Ruined for the Ordinary

Hi. It's been a while. Nearly six months, actually - a near eternity for the me I used to be. But that's just the thing... I'm not the me I used to be.

I've been ruined for the ordinary.

No longer do I envision my life unfolding as I thought it might. I have no idea what that means, but I know things will never be the same.

They say that one a person has been to Africa, it will always hold a piece of their heart. I knew that before I left, but I had no possible way of understanding what that would really mean for me. Some days I miss it so much that I feel a physical ache in my chest.

It's been over a year since I returned home from Kenya. So much has happened in my life and in my heart in that time. I really have no idea how to catch up, so I'm not going to try. I'm sure the important bits will all come out here over time, but here's the gist.

Once home, I knew that I wanted to be more involved in missions and outreach in some way. Everybody asked me, "So... are you going to go back?" I really didn't have a response. Sure, I could go back to Africa, maybe. But teaching in an inner city school with a majority First Nations population had me staring a huge need and huge opportunity right square in the eyeballs every single day. Maybe this was where God was calling me to be.

Over the Christmas holidays, Africa Inland Mission asked me to be the Canadian rep at their booth at Urbana, a huge missions conference held every three years in St Louis. Of course, I jumped at the opportunity. God used that conference to do many things in me (mostly make me bust out in tears at every. single. speaker at each of the evening sessions), one of which was to open my heart even more to the opportunities in ministry to First Nations people. Still my heart was torn between staying and going.

In January, I began taking a course called Perspectives on the World Christian Movement. Perspectives looks at the biblical, historical, cultural, and strategic aspects of God's heart for the nations. It was in this course that I gained a sense of God's overarching plan to bless the nations and to bring glory to His name. Doing the reading each week, I would be moved to tears frequently. (Yep. I'm a regular ol' crybaby now. All. The. Time. I'm sure the people in Starbucks where I would study thought there was something seriously wrong with me!) Also through the course, I came to the following conviction.

I need to go.

It wasn't a dream or a vision. It wasn't an audible voice calling me to missions. Heaven knows I didn't morph into some kind of super-holy wonder Christian. HA! In fact, I think I've been the most broken I've ever been this past year. I lean heavily on God's promise that His grace is sufficient for me, and that His power is made perfect in weakness. It's just that my perspective has changed and that I'm willing to go.

For the first time, I came to see the biblical foundation for cross-cultural missions. I was shown the current state of the world and was taught what it truly means to be a part of the revelation of Jesus to the nations. I came to see that this kind of work was most needed among those people groups who are the furthest removed from the gospel. And, or course, my heart is in Africa.

I don't know what that will look like yet. I'm in the process of figuring out just how to get there. Right now I'm thinking of returning for two to four years to start. I have to do some course work before I go - mostly Bible courses and cross-cultural studies type courses. I have to figure out how to finance that education in a way that won't make it years before I am able to go to the field. I don't know how that all will work out, but, God willing, I know it somehow will.

It's exciting. It's thrilling. And it's scary. The least reached people groups live in difficult areas, whether that's because of climate, geography, politics, or wars. It's why they're among the last people groups to hear and accept the gospel. But over and over God keeps bringing the image of Revelation 7 to my mind:

After this I looked and there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and in front of the Lamb. They were wearing white robes and were holding palm branches in their hands. And they cried out in a loud voice:

"Salvation belongs to our God,
who sits on the throne,
and to the Lamb."

There are people missing from the multitude. I want to be sure that I do my part to make sure they are there on that day, bringing glory to Jesus.

There's a phenomenal video that Africa Inland Mission's On Field Media team has published that has also helped me come to this decision, and has encouraged me, as it's title suggests, to move against the fear. I would encourage you to watch the whole video. It's just under ten minutes. If you really don't have time, skip to 7:05 and watch it to the end.

Move Against the Fear from AIM On-Field Media on Vimeo.

Again with the tears. I cry every time I watch it. All this crying isn't because I'm imbalanced (ha!) but I think it's because I sense God pulling my heart in a way and in a direction I've never experienced before.

There's a lot that this decision implies, and it's by no means been a painless journey, nor will it be in the months and years to come. But it's the right decision. As I come back to blogging, will you follow me on this journey?

Maybe you, too, will be ruined for the ordinary!

The seed and the harvest

I saw this quote at the bottom of Andrea's blog tonight:

"Don't judge each day by the harvest you reap, but by the seeds you plant."
~ Robert Louis Stevenson

Reading that, it hit me – a “boom, bang crash, open-your-eyes, ah-ha moment” kind of hit me.

I wasn't a harvester.

So much of my trip to Korr was wonderful. Incredible. Amazing. Words can not describe. But there were some things that were really hard. Disappointing at times. Frustrating. Things that caused me to doubt my role, to doubt myself.

- Helping to clarify rules and expectations for teachers based on the needs I saw.
- Revamping (and sticking to) a much needed student discipline program.
- Living in the shadow of two previous short termers who made a HUGE influence and connected in a big way with these kids relationally – the kids talked abut them non-stop throughout my stay (good work, girls! You made SUCH an impact on these kids!).
- Meaning what I say and following though with discipline. It doesn’t always make for warm fuzzies in the classroom. Um, understatement of the century.
- Trying to teach by example what following through on discipline actually means, but often ending up looking like the strictest, most meanie-pants teacher in the school.
- Forever trying to correct a warped view of forgiveness that leaves no room for taking responsibility for behaviour. “Madam, why can’t you just forgive him? God tells us we should forgive others!” Argh! Yes! But God also tells us that our actions have consequences!
- Wanting so much to develop good relationships with the kids but having some kids so angry at me they wouldn’t speak to me for a week, and others who just don’t understand why I have to rock the boat and call kids out on misbehaviour. And then wondering how that all reconciles with the African high view of relationship – doing everything you can to NOT break the relationship.
- Feeling at times like a failure in relationships because of such a gap in what I was expecting and what actually God had for me to do.

And perhaps the hardest thing of all – DEFINITELY the most important - was trying to re-shape the kids’ view of what it takes to be saved. Over and over and over the kids would tell me that to be accepted by God they had to do lots and lots of good things. Noooo! Salvation is FREE! Grace costs US nothing because it cost Christ EVERYTHING! We are loved more than we could ever imagine simply because of who we ARE , not for what we do or don’t do! How I longed for that burden of "good works" to fall of their slumped and sagging shoulders!


I didn't see the harvest of so much of my work there. I may never see it. But I realized tonight that the harvest isn't really mine, anyway. The harvest is God's. He may use someone else to bring it in; He may bring it in Himself. But if I want everything I do to be ultimately for His glory, then I don't have to see the harvest. I just have to plant the seeds.

My eyes were opened to a new way of seeing some of those frustrations tonight.

Seeds of excellence in teaching. Seeds of responsibility for behaviour. Seeds of understanding when it comes to forgiveness and salvation. Seeds of faith. Seeds of truth.

Yeah. Sometimes planting those seeds was hard. It hurt. It wasn't always what I thought my job would be. But it was the job God had for me to do, and He sustained me. He gave me wisdom, He gave me strength. He gave me grace. And tonight He reminded me to trust. To trust Him that He gave me the work that needed to be done. To trust Him that he can take the broken work I did and make it good. To trust Him that He was working before I got there, while I was there, and will continue to keep working now that I'm gone. And to trust Him that one day there will be a harvest.

Thank you, Father, that your vision is so much bigger than mine, and that you are faithful, even when we don't get to see the result of our work. Thank you that You are the God of the harvest.

And thank you for the privilege of planting the seeds.

...

