was a kitten crossing the very same road with its mother. The only way the kitten could cross was for the mother to hold it in her mouth. According to the kitten, 'The only chance I have of getting across is by my mother holding tightly to me.'" Therefore, simply because I temporarily turn from God does not me He ever turns from me. But things work best when I hold desprately to Him. The crossing goes much faster, and the likelyhood of encountering traffic is significantly less. Also, the reason why a Holy God who cannot be in the presence of sin doesn't fling me away when I do sin is because there is a bath of Christ's blood, atoning my brokenness and filth into an offering acceptable to that Holy God. We should just talk face to face if you have questions.]

So, Janine, here is my more complete answer. Hope it helps! :)

Clay and Magic

Thanks to the irresistible Bannister girls, I have now seen all five Harry Potter movies. Yes, even the newest one, which I actually spent money on. Not a week ago, I had seen only one of those movies, and now I sit here before you a thoroughly indoctrinated Harry Potter movie watcher. Not at all a fan, but I must concede to being rather entertained by the fourth and fifth movies.
Now there is an excess of squabbling in regards to the “appropriateness” of Harry Potter books, and I would like to clear things up a bit as to how I stand.
First off is the notorious argument that Harry Potter equals evil because he uses magic. Does magic exist? And if so, is it bad? Personally, I believe that events occur that many people would consider magic. I call them supernatural. Just a difference in word choice? No. Because to me, “magic” as used in Harry Potter and as commonly referred to, originates within the wizard or witch, whereas I believe that the supernatural exists outside of us. I believe that we have influence in the supernatural, but we are not the ones wielding its power.
Also, I strongly believe in the idea of stewardship of what we have been given. Repeatedly Harry Potter uses his mastery of magic to belittle or embarrass others or simply for personal pleasure or convenience. I am opposed to this. I believe that anyone with power of any form must not use it to tear down but to build up. As in Amos it questions the powerful and accuses them of ruining the poor and devouring the widow, we who are educated and wealthy are called into responsible stewardship of those powers; to use them in a way that builds and edifies the Kingdom of God, not our personal egos.
Another reason I hesitate to support the Potter series is the very fact that magic originates with the user. This places the complete glory of anything that happens on the witch or wizard, whereas I believe that our uses of our plentiful power ought to end with the glory residing on the One who gives us those powers. See, to Harry he is the Potter, and his magic is the clay to be shaped as he sees fit. In my view of the world, YHWH is the Potter and we are the clay to be molded in His infinite and impeccable wisdom. Not that the Harry Potter books/movies are the only production of pop-culture to send the wrong signals in this area; it is simply a good tool to use, because the magic Harry wields is easy to point to and say, "See, that's power!"
Finally, I support Harry Potter because of the fifth movie. There is a strong theme of the importance of community and teamwork to accomplish good. I believe as the Body of Christ this is also central to our survival. Recently I was essentially discussing this with my Dad. See, I have always been a strong encourager of community support when it comes to spiritual and emotional needs or blessings, but I am also learning that there is a very important place for community in regard to physical assets as well. And in the fifth movie we finally see Harry do something that places himself in significantly more danger simply for a friend. Now many of you may be saying, “What about when he goes back for Hermine when the troll comes?” “Or how about when he saves Sedric instead of getting the cup himself?” The difference, to me, is hesitation. In the earlier cases there was lag in his response; sometimes outright resistance. But in the fifth movie even when he is encouraged to do things alone he insists on the need of his friends, even fighting at the side of a dear friend to his death (although he still needs quite a bit of encouragement in a few scenes!).
So, like the vast majority of life outside of the brilliance of the Glory of the Lord of Hosts, Harry Potter is a mixture of good and evil. And as in the words of a Potter character, It is not that the fact that there is evil in us, but our choice as to how we will act that is important. Hopefully Potter finds some courage to continue the trend of virtue in the final chapters of his cultural saga.

PS> Personally, my opinion in regards to the combination of good and evil differs greatly from that of Hollywood; I wrote a note about it in Facebook, so I’ll copy that over a new blog just on the random fringe idea that someone might actually care.

A View of Might and Majesty

Coming back from Athi River had had my first experience with matatus. Well, sort of. I actually rode in a “bus matatu,” but it was similar enough. Matatus are Kenya’s public transportation system. Well, “system” is a stretch, but do they ever transport! Matatus are most commonly Toyota vans, but nothing like the Serena. In fact, they are most similar to my 1985 Volkswagen Bus: blunt nose, large seating capacity, and no power. Well, at least they don’t seem like they have power with 14 people crammed in, with sacks of their livelihood strapped on top. Its how most of the farmers get their crops and themselves into markets, or how a business man will get from one side of the city to another. Either way, there is plenty more than just people on board a matatu. I’ve also noticed that it seems to be a Kenya form of advertising to blast music as loud as you can. The idea is that if you can get people to acknowledge the sound source, they must also acknowledge you. So layered with the thick scent of Kenyas, their excited conversations, the squabble of chickens, and the jarring cacophony of the vehicle as it is assaulted by the roads themselves, there is blasting music from speakers that ought to have been thrown out a few years ago. But it was enjoyable, as we would stop occasionally to pick up even more passengers, vendors would come on the bus with whatever they were trying to sell, most commonly BBQed corn. It was fun watching the mixture of hustle & bustle move along side the ever laid back way of life in Kenya.
And that is how Longonot finally greeted me as we edged over the escarpment at a flying 50 kph. Wedged between a greasy window and two jabbering Kenyan mamas (elderly ladies) I looked across the bus, over the heads of the short ladies beside me covered in shawls (kikoi’s) and through the other greasy window and was once again greeted by the amazing view of the ceaseless valley and the crown that is Longonot. Its majesty had not faded; its staunch pose of dominance still intact. And it was here, in the bus with fifty Kenyans, a door that never could quite get itself shut, a muffler that spewed diesel fumes like the Nile spews water, and the ever-present shudder of pothole after deepening pothole, that Longonot welcomed me back. As this: as a part of the Kenyan people. Not as a removed mzungu, sitting in my nice sedan or Land Rover talking of the foolishness of Kenyan politics with other wazungu, talking as the country continued to pull itself apart through empty slander and full pockets of other people’s money ill gotten; but here, on a bus with the people of Kenya as a person of Kenya. Of course they don’t see me that way. “They,” being both those on the bus and the other wazungu. Nor do I yet see myself that way. But to be welcomed back, it is for the people I must be here, and it is as the people I must come. Not separate from, but together with.
And finally I have been welcomed home.