Wow. I stopped writing just before I hit publish to take a phone call, and when I did, I thought my post was finished. Before making it back to my computer, though, I got distracted by some cards my fabulously thoughtful and wonderful friend Sarah sent me for my trip. They didn't get to me in time to take them with me when I left, so I have the cards now at my house. I pulled one out of the pile to open. Here is what I read. Gee... you think God maybe knew I needed to read this tonight?????

Do It Anyway
By Roy Lessin

Others may not notice your efforts or give you recognition for something you've done. The credit may even go to someone else.
Do it anyway, as unto Me,
for I am pleased by your service and will honor your obedience.

There may be times when a job you've done will be rejected. Something you have prepared may be canceled or delayed.
Do it anyway, as unto Me,
for I see all things and will bless the work of your hands.

You may do your very best, and yet fail. You may sacrifice time and money to help someone and receive no word of thanks.
Do it anyway, as unto Me,
for I am your reward and will repay you.

There may be times when you go out of your way to include others and later have them ignore you. You may be loyal on your job, and yet someone else is promoted ahead of you.
Do it anyway, as unto Me,
for I will not fail you or make you be ashamed.

You may forgive others, only to have them hurt you again. You may reach out in kindness, only to have someone use you.
Do it anyway, as unto Me,
for I know your heart and will comfort you.

You may speak the truth but be considered wrong by others. You may do something with good intentions and be completely misunderstood.
Do it anyway, as unto Me,
for I understand and will not disappoint you.

There may be times when keeping your word means giving up something you want to do. There may be times when commitment means sacrificing personal pleasure.
Do it anyway, as unto Me,
for I am your Friend, and will bless you with My Presence.

Indeed, He will. Indeed, He has.

Drought

I know I’ve talked about it before, and my posts about the rain may give a different impression, but the drought here in northern Kenya is really, really bad. The short rains in November and December of last year never materialized. It’s now June, and while God can send rain at any time, the long rainy season (April and May) has come and go with next to nothing. It’s a long way to November again.

Animals are already dying – goats, sheep, donkeys, cattle, even camels. No water means not only nothing to drink, but no grazing. People are taking their animals farther and farther to find grazing, but still nothing. And it’s not just the animals that are dying. We’ve heard that at least five men - herders out with the animals – who have died of starvation, and who knows how many more that we haven’t heard about. There is simply no water, no money, no food.

Relief food that is so desperately needed is coming, but is so restricted in who it is given to that it’s next to useless. There’s a one time emergency bit that’s coming from AIM, which might last a few weeks, but what of after that?

You know, because I don’t speak the language, I don’t hear people’s stories. I am working with the kids at the school who get a solid meal once a day (once!), and teachers who at least have a little bit of salary to live on. I don’t really feel the effects of the people’s cries for help or see the desperation that Nick and Lynne see every single day. But I know it’s out there. I hear the stories. I hear about the people in Marsabit who, even if they have a little bit of money for rice or maize meal, aren’t bothering to buy it because there’s no water to cook with. Mothers who are so starving themselves, yet walk for kilometers and kilometers to Nick and Lynne’s house to plead for a little bit of money to buy something for their children. People who make up all manner of stories for why they need money – a dying uncle, acceptance at a prestigious school, anything – in desperate hopes to get a few shillings to buy food. People who are so worried about their children that they just snap and go mental – literally crazy under the strain of worry and starvation – and wander off into the desert or just completely shut down and sit in a trance-like state. People who simply give up and commit suicide to escape the fear and the worry and the pain of slowly starving to death.

I hear the stories, but on Friday, I saw it for myself.

We drove out to Namarey, about 30km from Korr, to take a woman back to her goob who either has cerebral malaria or is one who has snapped from the strain of the drought. She had two young children with her – a baby and a toddler – and another of her sons is a pupil at my school. I sat in the back of the truck with her, and the whole time, she just stared off into space, occasionally rolling her head back and forth and looking around with empty eyes and and a half open mouth. When she got sick, she took the two young children from Namarey and just started walking out into the desert. Thankfully someone found her and took her to town for help. We were taking her back to her home where a family member would look after her and help dole out the medicine that she received from the dispensary.

When we got out of the car at the lady’s goob, many of the children came to see, and I began playing with them, as I always do. Often they’re shy and quite nervous about this strange white skinned creature coming up to them to shake their hand (sorry, to give them an “elbow high five”). There are the brave ones who come right up, those who take some coaxing, and those who stay hidden behind a brother or sister for safety and don’t ever venture out. But this time, there was another group. These were the ones on whom malnutrition and starvation had begun to take their toll.

I went to one little girl, maybe two or three years old, who was standing beside her mother and greeted her. “Aa nebey aa?” I asked her, holding out my hand. She didn’t respond, and at first I just thought she was one of the shy ones. But after I greeted her a second time, I saw that there was no recognition in her eyes. It was like she was looking at me, but didn’t see me. Her belly was distended, her genitals swollen. She didn’t shake my hand, and I can’t be sure, but I think probably because there was no strength in her skinny little arms to even lift them.

You know, it’s one thing to see the pictures on TV and in child sponsorship magazines of ‘starving children in Africa.’ It’s another thing entirely to take the tiny little hand of a child who is in the process of starving to death in yours and feebly tell them, “Yeesoo weyti aki ‘dona” – Jesus loves you very much.

I look around, and the need is soooo huge, and I am so small. I feel so helpless. There is nothing I can do. I can’t make it rain. I can’t raise huge amounts of money. I can’t feed these people. I, on my own, am powerless. But what I can do is pray – which is mightier than one might think. Will you join me? Though it seems hopeless, God is still in control. God sees the suffering of his people. Though we cry out and don’t understand, still God is good.

Though the fig tree does not bud
and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails
and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen
and no cattle in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the Lord,
I will be joyful in God my saviour.
~ Habakuk 3:17-18

As I’ve been writing tonight, a song we used to sing at camp has come into my head.

My God is so BIG! So strong and so mighty, there’s nothing my God cannot do.
My God is so BIG! So strong and so mighty, there’s nothing my God cannot do.
The mountains are His, the rivers are His, the stars are His handiwork, too.
My God is so BIG! So strong and so mighty, there’s nothing my God cannot do.
Can I add a verse?

The Rendille are His, the desert is His, the rains and the drought are His, too.
Oh, God, you are BIG! You’re strong and so mighty, there’s nothing that You cannot do.
And that includes bringing relief to the Rendille here in Northern Kenya.

Not So Sparkly

It is a pretty incredible experience living here in Northern Kenya. There are so many things that I love about it – standing in the back of the land rover driving trough the desert, my hair being whipped around by the wind. Watching the old ladies at church slowly move from the bench to the floor as the service progresses because they find sitting in chairs incredibly uncomfortable. Hearing the bleats and bells of the animals as they slowly start to return in anticipation of the rainy season. The beauty of the land and of the people, their overwhelming friendliness, and their incredible faith. I really could go on forever.

But there are other things, much more important things, about living in Africa that are harder to deal with. One of the big ones is poverty. I know, I know, when we in the West think of Africa, we think of poverty, of corruption, of famine, of seemingly insurmountable problems. Poverty has been talked about a million times in a million different ways, but to catch a glimpse of what it really looks like is another thing altogether... Click here to keep reading.