A Few Fun Forays into the Land of Life

Croquet Mallet
On Monday Mr. Bannister and I went on a walk around their home in Athi River. (“Athi” is pronounced as such: The “ath” sounds more like “cloth” than “math”, and the “i” on the end is a long “e” as is the “y” in “Mary”) We walked past Wildebeest, Thompson Gazelle, Grant’s Gazelle, Eland, Ostrich, Giraffe, and Warthog. We were only about for half an hour, and we caught a beautiful sunset and splendid conversation along the way. What a blessing to be in the midst of God’s beautiful creation, as our thoughts and conversation turn to Him and His community; the service He has called us to. Arriving back at the Bannister home, we found the four siblings playing a game of Croquet in the lawn. It was humorous to see the sibling rivalries unfold, especially as the ground made an unpredictable foe, so most progress was pure luck. After Caleb won (the youngest), and we were all cleaning up the field, Cody (the eldest boy, third born) was bringing in some of the balls by hitting them with his mallet. Well, as fate would have it, after one strong swing his mallet detached from the handle and found its way swiftly and conveniently to the side of my head. Luckily, I wasn’t looking so it struck my temple and above my ear, as opposed to my nose and eyes. However, since I wasn’t looking, I first thought I had been hit with a small object, then registered that they had just finished a round of croquet, then thought it was a ball, then ruled it out on the basis that my skull was still intact, then realized my head hurt a bit and I wasn’t entirely stable, then realized that everyone else had realized what happened and was coming to help my side down as they bombarded me with, “Are you okay?” “Are you sure?” “Sit down!” “Oh my goodness!” “Ouch, that must have hurt!” All this happened in the manner of just a second or two. Also as quickly there was a lump on my forehead. Not where the pain was, but out on my forehead. Have you seen “The Mummy”? You know those bugs that crawl under their skin that they have to pry out? Yep. It looked like one of those. We got some sweet pictures of it! That night after dinner I had four Ibuprofen, a glass of wine, and two fingers of Scotch. I wasn’t quite feeling myself, but wasn’t sure what element to blame: jetlag, a blow to the head, or the alcohol…

Dukas
This morning I went shopping for some groceries down at the local dukas. They are quite an adventure to shop in, and I got the most curious looks from the locals as an mzungu bought from their dukas. I hear that more and more of the missionaries are shopping at the local dukas, but the variety is so limited that most of the large shopping is still done in Nairobi. I landed myself with some good-loving bacon and avocados along with some other things and made myself a delicious bacon-avocado sandwich for lunch. Guys, let me tell you. Avocados are 5KSH a piece. That’s about eight cents, American. In the California avocados are a buck a piece and they are so small!! These things are ginormous! I didn’t even use half an avocado for two sandwiches! Man, is this heaven? Anyway, enough of my avocado enthusiasm. On the way back from the dukas I also ran into Susan, who used to be our inside help. Okay, it sounds snobby to say that we have someone who cleans our house and does our dishes, but let me explain. Culturally, it is actually insulting to not provide employment. So rather than it being a show-off of wealth, it is just expected (and in fact even if you don’t want inside help, the school requires that you hire someone) that the wazungu hire the nationals. Their thinking, and I don’t think its too far off, is that How dare the westerners (mzungu=singular, wazungu=plural) come and profit from our economy without contributing to it through providing labor? So it was good to run into Susan who worked for us for two years, and see that she has a business of her own now, sewing. The more I think about my future, the more I think my strength is people, and I am also good with financial management and economies, so it warms my heart to see the local economy here growing, slowly but surely! Though I certainly don’t mind the absolutely wonderful prices of some of my favorite foods!

It is something Mr. Bannister and I talked about on our walk, actually. He made the comment, “You know, I hope you realize just how lucky you are to have lived here when you did. In fact, I think yours is the last generation to be able to wander Kenya with relative freedom. It’s the fastest growing country in the world, and more and more of the land is becoming agriculture or city.”
I agreed, and added, “But you know, when thinking about the billions of people living in dire poverty, I am glad to see the frontier lands become economies blossoming under the direction of honest, hardworking national so that even just a million less have to live in poverty and hopelessness. There are always more places for adventures to be found.”
There was some joking done in regard to the honestness of some of the workers, and though it was said in jest, it is a grave concern of the nation. And though there is still bountiful corruption on every level of Kenyan society, we agreed in the end that empowering the people through economic development is a breath of fresh air for this country and in just a generation or two there will be enough well educated Kenyans who are disgusted by the corruption of their fathers, and then Kenya really will boom. I’ll just have to find a new place to roam on my piki.

He’s Hot!
Also on the way back from the Dukas, I heard racquetballs flying in the courts, and I detoured to see who was playing. Turned out to be a family that I did not recognize, but apparently the recognized me. As I turned the corner and mounted the stairs back towards home, I heard one of the girls say, “That’s Kaben? Man, he’s hot!”
It was really entertaining and rather made my day especially knowing that she thought her comment went unheard by me.

OSC Mania!
These past few days I have what seems to be bombarded by comments and references to Orson Scott Card. I commented about this to Janine, and am serious thinking making a OSC Support Group… I have had some lively discussions regarding several of his characters with several different people, and by and large I am not the one who brings it up!
Oh! And on the inside cover of “The Crystal City” (Sorry Rob, turns out this really is connected with the other five!), under the listing of books in the Bean Series, there is a new book listed after “Shadow of the Giant” called “Final Meetings”. Has Orson written another book about Bean?!? I certainly hope so!

White Veil Wall

God has a funny way of doing things.
Day four, and I have yet to see Longonot. It is the mountain I most identify with "home": around it I rode my piki, and everything that happens at the Rift is overshadowed, quite literally, by Longonot. It is the trademark of home. The waypoint, the differentiation, the icon. If any of you are my friend on Facebook, you'll notice that even though I've had a Facebook account for three years, Longonot has always been my profile picture, because it represents something important to me.
But it has been four days "home" and no sign of the mountain. It didn't disappear, there is just a white mist hanging over the valley, keeping it from view. The mountains where the school is are clear; just the valley is full of mist.
It is as if God is saying, "This land doesn't welcome you back as the person you were, for the purpose you were here." As if He were saying to me, "See, this is your closure. The mountain that once embraced you as its own now releases you." But beneath it there is as well, "Don't forget, nor forsake what this mountain meant to you. Find purpose in the life you have now without need to purge the life you had here."
Doesn't He have a funny way of things?
And it has been a good time of closure. Not that I feel I could've ended things any better than I did my senior year; there weren't threads left to tangle. It is a different kind of closure and a good one.
A close friend sent me an e-mail yesterday, a friend dear to my heart, and in it there was the remark, "I am glad you get to be where you are happy." It hurt to read those words, and I now see how my obsession with Kenya was a slap in the face of this friend --and not only this friend, but many others as well. In my repsonse I made it clear, as I hope to make clear now, that I find myself no more happy here than I was in California. I just never realized how blessed my life was, simply because it wasn't occuring in Kenya. But I am growing up, and I thank you, my friends, for your patience with me as I do it. I thank God for the blessings He has given me, both here in Kenya and in California. I thank Him also for five more weeks in Kenya and two more years in California, and I trust I will learn to be a more faithful servant to His will.
And I trust that you, my friends, will continue to be patient with me, helping me to grow into who God would have me be, where God would have me be.

in Him,
me.

Isaiah 1:17-20

Wordless

Today was my first day alive. Okay, that was an exaggeration.
It was just my first day back in Kenya after three years' absence. Too long. Maybe. We'll see what I think when August 20th come rollin' around!

As I drove through Nairobi and back to Kijabe I tried to think up words to describe how I felt more accurately than, "It's awesome!" It wasn't much good; my mind didn't do much to assist the rest of my senses and 'metaphysical' evidences that were juicing me full of emotions; I just couldn't eek any words out of it.

The first thing I thought of was, "This is perfect. I remember again what it is to be alive." Along this line of thinking, I tried to developed analogies that could better grasp it:
"Its like driving a car from the forties that hasn't been taken care of, then driving a luxury sedan. And you say, 'Yes, this is what it is to drive.'"
"Its like hiking with shoes that give you just the slightest blisters; just that minute annoyance so you come to not notice. But then you wear shoes that feel like they were made for nothing other than your feet, and you think, 'Yes, this is what it is like to hike!'"
But I realized that with these, if the later case is a grander form of perfection, it is only due to the imperfection of the former. And I don't think California is any less perfect than Kenya. (Don't faint) See, in my mind to compliment on alternative does not diminish another option at all. But I have recently discovered that for many people, this is the case. So for this analogy to work, it must be understood that when I say that Kenya is like that perfect pair of shoes I am not saying California is an annoying flop; just that Kenya is a breath of fresh air (but a 'fresh air' compared to what? you may ask). So while this line of thinking is completely accurate, it is also completely inadequate.

Next, as I saw the slopes of Longonot for the first time as I sat on Upper Field --it was extremely foggy on the drive in-- my first thought was, Now these lines are natural to my eyes. Like green and grass, they just go together. It was as if my eyes had to focus just a little harder and work a little longer to get the 'right' images elsewhere, but when my eyes beheld Longonot it took no effort, it was seamless, like another part of myself. Like I wasn't even absorbing an image from the outside, but rather than an image from the inside was projected into the physical world. That this whole being here, this whole talking to people, seeing people, smelling people --this whole trip is not a dive into some new and foreign environment, but rather that some deeper part of myself was manifesting itself through every sight, sound, and smell around me so that there was no absorption, but instead agreement with what already existed in the deepest parts of me. This seems to be much more adequate, but incredibly less accurate: The whole existence and interaction with Kenya is a mere projection of some deep life stored up inside of me? Yeah right. I don't even think a New Agist would agree with that one! No, of course the hard reality of Kenya that exists outside myself is still wholly intact, and it was that reality I encountered, but I think I discovered that I had kept the heart of Kenya so alive that even though everything looks different and all the people are certainly foreign, there heart's beat to the same pulse, so it felt like it was a manifestation of who I am inside --or at least a part of who I am.