On My Cross

How wide is Your love
That You would stretch Your arms
And go around the world
And why for me would a Savior's cry be heard

I don't know
Why You went where I was meant to go
I don't know
Why You love me so

Those were my nails
That was my crown
That pierced Your hands and Your brow
Those were my thorns
Those were my scorns
Those were my tears that fell down
And just as You said it would be
You did it all for me
And after You counted the cost
You took my shame, my blame
On my cross

How deep is Your grace
That you could see my need
And chose to take my place
And then for me, these words I'd hear You say

Father no
Forgive them for they know not what they do
I will go
Because I love them so

Those were my nails
That was my crown
That peirced your hands
And your brow
Those were my thorns
Those were my scorns
Those were my tears that fell down
And just as you said it would be
You did it all for me
And after you counted the cost
You took my shame, my blame
On my cross

Those were my nails
That was my crown
That peirced your hands
And your brow
Those were my thorns
Those were my scorns
Those were my tears that feel down
And just as you said it would be
You did it all for me
And after you counted the cost
You took my shame
My blame on my cross

After you counted the cost
You took my shame, my blame
On my cross

So rich a crown

As a friend warned me before I headed to Kenya, "Africa is the place where even the trees are out to hurt you." Now that I've lived in the North for a while, I'm seeing that he's very right!

The smallest thorns are from trees we like to call "wait a bit" bushes. These are small thorns - less than a quarter inch long - but they come in groups of three. Two are hooked forward and one, slightly further down the branch, is hooked back. If you brush past, it's like the tree grabs you and good luck getting yourself free. Acacia thorns are one to three inches long, white, and very strong. There are some thorn trees that look like a wild, curvy tangle of Dr. Suess-like branches, others are long and needle-like, and still others can be mistaken for small branches at first glance. They are easily four to five inches long and can be as wide as a half an inch at the base.

I think the most interesting thorn trees are the whistling thorns. The bark is yellow-ish and the tree grows crooked - a few feet one direction, then another, then another. It zig-zags to the sky with thorns that have often have a big black bulb at the base. Ants make their nests in the thorns and when the wind blows at just the right angle, the air passing through the thorn makes a whistling sound.

Walking barefoot around Korr is dangerous, especially since most thorns have some type of poison that makes them not just pokey, but makes your skin itchy and irritated at best, or causes boils at worse.

So today, Good Friday, as I read the story of Jesus' trial and crucifixion, the crown of thorns stood out. I could imagine it, and I know what it feels like to have one poke my toe as I walk (it hurts!). But to have these digging and scraping into my head, to feel the blood trickle down my forehead, to be spat upon and mocked, to have every blow push the thorns deeper into my flesh... this I could not even begin to imagine. And the thorns were just the beginning of Jesus' suffering for me. In so many ways, the desert is helping the Bible come alive for me. Today, this is one.

See from his head, his hands his feet
Sorrow and love flow mingled down
Did e're such love and sorrow meet
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

Not So Sparkly

It is a pretty incredible experience living here in Northern Kenya. There are so many things that I love about it – standing in the back of the land rover driving trough the desert, my hair being whipped around by the wind. Watching the old ladies at church slowly move from the bench to the floor as the service progresses because they find sitting in chairs incredibly uncomfortable. Hearing the bleats and bells of the animals as they slowly start to return in anticipation of the rainy season. The beauty of the land and of the people, their overwhelming friendliness, and their incredible faith. I really could go on forever.

But there are other things, much more important things, about living in Africa that are harder to deal with. One of the big ones is poverty. I know, I know, when we in the West think of Africa, we think of poverty, of corruption, of famine, of seemingly insurmountable problems. Poverty has been talked about a million times in a million different ways, but to catch a glimpse of what it really looks like is another thing altogether.

One of the big problems right now is drought. The last rainy season never happened, and this season has consisted of two half an hour showers. That’s it. The problem is especially bad here in the North, as it’s so incredibly dry here anyway. But in addition to that, no rains mean no grazing for the thousands of sheep, goats, and camels that the Rendille rely on for survival.

Food like flour and sugar is getting more and more expensive, too – the price of sugar just rose again this week in town – and people simply do not have money to buy food. Normally for the Rendille, the shops work on a credit system: the Rendille take what they need until they owe enough to equal a goat or a sheep, and then they give the shop owner one of their animals as payment. When the shop owner has enough animals, they transport the animals to a market down country and sell them. But even this system is affected by the drought. No grazing means nobody wants animals. The shop keepers can’t sell the goats, so they’ve cut off the credit for the people. This in turn means the people can buy nothing, nothing, nothing.

In the goobs (villages), a diet in non-drought times might be chai in the morning (tea with milk and sugar), maybe some ugi – a watery porridge made from maize meal – for lunch, and another cup of chai for dinner. Having milk, of course, requires having animals around. Normally, herders and warriors take the animals far away in search of grazing, leaving only a few camels, goats, and sheep back in the goob to provide milk.

Right now, however, most goobs have no camles – there is absolutely nothing for them to eat in Korr, so the camels and most of the goats and sheep are taken far, far away, where even the water and the grazing are a day and a half’s walk from each other. The goats and sheep that are here are so malnourished that they aren’t producing milk. No or too few animals means that there is no milk for chai, and no money for sugar. So many people are living on what little they can beg and a few tea leaves boiled in water. No milk, no sugar, no porridge. Relief food comes once a month, but even that is barely enough to last a family maybe a few days. And relief food is not without its own issues, which I’ll talk about shortly.

Every single day, Nick and Lynne have people at their door crying for help. “We haven’t eaten for two days,” pleads a mother with a baby and two small children by her side. She’s maybe eaten a small bit two days ago, and gone for how many other days before that without food. “Please help us.”

The people. are. starving.

It’s so hard to sit here with my computer and my iPod and my three square meals a day and my recent vacation/conference to the coast and know that people all around me are suffering like this. Sometimes the question isn’t “What have the Rendille done to deserve this kind of poverty” but “What have *I* done to deserve this kind of wealth?”


Beyond even this, however is something that makes me feel so angry and SO… what? Helpless? Desperate? … Heartbroken. This is the amazing waste of money and stubbornness to do things their way of many development agencies and NGO’s. It’s a frequent topic of discussion among the missionaries here, and the more I hear and the more I see, the angrier I become.

This is actually a sensitive topic, so I've decided to take this part down. If you'd like to read what I wrote, feel free to email me and I'll send it to you.

Go back to the home page

What's in a name?

As in English, every Rendille name has a meaning. But unlike many names given in North America, names are chosen specifically for their meaning. For example, a name might be given to represent where somebody came from or when they were born – Ndoto was born near the Ndoto mountains. Ngurinit was born in, well, Ngurinit. Mulgis was born near the river bearing the same name. Sometimes it’s something general about them – Hamado comes from the Rendille word hamad, meaning joy. Hirkenna means “rain bringer.” The long dry season ended the day he was born and the rains began to fall. Gumaa’di comes from gumaa’d, which means “Friday.” Guess what day of the week he was born on!

Of course, some names are chosen not just for their meaning, but for a greater, more individual story. Take Gisooya for example. “Gis” in Rendille means ‘to divide up.’ She was one of twins, but her twin died during birth, so her parents decided to call her Gisooya, saying, “God took his part and left us ours.”

And then there’s Limiyoogo. When he was born, he was not breathing. His parents and everyone around tried everything that they knew how to do to get him to breathe, but to no avail. As time was running out, they lifted their hands and asked God to help them, and at that moment, the baby took his first breath. His name means “hands lifted up to God.”

Nabiro, the old woman who lives across from us, had never had any children of her own. She would often say that her heart was burning, so much did she want to have a child. Four and a half years ago, she was able to adopt a baby girl. Finally, a child of her own. She named the girl Hoboso, which comes from the Rendille word for cold, because finally this little girl had cooled the burning in her heart and she was happy.

On a slightly more comical side, some children are named for a particular physical feature. Take Matahween, for example. Her name means “big head.” Or Lokhudeere - “long neck.” Ah, but the names get more interesting still. How about Anzaro (terrible calamity), or Subahdaayi (little black fat). I think my favourite has to be Dufaankhasso. What does that one mean, you ask? Slaughtered a camel ox.