Does that mean I love California or the people of California any less? Let it never be! I am not discrediting California, simply exulting Kenya. Just because there is an abiding love for Kenya does not mean there is any lack of love for California. They are merely not compared.

California has many things I love (not the least of which are the Sierras!) and even more people I love (yes, you know who you are! ...I hope!). But I am not in California, and have not been gone from California for any great amount of time, so I am not writing about it. I just want it to be clear to anyone who reads this that my encounter with Kenya in 2007 is vastly different in taste and texture than it was in 2004 --and not just on the surface. The surface of any place or people changes on a daily basis, but I am speaking to the taste and texture of my deeper connection with the deeper parts of the beating heart of Kenya, and more specifically, RVA. Maryline E'ngle would call it my Kything sense; Orson Scott Card would call it my aiua, or my connection with the greensong. I say that only so those who have read those books can understand better; not because I actually believe any of those fictional things bear onto any reality, but I certainly believe the experience behind the thing is most definitely real. And I am experiencing it now. And it is beautiful, leaving me wordless.

...Almost. :)

Wordiness

I was in the Word earlier today, reading through Eph 4. It was actually the fifth time reading that chapter since leaving Stockton; for some reason I keep coming back to it. When I was all packed up, leather jacket on my back, helmet in my hand, I stopped and thought, "You know, I should read Ephesians chapter four." Okay, so it was God telling me I should read it, but either way I did.

Each time I've gone through it since I've learned something new. First, it was that God has given me a specific calling, and even if someone or something matches perfectly with everything in my life except that calling, it needs to be cut out. I am still learning that one! Secondly, it was the manner in which the "futile thinking" of unbelievers seperates them from God. Or more accurately, their understanding was darkened because of ignorance towards God because their hearts were hard, therefore becoming calloused and thereby excluded from the life of God. And because of all that they were given over to sensuality to practice every kind of impurity with greed. Kinda scares me when I see more than my own share of sensuality in my life...

Tonight, though, as I read it something completely different was shown to me. It has to do with words, or at least how we use them.

See, Paul spends a few verses telling us how it was that we came to understand Christ, and because of this understanding we "put on a new self, which in the likeness of God has been created in righteousness and holiness of the truth." Seems to me to be speaking of an individual, coming into a life given by God. Interestingly enough, the focus changes in the next verse, because we are told to speak truthfully to our neighbors because "we are members of one another." Here, laying aside our old selves and becoming new "in righteousness and holiness of the truth" we simultaneously reject corruption through "the lusts of deceit." Once we have shed that heavy cloak, we then speak to our neighbors the truth because we are part of the same body. Interesting. Taking that a wee further (too far?) I would like to make the statement that, based on previous verses, the failure of one part of the body to function correctly hobbles the growth of the whole. Therefore, not speaking the truth to other believers is destructive to the body.
And here is what I want to contrast it with: just a few verses later, Paul writes, "Let no unwholesome word proceed from your mouth, but only such a word as it good for edification according to the need of the moment, so that it will give grace to those who hear. Do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, by whom you were sealed for the day of redemption." Here, it seems that edifying speach provides a comfort --a grace-- to the persons who hear. But who is damaged by unwholesome talk? It says here, "do not grieve the Holy Spirit."
Perhaps, you are saying to yourself, the verse about the Holy Spirit is referring to what happens next. And it could be so. But the immediate verses following are thus: One verse telling believers to put off detructive emotions which could be revealed through speach, then the second verse urges believers to treat each other with contructive emotions which can also be displayed through words (though not limited to!). This leads me to think that the Holy Spirit is grieved when we allow unwholesome talk come from our mouths, not necessarily that the Holy Spirit is grieved by our use of destructive emotions --though certainly God does not approve of such activity. So I find it interesting that, at least in this case, the distinction is made that it is deceit which harms the body and unwholesome talk which harms the Holy Spirit.

Just and interesting thought... maybe?

Renegade Epiphany

Yesterday I had a vision, or an epiphany, or maybe I was just thinking to myself. Regardless, sitting here in front of my computer, staring at my desktop background I had a little conversation. With myself or God I don't know. But it was an important conversation.

See, this is the image I was looking at. I know, I know. It would change anybody's life, but just bear with me. :) I was looking at that clump of farms, just right and down from center, and there was the question, "Could you live on that farm forever, having no more impact in the world than the people around you?" It is a question I struggle with a lot, and usually labor for hours before coming to an answer. But yesterday I found a "yes" off my lips before my mind had completely finished processing the question. Just as quickly came the next question, "Why not here?" I knew the question was referring to California, or the States, or at least wherever it is I feel tied to. And that question had not immediate answer. No, it is a question I am still thinking on.

In one of my summer classes, we were discussing careers and reasons why some people become "great" while others don't accomplish much. There was an anecdote of one of the professor's friends who claimed he'd made a great composer, "if only." My prof asked the class, "What excuses are you making to cover up becoming great? When you say you are stuck, that is giving up; when you say you are stopped, that gives reason to fight."

I think my desktop had the same questions for me. What excuses am I using?

"Oh, I can't really become too involved in ministry because I'm in America for a short while."
"Well, if I were in a different country I'd care about this a lot more."
My list goes on as well. And on, and on...