I’m sorry, what? Slaughtered a camel ox???

Seriously! Who looks down with loving eyes on their little bundle of new life and says sweetly, “Awwww! I think we’ll call her slaughtered a camel ox!” I love it!

I was assured that I, too, would be given a Rendille name, and indeed, it did not take long. A mama has adopted me into her clan – Dubsahai – and has now named me Havareya Mirgichan. Havarey is the name of a tiny village farther out in the desert, and so I’ve been told that my name means “from a desert place.” When I told my students, many were confused. “But madam! You don’t come from Havarey! How can you be called Havareya?!?” But I think the name suits me just fine...

You see, life as a Christian has been difficult for me the last few years. I’ve felt spiritually dry and perpetually thirsty for God – a thirst I just can’t seem to make go away. I’ve been in a very desert-like place in my life. It’s been discouraging for me, and, though I know that God has never left me, it’s been hard to see His presence. I’ve gotten impatient and have just wanted out of this dry, dusty period of my life. I’ve often thought, “What good is there in this desert wasteland? I want out!”

And so now, here I am, in the literal desert (ah, God is funny like that!). Both literally and figuratively, I am finding beauty in this place. And more importantly, I am learning that God is here. I am seeing God in a way I never have before here in the desert, and it’s slowly but surely shaping me, changing me. And I know that it’s just a matter of time… the rains are coming.

As I was listening to some music this afternoon, this song came up and stopped me dead in my tracks. It was just what I needed to hear:

My heart is dry and thirsty, Lord,
Let me drink from your well, drink from your well
In this dry and thirsty land,
Let me drink from your well, drink from your well

You see right through me, nothing’s hidden from your sight
So in my brokenness, I run to you
I long to worship you in Spirit and in truth
So let me drink that I may never thirst again

Oh, source of living water, come and heal me again
Let your streams of living water come and wash away my shame
Precious Father, you’re my lover and my friend
Let me drink that I might never thirst again
Let me drink that I might never thirst again...

~ From “Living Water” by Stephen Toon

I just think it’s so cool that even my Rendille name helps to tell about God’s goodness in my life! He is so good!

...especially since He didn’t let me be named “Slaughtered a Camel Ox!”

Karibu Sana (A warm welcome)

Since arriving in Kenya, I believe that the word “Karibu” (kah-ree'-boo) is the word that I have heard the most. I have felt most welcomed wherever I go – handshakes (the common way of greeting here in Kenya), smiles, and warm welcomes have abounded. I have been told that in Africa, a visitor is seen as a blessing, but living it here has been another experience entirely. I feel so blessed to be a guest wherever I go, but sometimes it borders on feeling uncomfortable. I came here to serve and to work, and over and over again I end up coming away blessed by the warm welcome that people have given me!

At church on my first Sunday, I and the other first time guests were treated to tea out back after the service by a welcoming committee.

At my home stay, my host mother, Esther, didn’t let me help with anything. Instead, I was given tea in the morning and afternoon, served dinner, taken to the places I needed to go, and was granted such warm hospitality the whole time I was there.

While working in Mitumba, the teachers would do anything for me. I tried to help – find my own chair, help with grading, help with lunch, but over and over I was told to just sit and relax, and they would bring me what I needed. I mentioned one time to the pastor’s wife that I was feeling like I was creating extra work for everybody while I was supposed to be there to help, but she assured me that just by being there, it showed them that somebody cared, and that they were happy to serve. But I’m supposed to be the one there to serve, to help, to bless...

I have felt overwhelmed with the kindness and the generous hospitality of Kenyans wherever I go. One experience in particular, however, will remain with me forever. It was such a touching gesture, and gave me a new picture of Christ-like humility, service, and grace...

It was Saturday morning and I had just arrived at Mitumba for the Bible club. It had been raining in Nairobi for two days, and my runners were in my other suitcase at the AIM office, so all I had were my sandals. My sandals and feet were caked in mud, and my calved were splashed with mud as well. I arrived at the door but didn’t want to go in with such dirty feet and make a huge mess on the floor. The children had removed their shoes, but I didn’t really want to go barefoot. As I stood there wondering what to do, a girl from the standard seven class, Rose, came up beside me.

“Your feet are dirty,” she told me. “Please, come with me.”

She led me down the alleyway to an open classroom. “Wait here.”

There I stood in the empty room, rain thundering down on the tin roof, thinking she was maybe going to bring me some water to wash my feet off. Indeed, she arrived with a bucket of water and motioned for me to take off my shoes. I did, and before I could pick them up to rinse them off, she had them in her hands, bent over the bucket, and began to scrub off the mud. I just stood there awkwardly as she worked. “Can I help you?”

“No, no, just wait.” She smiled at me. And so I did, unsure of what to say until she had finished.

“Asante sana, Rose. Thank you very much!” I bent down to put my shoes back on my muddy feet, but she again motioned to me to stop.

“Just wait.”

Again she disappeared out the door with the bucket, only to appear a few minutes later with a fresh bucket and fresh water. Without a word, she gestured to me to put my foot in the bucket. I hesitated, all kinds of thoughts flying through my head – discomfort at a young black girl serving me, a white westerner, feeling guilty that she was making such a fuss over me, looking at her own muddy feet and thinking I should be helping her… but then I just sensed that I should allow her to do this for me, so I dipped my foot in the bucket.

Rose bent over and splashed water over my foot – scrubbed it down with her hands, all over my foot, between my toes, and then rubbed off the muddy water that had splashed up onto my leg – first the right, then the left.

As she worked, I couldn’t help but think of Jesus washing his disciple’s feet… this person who should be served bending down to serve, and I wondered if, standing there, I caught a little bit of what the disciples must have felt as Jesus performed the same act of love and service Rose was now doing for me. I was so incredibly humbled by this gesture and touched by the grace she showed me – how was I deserving of that kindness?

It was a beautiful glimpse of Jesus in the heart of this little girl living out her faith there in a Nairobi slum.

Hope in Mitumba

As I write this, my feet are still caked in dust and splashed in mud from my trip to Mitumba, one of the slum areas here in Nairobi. I went this afternoon to visit an informal school that runs there. I will be helping there for the next few days in between my Swahili lessons and orientation, before I head to Korr on the 20th. While at Mitumba today, I learned so much, and came away with even more to think about. Allow me to share the story of what is happening in this small corner of Nairobi…

Mitumba was a place of poverty and hopelessness when Shadrach and his wife first got there in 2002. There was no food, no water, and people lived in unimaginable poverty. He referred to this place he found as Sodom and Gomorrah. Mitumba is right between Wilson airport and a development of middle to upper-middle class housing complexes. Even the scavenging from the garbage heaps that happen in other slums was not possible in Mitumba, as all the housing complexes are surrounded by high walls and guarded gates. People had not even a dump from which to scrounge some scraps. As a result, children, starving and looking for something to eat, were reduced to eating dirt and sucking on used condoms.

Let that sink in a little bit. Children. Eating dirt. Drinking from condoms. I even wonder if I should write such things. But such was the life – if you can call it that – of these precious little children. Ignoring it, hiding it – that doesn’t make it go away. Poverty. Disease. Hopelessness. But also, a pastor and his wife. A calling. A message of love that doesn’t just make warm fuzzies, it brings hope and the incredible power to make a change…

In the six years since Pastor Shadrach arrived in Mitumba, what a change God has made in this place. There is still poverty, yes. But there is also hope.

There is now a primary school with over three hundred children who are fed breakfast and lunch each day. There are teachers who are not only skilled, but feel God’s clear call to love these kids and to teach them about the love of Jesus. And children are doing well - eleven students this year have not only passed their primary school completion exams, but have been sponsored for secondary education, including full room and board. The school has recently been upgraded, and they are nearing construction of a two-story building – rare in a slum area like this – that will house a dining hall on the first floor and a medical clinic on the top floor. Every child who is admitted to the school is checked and treated for malaria, worms, and various other diseases and wounds. There is education for the families on how to treat water and avoid disease and HIV counseling available for those who want it.

Just in the last few weeks, there has been an orphanage dedicated and opened, where, as Pastor Shadrach put it, “God will be a father to the fatherless.” Beds have been donated and workers are finishing off the construction. No longer will orphaned children sleep in the garbage and filth-ridden alleyways, but they will have beds, showers, toilets, and a drawer of their own in which to store their things. One amazing story that has come out of this orphanage project is that, while digging in preparation for a septic tank, they found a natural spring, and there is water! Oh, there is water, abundant and far cleaner than the water the city promises to pipe in but never does! They now have a well and plenty of water.

As is that wasn’t enough, there are a number of income-generating projects that have been started in this developing community. A group of men have been trained and have a growing business making briquettes for stoves, and there is a ladies group who weaves purses out of a local plant. They have just gotten an order for 200 bags, and are overjoyed that this business is taking off. The next project that will begin as soon as there is space to do it is a mattress and pillow-making business. People have been allowed now to open bank accounts so that, if their hut burns, their money is safe. They see that there can be, that there IS, a way out.

In talking with Pastor Shadrach and seeing each of these projects today, I was absolutely awestruck at the hope that Jesus brings to such a place. Shadrach is an amazing man of faith, which comes from seeing the amazing changes in Mitumba. Children are bringing the hope of Christ to their families, and the little Mitumba church is growing. First the children, then the women, and now even the men are beginning to come and are holding Bible studies. With the biggest smile and shining eyes, Shadrach declared over and over, “Jesus is here!”

And indeed He is. While they may not be out of Mitumba, their minds are coming out of Mitumba – they are for the first time seeing another way that life can be. There is hope growing in that place. People are excited to see that the life they never even dreamed of is slowly coming true.

While there is much to be done – so many needs still to be met, so many challenges, not enough money, not enough people – there is much to stand in awe of. Pastor Shadrach said this of Mitumba:

We are developing life! We are letting Jesus transform the lives of these people, and in turn they are transforming the community. Jesus’ light is shining bright in this very place!

Please, pray for the people of Mitumba. Pray for the businesses that are developing, for the school, for the church that is growing . And please pray for Pastor Shadrach and his wife Violet, who are working so hard. Even despite having all his donated medical equipment stolen recently, he remains faithful: “Still I have no complaint. I know that when God is moving, the enemy will do whatever he can to stop it. Losing my things is an encouragement that God will do ever greater things here in this place.”

And surely He will. We know that he who begins a good work will carry it through to completion. I can’t wait to see - one day - what God will complete in Mitumba!

Mountain moving

An open letter to God: :)

OK, God. You've always promised us that with you, nothing is impossible. That if we have faith as small as a mustard seed, we can say to that mountain, "Move from here to there" and it will move.

Well, I've got a pretty big mountain looming large in my view right now. An $11,300 mountain. And it needs to move by January 6. Which is four and a half weeks away. With that little thing called Christmas in the middle of it.

Even as I type that, I'm getting inklings of, "Not your timing, child, but mine," and "To the creator of the universe, $11,300 is NOTHING." I know you can do it. Somewhere in me is that little mustard seed that tells me that the shorter the time, the better the God stories. I guess I'm kind of at that point where I'm doing something that really CAN'T be done on my own.

So guess what that means? It means you're going to have to come through big time. Make good on those promises. I know you can be trusted. I know you have a plan.

I do believe. Help my unbelief.

Coming into focus

Ever since I began talking seriously about heading to Africa, people - and my application form! - have been asking me big questions. What do you want to do there? How are you hoping to impact the people you are working with? Why do you want to go to Africa, as opposed to say, China, or South America? What kind of ministry do you want to be involved in? Where do you hope to go in Africa? What do you hope to gain personally from the experience?

And to all of it, my super intelligent articulate answer has been, "Uhhhh....."

Oh yeah. I know how to make myself look smart, baby. BUT, I think my thoughts just haven't had a chance to percolate, and because this is all so new and happening kind of fast (even though the idea has been floating around for quite some time, it's never been quite so concrete), I haven't had a lot of time to let the flurry of thoughts kind of settle out a bit. But that's happening now, to some degree.

I think I'm leaning towards wanting something rural over something in the city. I'd love the chance to experience some traditional African music - whether it's through some kind of lessons or participating in some for of music ministry or just living in the midst of music as a part of every day life. I'm finding myself leaning towards somewhere in East Africa... Kenya? Tanzania? I'd be ok with teaching, but I don't think I want it to be the sole thing that I do. I'd like a variety of jobs and roles, I think. But all that said, I'm also open to a wild adventure - something I would never have thought of, never dreamed needed doing (I say that now, here, safe in my own little hous in my own little world! Yikes!).

But more than all that, I am getting SO excited about the spiritual experience that I know will come through this trip. I have only ever seen Christianity through a Western lens, but God is so much bigger than that. I think that understanding God (well, attempting to, anyway!) via how my culture thinks and acts and understands is to get a skewed perspective of who He really is. I know that we do the best we can, and culture IS an important part of how we understand anything, so I'm not knocking that. I'm just really, really excited to see how the same God, the same Bible, the same message is relevant and meaningful in a very, very different context and cultural understanding.

Back in university, I remember taking a couple of different seemingly unrelated electives in the same semester: History of Christianity, Intro to Anthropology, and Greek Philosophy. As I was learning about the development of the Christian church from the time of Christ to now, I was getting a better idea of the context and backgrounds of the tradition that I am a part of today. In Anthropology, I was learning about myths and traditions and cultures from all around the world and how to approach the study of culture openly. Greek Philosophy was introducing me to one part of ancient thought and ideas and ways of understanding the world, and also to cultural myths from ancient time periods, too. And what I was seeing were common themes across time and culture and tradition. I began to see how the message of Jesus was relevant, had connections, made sense across time and across culture. I began to see, as if someone was peeling back a curtain into a huge, crazy understanding that I'd never even begin to figure out, that there was a universal applicability to the gospel. I'd kinda known that in my head, sure, but I was starting to see it, and it was SO exciting!

And I think that's a big thing that I'm looking forward to about going to Africa. To see how God is still God in such a vastly different place. To experience God in a totally different way than I am used to. To attempt to learn how another culture sees and experiences God. To try to share what I know to be the best news there has ever been in a way that is relevant to the people I am working with.

I'm looking forward to sharing, yes. That's the main reason I'm going. But I'm also looking forward to learning, to being challenged, to having my understanding of God totally blown open and reconstructed in a different way.

And funnily enough, as I was in the middle of typing the first paragraph of this post, my friend Steve, who has a great interest in and knowledge of Africa and African spirituality and has spent quite a bit of time there, called to ask if he could drop by and give me a book. It's a book that, in my vague understanding of it, talks about non-western (specifically African) understandings of Christianity and about how it is often a lot more real or connected or... I don't know exactly. (I'll tell you more once I've read it!) But Steve was saying about how African Christians have a much deeper, more connected understanding and love of the Bible than many westerners, because so much more of it resonates with their lives - poverty, clans and family groupings, a spirituality connected to every day life, etc. I'm looking forward to reading it, and I'm excited, cause it seems to fit in so well with what I've just been thinking about today and where I'm kind of hoping that this experience will take me and what it will teach me.