Don't get me wrong, I don't feel at all like God is calling me to serve in the States, He's just calling me to grow up a little bit. If I don't act they way I ought here, what says I am going to act the way I ought there? If my focus is blurry here, what about there will make it clear?

Of course there are some very obvious answers to those questions, but the answer I am meant to understand is deeper than that. Its a call to step beyond the excuses of the obvious answers into a deeper place in my soul to understand who I am. To understand why I am called overseas beyond the obvious answer, "Because I fit in there." To realize a deeper yearning in my heart, a fire lit by God's Spirit. If these deeper questions are answered, it will indeed be revealed how much of an excuse the "obvious" answers are.

And I don't like excuses.

So I find myself asking over and over, "Why not here?"
And it does indeed give reason to fight. If it is something I claim to value ideally, why doesn't the wake of my life relate such a story as I barge through this America? The story my past tells is not the story I want my future to tell, and that is why I ask myself these questions. I want to know why my past hasn't lined up with my future, and I want to know what I need to change and how so that they will.

End of story. (today, at least...)

Condensed Arrogance

(I realized the full post is really long winded. If you want a Biblical backdrop go ahead and read it. If not, maybe this is enough.)

Joseph goes on a fantastic journey throughout his life. It starts with his dreams of his family bowing to him. Of course, because we have the whole story we know that they were given to him by God, but when did he know that? It never says, and I am going to assume that he was human like us, and thought they were cool dreams that he wanted to come true. It was a dream of power, of fame, and of recognition. I know I have dreams like that.

Yet there is a pivotal moment in his life, and probably one of the more scary: he is sold into slavery. He is placed in a mundane and unfair situation with no hope of escape. He is not recognized, he is scorned and mistreated. Somewhere in all of this he came to have a relationship with God that was blessed the rest of his life (not free from trouble, just blessed). And in this relationship he begins to have an accurate view of himself (as can be seen as he interacts with Potiphar's wife) and he begins to have an obedience that eventually leads the the exact fulfillment of his childhood dreams (Gen. 41-45). So it is in the humble obedience and godly handling of whatever situation he finds himself in that gains him access to his dreams. He didn't push and shove to get there, he was pushed and shoved. While in prison he makes the comment that he was there unfairly (Gen. 40:15), but the whole while he keeps his eyes on obeying God. Even when he is first faced with interpreting a dream (for which he becomes Biblically famous) he says, "Do not interpretations belong to God?" (v. 8) and we can see that in every conversation his attitude is first on honoring God. Because of his humble focus on honoring God, he ends up honoring his dreams, not intentionally, but through honoring God. Through the fulfillment of his dreams, his parents are honored by him and through him.

Arrogant Dreams

"I guess I just want to understand what it means to honor God- how I can follow my dreams and do what I think is the right thing for me to do but the whole while keep my ears and eyes open to God so that if He has something else in mind for me, I'll know it. Also, along with wanting to gain general knowledge about the bible and the life of Jesus, it would be amazing if there was something in there to guide me through figuring out how to honor my parents without giving up all of my wishes."

This was sent to me by a good friend, as they were (are) wrestling with some very important questions in life. I have delayed any answer because I have been thinking on it (for a grand total of an hour...)

Other friends have expressed interest in this topic, so I am in no way trying to answer these questions, but more begin a conversation or at least pique you to thought.

Every time I thought to myself in prayer, "How can you pursue your dreams without dishonoring God?" Two things came to mind: 1) You can't. 2) Joseph.

I say, "You can't," because the only way for a dream to be honoring to God in its pursuit is if it is God's dream given to you. So technically, you can't pursue your dreams, but as your proximity to God increases, the honest desires of your heart more reflect His.

Joseph. When most people think of the name in Biblical terms they usually either think of Mary's husband or the dreamer with the technicolored coat. But I think the Joseph of Genesis 37 and 39 (the one we usually think of as the dreamer) sheds light on the question of honoring God, your parents, and your dreams. Maybe.

The first things we find out about Joseph is that (Gen. 37:1-3)
1) He is young to be sheparding,
2) He is a tattle-tale,
3) He's the favorite child.

When I read this again it sounded like a receipt for a brat, and my memory took me back through the tides of time to elementary school. Invariably there was at least one kid who was cocky to no end. Usually they had reason to be so stuck-up, and that was the worst part. They totally abused their position, but it looked like they did everything right. They were smart and athletic, the teachers all liked them, and they never got in trouble, but never ceased finding other people to get in trouble. Its like a mini police; a spy. Untouchable but unwelcome. This is how I see Joseph here; he fits the formula to the tee.

But he doesn't stop there. He has a dream: "Please listen to this dream which I have had; for behold, we were binding sheaves in the field, and lo, my sheaf rose up and also stood erect; and behold, your sheaves gathered around and bowed down to my sheaf." (v. 6, 7)

Isn't that aggravating? Can he really not know that this will infuriate all his brothers? I believe him that this is his dream, but the kid is being a jerk. I mean, really. I would've been angry. And then he tells them another dream, this time including his parents among those bowing to him. But these were his dreams. They taste, smell, and act cocky.

(The weird thing here is that his brothers get jealous of him after the second dream, and his father "keeps the saying in mind." (v. 11) Why are they jealous?)

Now the next thing that separates Joseph from his brothers: When they go up to Shechem to graze the flock, he stays behind with his dad. Then, when his dad sends him up to his brothers he has the audacity to wear the very coat which initially inflamed their anger. (v. 12, 32) He just can't stop with his abuse of power. But his brothers had all that wrath saved up; and they were quick to release it. They had barely seen him and they plotted how to kill him (v. 18).