Whooooo! I'm excited!!!

The Shabby Green Door, revisited

Last night* I listened to a talk by David Gotts, who is the director of International China Concern, an organization who works with abandoned babies, children, and young people in China. It left me rather overwhelmed.

There are over one million children abandoned in China every year. Eighty percent of them die.

Dave described the scene at a particular orphanage in China... One worker caring for forty children, many of whom had some sort of mental or physical disability, or both. Four or five children sharing one wooden cot to sleep on. Children with disabilities sitting alone in the courtyard, tied to a chair, left there all day long and into the night. Children going wild when the meager meal was brought in, swarming the servers, stuffing the food into their mouths as fast as they could for fear another child would steal it from their hands; crawling along the filthy floor picking up any leftover grain of rice they could find - anything that they could put in their mouths. Bones that had been chewed clean and tossed on the floor would be picked up by someone else, sucked clean and tossed away once more, only to be picked up by another child, then another, then another. The light of hope extinguished from a child's eyes because they knew that they were most likely going to die. All humanity had gone from that place.

Then there was the shabby green door - a padlocked door to a room where the sickest or weakest children were put when there were simply too many children in the orphanage. It was off in a corner beside a noisy water system, which would drown out the sound of a child crying or pleading for food. Eventually, the child would stop crying, stop pleading, and quietly starve to death.

What kind of world lets children die, cold and alone, padlocked behind a door. What kind of world leaves a child on the street to die just because it's a girl and not a boy, or because the child has a disability? Why does God let this happen???

And it's not just in China. Things like this happen all over the world. Extreme poverty and suffering in India, in Africa, in South America... Even right here in my own neighbourhood. A homeless man died on Sunday morning on Hastings Street. He froze to death. What kind of world are we living in???

I cannot shake the image of that shabby green door. I don't think I want to. It's so easy to hear a story like that and feel so far removed from it. It's overwhelming. It's so far away. What could I possibly do? But I don't want to just slough it off, letting it bring a tear to my eye and then carrying on with my life as if it never happened. I want it to affect me, to motivate me to action. But I'm scared of what that means, and don't even know where to start...

_____________________________
* Originally posted December 6, 2005

Rebirth, part five: Made New

It was a grey, November day when I went back to camp for the first time since the farewell nearly two years previous. The previously well-kept camp was showing all the signs of being all but abandoned over two winters. Windows were broken and a few doors were smashed down where vandals had broken in and left their mark. Buildings were dusty and cold and leaking, and a fallen electrical pole had cut off power to many buildings. The grass on the field was knee high, and two autumns worth of dead fall covered the ground. The tiny stream had jumped its bank and cut a deep channel through the middle of the beach, washing half the sand away with it. The docks were partially buried and half sunken into the lake, and tiny trees had sprung up where we used to play beach volleyball. The big windstorms of two winters ago had knocked a few trees down farther up the property, and where there used to be a gravel and dirt clearing in the forest around the chalets, saplings and weeds now grew nearly four feet high. The campfire area - that sacred place where I and so many other campers had met God in such life-altering ways - was strewn with garbage and broken beer bottles from people looking for a far removed place to party.

It was hard to be there, to see how this beautiful place that had meant so much to me had begun to fall apart. I had thought about going up to see the camp in the past, but really didn't know if I wanted to. I wanted it to live in my memory as it had been - bright, well-kept, full of kids, noisy, alive. I didn't know what condition it would be in, and didn't know if I could bear seeing it closed and boarded up, overgrown and empty. And yet, there I was...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I have a friend named Cathy who lives in Sydney, Australia. She and I met at camp a number of years ago, and we quickly became friends. She's been back a few times since then, once for an extended stay, living with me while she did her practicum. This past August she was in town visiting again. It was a sunny Sunday afternoon, and a bunch of our friends were walking up Main St. for a leisurely after-church lunch. Kawkawa came up in conversation, and it was then that Cathy told me, "Hey, did you hear that they're opening again?"

I nearly tripped on my own feet. "What?! But how? Huh? Are you sure? Really!?!?! ... And how do YOU, who live in Australia know about this before I do?"

"I don't know! I'm on some mailing list, apparently. I got a letter saying they were opening up, and to please pray for the whole process."

I can't even describe how thrilled I was. There may or may not have been some overjoyed squealing and spontaneous jig-dancing in the middle of the sidewalk right then and there. I very quickly began doing some research and making some phone calls and found out that, indeed, Kawkawa was going to be opening once more! I didn't know how, or why, or any details ("Wasn't the mountain unstable???") but yes, it was true!

Over the next few months, I learned more and more, and knew that I HAD to be involved again. And so, one cold November Saturday morning, three friends and I drove up to Hope for the first scheduled work day to begin getting camp ready for campers to arrive this summer. Yes, the camp was in bad shape, but there was not the weight of sadness there that was there the last time I was there. Instead, there was laughter. There were hugs. There was hope.

We had food cooking in the kitchen, and there was the sound of people all over the site - working, clearing away the death, bringing new life to Camp Kawkawa. Crews were raking leaves, demolishing trailers, cleaning floors, burning debris and leaves, surveying the camp and making lists of all the work that had to be done. There was a buzz of excitement in the air as we all worked towards a common purpose.

At the end of the day, I went down to the lake and walked out to the end of the dock. Smoke from our fires had escaped the cover of the trees and had seeped down to the water, cirlcing around, adding to the greyness of the day. I sat down on the edge and looked out across the lake. How many times had I sat there? How many times had I escaped the craziness of camp to go and sit, surrounded by the awe-inspiring mountains on either side and the calm water in front of me, just enjoying time with God.

The weather might have been grey, but my heart had exploded with hope, with colour, with beauty. Everywhere I looked, I saw rebirth, from the bulbs planted in the garden just waiting for spring, to the dead fall being cleared away and burned, to the excitement and anticipation of campers arriving that very first week of summer ready to experience a rebirth of their own.

So many of the questions we had when it closed now make sense, and it's beyond exciting to see how God has worked things all the way through this process. He is clearly not finished working at Kawkawa and I am SO excited to see what He's going to do in the years to come!


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That November work day was the first day of something that has become such a large part of my life. From planning meetings with Rita, the executive director, to information meetings, to networking, to promotions, to speaking at different groups at my church about opportunities to help, to hours spent on powerpoint presentations, to monthly trips up to camp to rake, garden, demolish, build, clean... I am SO thrilled to be involved with camp again. Chances are if you know me in real life, you've thought at least once (probably more!), "OK! Hillary! Enough about camp already!" Recently a friend teased me that it seems not a week goes by without an email from me involving something to do with Kawkawa.

With all this involvement, um, it's been a little strange not being able to talk about it on my blog (though that's been purely my own restriction). After the "closed" post, I didn't really know how to begin the next post. I don't even know how many times I'd started it and not completed it. I knew it would take a long time to write - to get the feeling just right, to capture what was going on in my heart, in my head. And so it didn't happen and didn't happen and didn't happen. But all that time, I was doing more and more with camp, and didn't really know how to summarize it all. I kinda feel bad that I've not been talking about such an amazing, exciting part of my life. But then I just decided, this is silly. I so badly want to keep talking about camp. I need to just write this post, not worry about getting it 'just right' and get on with it. So here I am. Sorry it's taken me so long. There will be more installments to come!

Worth watching

Be sure to have a kleenex handy.