Okay, skipping through some of the details and trusting that you will read these two chapters, Joseph finds himself a slave on the way to Egypt. I wonder what happened on this trip, because when he makes it to Egypt he doesn't appear at all to have any shading of arrogance that defined him so clearly before. On arriving in Egypt, he is taken into the house of Potiphar, Pharaoh's officer of the bodyguards (Gen 39:1).

The LORD was with him in Potiphar's and he succeeded in everything he laid his hand to. When noticed, he was placed in charge of the entire household of this officer. All responsibilities: the other slaves, the food, the livestock, the furniture; it was all in Joseph's care. The crazy part is that God continued his blessing and prospered the house of Potiphar under Joseph. (v. 3-5) It got so extreme that Potiphar didn't even concern himself with anything except what he ate. (v. 6) Now that is trust!

Then along comes Potiphar's wife: Rich, well clothed, and hungry for action. She asks again and again for this handsome guy to pleasure her in bed, and again and again he refuses. And it is in this relationship that we see how humble he's come: "Behold, with me here, my master does not concern himself with anything in the house, and he has put all that he owns in my charge. There is no one greater in this house than I, and he has withheld nothing from me except you, because you are his wife. How then could I do this great evil and sin against God?" (v. 8, 9)

He knows his place.

From there his life takes all sorts of turns and twists, and he makes interesting demands and curious career moves, but lets get back to the question of honoring God, parents, and dreams.

Joseph goes on a fantastic journey throughout his life. It starts with his dreams of his family bowing to him. Of course, because we have the whole story we know that they were given to him by God, but when did he know that? It never says, and I am going to assume that he was human like us, and thought they were cool dreams that he wanted to come true. It was a dream of power, of fame, and of recognition. I know I have dreams like that.

Yet there is a pivotal moment in his life, and probably one of the more scary: he is sold into slavery. He is placed in a mundane and unfair situation with no hope of escape. He is not recognized, he is scorned and mistreated. Somewhere in all of this he came to have a relationship with God that was blessed the rest of his life (not free from trouble, just blessed). And in this relationship he begins to have an accurate view of himself (as can be seen as he interacts with Potiphar's wife) and he begins to have an obedience that eventually leads the the exact fulfillment of his childhood dreams (Gen. 41-45). So it is in the humble obedience and godly handling of whatever situation he finds himself in that gains him access to his dreams. He didn't push and shove to get there, he was pushed and shoved. While in prison he makes the comment that he was there unfairly (Gen. 40:15), but the whole while he keeps his eyes on obeying God. Even when he is first faced with interpreting a dream (for which he becomes Biblically famous) he says, "Do not interpretations belong to God?" (v. 8) and we can see that in every conversation his attitude is first on honoring God. Because of his humble focus on honoring God, he ends up honoring his dreams, not intentionally, but through honoring God. Through the fulfillment of his dreams, his parents are honored by him and through him.

So there are some intro thoughts. :)

Five Porticoes and One Lame Reason

Last night was Bible Study. I missed it for the third week in a row. First it was final projects, then final exams, and this week was new roommates. Two people moved in yesterday.

But I missed Bible Study. I asked Gen to send me what they had studied, and I got a text message last night full of Bible verse with the tag "Correlating sin and pain." I took some time today to go over the passages myself, and I believe God had a very different message for me.

In John 5:1-18, Jesus heals the lame man by the Sheep Gate at the pool of Bethesda. As I was reading this third passage from Bible Study, I said for the third time, "I've read this a million times!" But praise God that His thoughts are above our thoughts!

"Do you wish to get well?"
The sick man answered him, "Sir, I have no man to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, but while I am coming, another steps down before me." (v. 6-7)

I am struck by this response. Jesus never asked him how it was that he wasn't yet healed. Nor was He asking how the sick man would try to become healed. He simply asked if the long-term pool-patient wanted healing.

In answering the man provides an excuse. "I couldn't do it because of something else. Once that's taken care of, I'll be set."

I read it, then realized I wasn't reading. It's what I say all the time to Christ. Everyday, in fact. I cry out to Him, "What is going on in my life?" (see "Driftwood and the Cross") and when He says, "Do you want to be healed?" I answer, "I can't make it into the water for these excellent, limiting reasons." But that's not what He asks. When He says, "Do you want wisdom?" Who am I to say, "I don't read enough books." That's not an answer, yet I answer in such a fashion on a regular basis. It's something I need to work on. When asked a question by my Lord, I ought to just answer it, eh.

The other piece of this which stands out to me is in v. 10 and 11. The Pharisees asked the healed man, "It is the Sabbath, and it is not permissible for you to carry your pallet."
But he answered them, "He who made me well was the one who said to me, 'Pick up your pallet and walk.'"

The mainstream, those who knew the law the best, they were the ones who instead of taking part in this man's community and experiencing the healing power of Christ with him chastised him for not conforming to their norms. He was out of line; either making them look bad or casting a poor light on their oh-so-important reputation, and it was unacceptable.

But I love the poignancy of the healed man's response, and I believe we as Christians can forget it's importance. "He who healed me of my infirmary was the one who commanded me so." Christ has healed us; why do we simply bow our heads to the cultural-religious norms? I am reminded of one of my favorite animated comedies, "Over the Hedge." Its a great movie, if you haven't seen it, you really should! :) Near the beginning, one of the characters, a very spunky and energetic squirrel finds the Hedge. As the eclectic group of foragers stand in awe of the size of the Hedge, they believe it to be powerful and therefore name is Steve. (Since things with names are a lot less scary, quoth the porcupine) At that moment you hear a human voice from the other side say, "Come over here, young man!" And the squirrel hangs his head and says, "Okay." And begins walking towards the Hedge.

I see the similarity to myself. Yet the healed man stands firm, knowing that despite the clout of the challengers, the one who healed him commanded him, and He is greater and for no other reason (though there are many) than His healing ability, He is worth obeying.

Cool stuff.

Lenses

I need to relearn this...
My relationship with God is not where either one of us want it to be, and I have to take full responsibility of that.

A hard lesson is how to listen to God.

So often people take this is a New Age way of emptying your mind. Intellects call it a "crutch" or a "blindness," and people of Eastern religions call it "fake." They are both right. We are not called to be empty headed. The God of intellect, reason, and imagination is OUR God. We are very much called to be engaged in our world, but through the point of view of Christ.

One "spiritual practice" from last year was to take a few minutes each day to be silent. Not to be empty, but to be silent. In that silence I would recount with as much accuracy as possible what I had done the past twenty-four hours, and how it was or was not glorifying to God. Amazing how much I learned by engaging my mind in a godly way! It wasn't ignoring everything, it was ordering everything under the lens of Christ's Glory.

Psalms 145

This is an e-mail I sent to my parents earlier today, and ties in to my earlier post, "The Flight of the Phoenix," and shows very readily how gracious our God is!

I have had it running through my head since about 10 AM this morning.
Becky Taylor had asked for some help moving her things out of her apartment, so John Pinney and I headed over there at 9:30 AM. We were done pretty quick, and I was going to head to the Summit for lunch, but it was far too early.

As normal, I started thinking of finances, because I knew I had some Pacific Cash to use up. I knew that I had a credit in my account from co-op because I only had to pay half tuition, and knew I had left a few hundred dollars in their, only part of it being used for Pacific Cash. Since it was still morning and I had time to kill, I headed over to the Finance Office to see if I could get some of that money back. I expected between $150-300, because I knew it wasn't much. I had already taken a bunch out.

When I got there and the lady looked up my account I noticed the bottom line read "-$1500", and I thought to myself, "Dear Lord, I cannot pay that type of money right now!" How had I been that far in the hole? I knew something couldn't be right about it, but they trust their system.

She turned to me and said, "Looks like you have some Financial Aid that carried over from the Spring Semester; would you like to receive a refund check?"

It floored me. I didn't really know how to respond, but she started filling out the refund form, so I guess I told her yes. As I walked out, Psalms 145 came to mind:
"The LORD is gracious and merciful;
Slow to anger and great in lovingkindness.
The LORD is good to all,
And His mercies are over all His works.
All Your works shall give thanks to You, O LORD,
And Your godly ones shall bless You.
They shall speak of the glory of Your kingdom
And talk of Your power;
To make known to the sons of men Your mighty acts
And the glory of the majesty of Your kingdom.
Your kingdom is an everlasting kingdom,
And Your dominion endures throughout all generations.

"The LORD sustains all who fall
And raises up all who are bowed down.
The eyes of all who look to You,
And You give them their food in due time.
You open Your hand
And satisfy the desire of every living thing."
(v. 8-16)

And I was singing it all the way home. Shane and Shane put a great melody to verse 8 and 9, and it was on my lips all morning!

Jehovah Jirah!

in Him,
me.

Flight of the Phoenix

I sat in the leather armchairs in our dining room, and looked through the entry way full of sturdy shoes and sweatshirts into our livingroom lined with couches and tapestries. I found myself thinking, "Man, but I am spoiled."

See, I had just received a phone call from the Mental Health Emergency Response Clinic of Phoenix, Arizona.
"Excuse me, sir. Have you ever heard of a Ronald McDaniels?" the man asked.
"I have heard of a Ron McDaniels, but I didn't know he was in Phoenix."
"Oh, well, we are trying to assess his situation, and he is unable to answer our questions right now, but your number was on his body." My heart sank, because I knew exactly who he was talking about.

One night last summer, just as we said "Amen" after thanking God for revealing Himself to us through His word during Bible Study, there was a knock at the door. Behind the knock was a man in an electric wheelchair, his wild gray beard covered his chest down to his naval, trying unsuccessfully to cover the grimy clothes doing a poor job concealing the equally dirty skin underneath. It was clear this fellow had lived many hard years in an unforgiving city.
"Excuse me, sir. But my scooter has a flat, do you have an air pump? All it needs is an air pump. See I can get around just fine, but I need air, and this other guy over here," he pointed to a neighboring house down the street, "gave me some air, but its already flat again." He kept going for a while, talking with enough animation for a theater, explaining to us why he was in our neighborhood with a flat tire. "Oh, geez, I am so tired." He said, letting his entire weight fall into the nook of his seat. "I drive around hours a day, and now my tire is flat, man. And when I go home," he held up his bandaged arm, "well, things are good there, either. My mom says she loves me, but my brother-in-law and I sure don't get along. You know he threw me out of my scooter the other night? Yeah, and there wasn't even a reason!" The stories kept coming, and a few guys went in search of an air pump. While they were gone he noticed someone had a Bible. "I see you are studying the Word," he said. "Are you believers?"
And THAT started the real conversation. It lasted several hours. Apparently he had been very involved in pentecostal ministry for many years on the streets of Stockton before he became a paraplegic. He talked on and on about how the Lord has used him, and he continued to give us advice and admonishment, "In the Lord." He seemed quite sincere, but our knowing what HE did was quite important as well.
At the end of the night he had showered and had repaired his tire, and he was off.
Ironically, we had been studying how to respond to outreach in real ways. The Lord is not slow in keeping His promises.
As the weeks went on, Ron was in and out of our house, sometimes sleeping, sometimes showering, but always talking. He would talk about the Lord, he would talk about his family, and he would talk about his fiance. She lived on the East Coast, and they loved one another, he said. It took her several months, but she eventually made it out here, and we were able to meet her. Not more than a few days after that, they took off to Arizona because her son was in some sort of trouble. After that, my communication with him was spotty at best. I heard his fiance was causing trouble; then that she was the greatest thing to happen to him, several weeks later. I never really knew what was going on, but he had told me he was coming back to California. I told him we'd love to help in any way we could, but we couldn't give him a bed and three square a day; we were college kids, I thought he'd understand. I'm sure he did, but I am not sure he ever made it back to California.