Rebirth, part four: Closed

[ If you're new around here, check out installments one, two and three of Rebirth to make a little more sense of this entry! ]

It was January 15, 2006. I was on a huge high from buying my new (to me) and issue-free car after my Beastmobile got munched. I called my mom to tell her about my car, and she mentioned a teeny weenie little announcement in their church bulletin: "Due to geological concerns, Camp Kawkawa will be closing down at the end of January." And with that, my high came crashing down. That was it. No more information, no warning, nothing. Closed.

I found out a week later at the farewell that the camp had had a geological survey done in hopes that the 20 year building ban on the site would finally be lifted and that they could finally expand and build, having acquired the evidence that the site was indeed safe from landslide risks and other geological activity. It turned out that the survey found just the opposite, and that there was absolutely nothing the camp could do. It's not like they ran out of money and just needed a big fundraising drive. No, the mountain might fall down. Who's gonna send their kids? Any takers?

Hands were absolutely tied, and everyone - in complete shock - made the decision to close the camp.

Armed with a mighty stash of kleenex, I attended the farewell. I took part in some of the activities, but then went off on my own and walked the site. From waterfront to dining hall to field to campfire to cabins to chalets to archery and riflery, to heibertisme, and finally to campfire. Every square inch of that place held vivid memories for me. Some fun, some painful, some deeply profound. I stopped in each place, for each memory, and cried. But I also prayed, committing those memories, those people, that place to God. It was all His, anyway.


Finally pulling myself together, I went back to the dining hall for the last function that would ever be held there. I remember it as a place that was filled with life - sunlight streaming in, the lake glistening down below, the ear-splitting din of a hundred kids eating and laughing and (more often than not) banging cups and plates and utensils, counsellors doing all manner of wacky things to get their hands on a much-appreciated piece of mail. The dining hall was alive in my memory, but on this day, a frosty, gloomy, January day, that life was dimmed. It was good to see people I hadn't seen in years, but, like at a dear friend's funeral, you wished you weren't seeing them under those circumstances. We hugged, we cried, we prayed. We shared memories and photos, and reassured each other that Kawkawa wasn't really the place, but the people, and that it would never truly be gone. And we only half believed it.

And then we sang. Amidst the sorrow, we worshipped. We didn't understand why God was allowing this to happen. Why God would let such a place used for His glory, such a powerful ministry, come to such a sudden and sad end. But still we knew that God is good, and that He had a plan. If He would let Kawkawa close, surely He had something better in mind, though none of us could imagine what. But we continued to sing.

One song hit me hard. Did I really believe what I was singing?

Blessed be Your name
In the land that is plentiful
Where Your streams of abundance flow
Blessed be Your name
And blessed be Your name
When I'm found in the desert place
Though I walk through the wilderness
Blessed be your name

Every blessing You pour out I'll
Turn back to praise
And when the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name

Blessed be Your name
When the sun's shining down on me
When the world's "all as it should be"
Blessed be You name
And blessed be Your name
On the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering
Blessed be Your name

Every blessing You pour out I'll
Turn back to praise
And when the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name
Really? Could I really sing "Blessed be your name?" Really? And then came the words, like a punch in the gut:

You give and take away
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say,
Lord blessed be Your name
Through my tears I pleaded. "Lord, you gave us this camp. WHY now do you take it away? We've just renovated the chapel, we've just done all this work on the grounds. We have to turn a hundred kids away every summer. Why? WHY now do you yank this way from us? Help me. Help my heart choose to bless your name now. Cause I don't understand. I know you have a plan, somehow, but I just don't get it."

You give and take away
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say
Lord blessed be your name...
I drove the two hour drive home alone. I couldn't get that refrain from my head. That, and the words "Closed." "Over." "Empty." "Gone." What would happen to the buildings? Would they just be left to waste away? I pictured the forest taking over, moss growing on the roofs, the walls rotting away. "You give and take away, you give and take away. My heart will choose to say, Lord blessed be your name." Could they sell the land? Who could buy it? It's not like they could build houses there, with the geological risks. What would camp become? "Closed." "Over." "Empty." "Gone." I thought of my conversation with Paulette, a beloved year-round staff person there. We both simply could not picture that once noisy, boisterous waterfront quiet. Still. "You give and take away." I thought about how I had always dreamed I would send my own children there one day. "Closed." "Over." "Empty." "Gone." I arrived home absolutely emotionally wrecked. While it was good to have a chance to say a proper 'goodbye,' it was among the saddest days of my life.

I cried every day after that for at least two weeks, and then sporadically for a few months after that. It honestly felt like a death. It's the hardest thing to describe, but that place, those people... the impact that camp had on my life... I couldn't believe it was over.

Time, as it does, eventually took the intensity of emotion away, but Kawkawa was still on my mind a lot. I began a website where people could write in with their memories, tell stories of their time there, acknowledge people who had made an impact on their lives, and write about the ways their life was impacted by their time at camp. It was my way of keeping camp alive, of doing something to deal with what felt like the loss of an incredibly significant part of my childhood and my spiritual development. Slowly, over the period of about a year, I came to grips with the fact that Camp Kawkawa - my haven, my "God place," my was gone for good.

I remember telling God that day that he had sure better have a bigger plan. Cause this plan sucked...

New Year's Prayers

Three years ago I went to a Christian retreat center for New Years Day and I came across these two prayers. I don't know who wrote them or where they came from, but they particularly struck me, so I wrote them down and come back to them every year. As I go and spend some time on them today, I thought I would share them.

~~~

Father, I surrender the past year and give it up to you. I give you my failures, my regrets, and my disappointments, for I have no more use for them. Make me now a new person, forgetting what lies behind and pressing on toward that which lies ahead of me. I give you all my hopes and dreams about the future. Purify them by your spirit so that my will shall truly reflect your will for me. As I stand on the threshold of a new year, encourage me by my successes, challenge me by the power of your word, and guide me by your spirit.

~~~

You keep us waiting. You, the God of all time,
want us to wait for the right time in which to discover
who we are, where we must go, and what we must do.

Thank you for the waiting time.

You keep us looking. You, the God of all space,
want us to look in the right and wrong places for signs of hope,
for people who are hopeless, for visions of a better world
which will appear among the disappointments of the world we know.

Thank you for the looking time.

You keep us loving. You, the God whose name is love,
want us to be like you - to love the loveless and the unlovely
and the unlovable; to love without jealousy or design or threat,
and most difficult of all, to love ourselves.

Thank you for the loving time.

And in all this you keep us,
through hard questions with no easy answers,
through failing where we hoped to succeed,
and making an impact where we thought we were useless,
through the patience and the dreams and the love of others
and through Christ and his spirit you keeps us.

Thank you for the keeping time
and for now, and for ever.
Amen.

Through a child's eyes

When the kids walked in the door Monday morning, the first thing they saw were four great big brown hoof prints on the floor. "Look!" I told them. "Santa came! And Rudolph, too!"

The buzz began immediately.

Santa! Santa came!
Hey, he left a note!
Rudolph put our paper chains on the ceiling!
And our letters are gone!
Santa took them!

The kids could hardly get their coats off quick enough to rush over the the chart board and read what Santa had to say. They looked around at the candy canes hanging, the paper chains a waaaay high up, and the big red fuzzy at Santa left for me to borrow (Miss Hillary, you're SOOO lucky! "Why's that?" Cause you get to borrow Santa's hat AND you get to see him again before Christmas to return it!!!). Some looked around in wonder, some were nearly shaking with excitement. And of course there were a few who punctured the glee with doubt.

It's not real!
The hoof prints are just paint.
Miss Hillary put those chains up.