Right now he's in Phoenix, unable to respond to questions. I began praying; the only thing I knew to do. There is so much pain. My mind wandered to another friend who is on the streets. She is clearly mentally unstable, and she also staid here a few nights. We ended that, not feeling morally immune, and we haven't heard from her since. When she left she said there was a letter she was waiting for; we've received 15, all from various government programs or mental clinics. I fear she would also be unable to respond to questions if anyone found her body.

It is a hard reality to swallow, and it makes me sick. Not because people I know and care about are lost and dying, but because I look around myself while listening to my Bose speakers, and think, "Why? Why is the wealth so unequally distributed? Why am I still so wealthy?"

And that's really what brought it home for me.

See, I am going to Kenya this summer, and the ticket costs $2200, and I don't have much more than that in my checking account. I have several months' rent to pay this summer, and currently no job. Once summer session is done, I'm headed up North where my Dad'll have things for me to do, but that's like robbing the monastery. I've been worried recently that I won't have enough money to keep going to college consistently, and I may need to take a semester just to work. We'll see.

But I was so pre-occupied with it all. It consumed me; it governed what I did and did not do. I used to always be the chauffeur because I had a large vehicle and I like driving, but I've been asking other people to drive because I am afraid of coughing up the dough to fill up. And it is so stupid. Look around, I tell myself, look at those who you say you love who are without a penny, dropped by every safety net established, and dropped by compassion as well. Completely abandoned, the most attention these people get are when they are unable to respond to questions, their bodies found God-knows-where.

It makes me a little more humble, realizing how caught up I've become praying for poor-little-me when there are real issues out there not being dealt with because I am too self-centered. It is humbling, and in that state of humility I find my prayers become a lot more honest, and I weep for these people.

I hope these tears Jesus has given me for these people are not alone, and I trust in His plan that they are not.

Birch Dragons

Most people, when thinking of Sacajawea are reminded of a young First Nations girl who was of invaluable assistance to the Lewis and Clark expedition, in which the first Europeans found the Pacific Ocean by foot.

However, what few people know is the extent to which she helped them.

As Lewis and Clark headed across the natural and breathtaking mid-America, there were times when sleep came hard. The two explorers found themselves inexplicably nervous, and even fearful. There was no rhyme or reason, as far as their pale eyes could see.

It was because of this that they sought a Native guide. During one encounter, a First Nations person was able to communicate the question, "Do you fear at night?" Not understanding the meaning, but most certainly knowing the answer they vigorously nodded, "Yes." After a difficult and arduous interpretation of what nodding means, they were on their way now knowing to seek a guide. Somehow the nervousness was tied directly to their campsites, but they couldn't put a finger on it.

In fact, it wasn't until the mid-nineteenth century biologist and biogeologist Franz Unger began to study the possible causes under the lens of Humboldtian science that the Birch Dragon was revealed the the scientific world.

Birch Dragons, as their interpreted name would suggest, live in birch trees and are attracted to fire. It is a semi-suicidal tendency, similar to a honey bee's sting. They are small in size, comparable to an ordinary ant, but red-stripped. They can typically withstand high temperatures, and use this as a defensive mechanism to ward off enemies. If this defense fails, the Birch Dragon contains a natural acid that is released in death or extreme defense. Different from the related pederin, the acid of the Birch Dragon (nemocodin) acts as a psychological switch of the hippocampus.

While it is widely known that the amygdala is our fear receptor, nemocodin does not actually cause fear. Rather, as a governor on a car limits the speed the vehicle can attain, the hippocampus limits the "rate of fear" (if you will) at which people become afraid by ignoring specific signals determined to be an unsubstantial fear trigger. Nemocodin simply removes this limiter, allowing any sort of childish trigger to cause fear. Nervousness is more common effect, as most rational adults subconsciously explain away the fear, but there is still that nagging impulse trying to warn them of a danger they cannot perceive.

Combining these two discovered attributes of the Birch Dragon, it was deduced that when Lewis and Clark would pitch camp in or near a grove of birch trees, their campfire would attract the Dragons, which would then invariably drown in their stew, or become stuck on a cooking piece of meat. Because of their small size they were never noticed by the explorers, but the ingestion of nemocodin would create a nervousness which was unexplainable to them until modern science.

But Sacajawea knew of the relationship between fires and birch trees, even if she didn't know of the Birch Dragon's role exactly, and she was able to guide them to camp in birch-free zones, allowing them to sleep with increased confidence and continue more vigorously on their journey.

And if you believe that tale, my friends, I have a bridge in the backyard you can buy.

Concision

I need to learn how to be concise.