"Nooo!" I told them. Eighteen excited kids all talking at once and asking questions was boggling my mind, but I just carried on, weaving a tale of Santa's visit and answering their questions as I went. "When I left on Friday, none of this was here! There is a little ladder in the school, but it's not nearly high enough to reach the ceiling! Those chains are WAY too high for me to have put them up. And I would get in trouble if I painted the floor! That wasn't me, either. Rudolph must have had very muddy hooves..." Then why didn't Santa leave footprints, too? [smart little kiddies!] "Well must have been riding his sleigh, so his feet didn't get muddy." It's just paint. Miss Hillary, you painted those. "Nooo! It's dried mud. They weren't there on Friday. Mr. G [an ESL teacher who had come in to drop something off], did you paint those hoof prints?" He didn't either, which was nearly enough to convince them. Miss Hillary, are you sure you're not lying? "I'm positive! I would neeever lie to you! Besides, what could have happened to our letters? And how else could those chains have gotten way up there? Anyway, didn't you say on Friday that you wished Santa would visit our classroom?

Yeah, but why does Santa always come when we can't see him? Why doesn't he ever come for us to see? Then we can KNOW that he's real!

"Ah, but it's not about seeing him. It's about believing. If you ever saw Santa, there would be no more magic."

By the end of our excited discussion on the carpet that morning, the biggest doubter was the biggest believer and every single child was convinced without a doubt that the big man in red had come to visit.

They happily told everyone they saw, too. Friends, teachers, passing parents. Two even ran to the office at recess to tell the office staff.

The day proceeded in sugary goodness as we made and decorated our gingerbread houses. I have never seen so much candy in one place in my life! They loved it, and were definitely in the Christmas spirit, humming Christmas songs and chattering about Santa as they worked.

After school I found a large envelope in my box: our letters to Santa had been read and replied to! I wrote on the outside in big swirly red writing "To Division 21, Love Santa,"dumped a whole bunch of silver glitter inside the envelope, and shook it all around. Up to the staffroom I went, where I dripped some water on the outside of the envelope and stuck it in the freezer to chill overnight.

Tuesday after recess was the big event - our letters from Santa had arrived! I waited an extra minute or two in the staffroom to make sure all the kids were lined up outside our door. As I approached, I whispered excitedly to them. "Boys and girls, look! Santa answered our letters! And it must be fresh from the North Pole! See? There's even ice on the envelope!!!" Gravity and the freezer had worked more magic than I could have hoped, as all the water had run down to the edge of the envelope and had made about a dozen little frozen droplets hanging off the side. Our envelope had icicles!!

Look! It's cold!
And frozen!
It came right from the North Pole!
How did Santa answer them so fast?
He's a fast guy!
Oooh! It's dripping!
Wow! I never got a letter from Santa before!

We all rushed to the carpet where I speedily handed out the letters. I pulled each one out with a flourish, sending silver glitter fluttering to the ground over the students' heads. Miss Hillary, what is that?

With a big grin and a twinkle in my eye, I answered them. "It's MAGIC!"

As the kids got their frozen letters, they all buddied up to read, passing them around and comparing them.

Santa is really busy making toys, so he got his elves to write to us!
Hey look! My elf's twin brother wrote to my friend!
These MUST be real because he answered all my questions!
Oooooh! The raindeers fly using magic flying powder!
Phew! Santa says I'm on the nice list!
Hahaha! My elf's name is "Stinky!"
Here, look at mine! Can I read yours?
[while clutching her letter to her heart:] I LOVE SANTA!!!

The kids spent about ten minutes passing their letters around and reading. (And you have to understand that for my class, to have them that engaged for that long is a nothing short of a miracle!)

I couldn't let the magic end there, though. I know that some of these kids don't really do anything for Christmas, and a few won't have many gifts this year because their families just don't have the money. Santa had to make one last visit...

When the children arrived on Friday, there was a new set of snowy footprints all throughout the classroom - from the door, over to the chart stand, over to the Christmas tree, and back out again. There was a new note, the tree was covered in snow, and there were nineteen gifts wrapped up and laying underneath the tree.

This time there were no doubters.

Santa came AGAIN!!!
And he left us presents!
What IS this stuff?
It's snow!
But it's not melting!
Miss Hillary, those are YOUR footprints!
Put your foot in them, let me see!
... Oh! They're bigger than your feet!
Miss E [my special ed worker], try your foot.
It's not hers, either! That proves it MUST be Santa!
This is the very first present Santa ever gave me!
Oh, this is the best day of my LIFE!

After reading the note and handing out the gifts, the kids tore into them to find the biggest candy canes they had ever seen. These must have come from the candy cane forest at the North Pole! I didn't need to do anything to create the magic this time - they did it on their own. Stories and theories swirled about how Santa could have gotten into our classroom without a chimney (maybe he came through the walls, maybe the janitor let him in, maybe he came through the mouse hole [er, the mouse hole?!?! It's now been filled.]). They talked about how fast Santa's sleigh must be and about how cold the North Pole is. And I sat back and watched, loving every minute.

It's been a while since I've been able to see Christmas in that magical child-like way. It has significance every year for me because of that very first gift that was given long long ago, of course. But there's another aspect of Christmas that I have not seen for a while, and that's the magic, the innocence, the wonder of it all. Impossibility made possible. Childlike faith in someone that can't be seen.

Or then again, maybe it's really been there all along. Maybe that's what Christmas is all about, even for us adults. Childlike faith in a gift too good good to be true, and yet! There He lies wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. God become man to dwell, to die, to deliver. Impossibility made possible. What a gift we've been given.

As a very wise elf said in her letter to one of my students, "Whoever believes in Christmas will always have magic."

How right she is!

Rebirth, part three: On Staff

It was Spring Break, 1995, and I was finally old enough to go the Leadership Training up at camp. I was going to work on staff at Kawkawa that summer, and I could hardly wait.

Leadership itself was a great week - seminars, training, lots of work, and so much information I thought my head was going to pop. Bertski, Professor, and Prem (the director at the time) poured their hearts into us that week. It was intense and loads of fun.

Summer finally arrived, and I had been given three weeks to work - the first two weeks of July and the very last week of August. I was a junior counsellor for one week and taught some activities and helped run a Bible study the next. I was so sad to leave at the end of my first two weeks. At the end of the summer, I came back as a camper for my last year then stayed the weekend before the last week of camp. It was then that Prem asked me if I would like my own cabin for the last week. I was beyond thrilled that he thought I was ready for the challenge of going it alone.

And so I got my very first group of girls: Ellen, Ashleigh, and Kandace. It didn't matter to me that it was only three girls, I was going to be the best counsellor there ever was! It was such a great week, and solidified my desire to work at camp for many more years to come.

And many more years there were. I continued to work at camp for another seven years after that, anywhere from one to nine weeks each summer. If I thought I had grown as a camper, my years there on staff would blow me away.

It was on staff at Kawkawa that I had the honour of praying with someone as they decided to become a Christian for the first time. It was on the back steps of Chalet 401. I will never forget how I felt God niggling at me all day to ask this girl if she wanted to become a Christian. About how scared I was to actually bring it up, and about how eagerly she said yes. I was so excited that I thought I was going to pop. I ran back down to the campfire where the non-counselling staff were still praying and told Bertski about it because I just couldn't contain my joy. She gave me a hug and then told me to go get back to my cabin of girls. Oh yeah! Whoops! (Good thing I was a junior counsellor and there was still someone with them!)

It was on staff where I first saw how much the Bible is a living book. It was the hardest week of camp I had ever experienced. I had a really challenging group of girls, and I was having some conflicts with some other staff, too. I was at the end of my rope. About halfway through the week (um, DUH! Why did it take me so long???), I opened my Bible randomly and had never had something jump out at me in such a vivid, life-giving way. It spoke directly to what I was dealing with and was exactly what I needed to hear. It went so far beyond coincidence. The passage I read encouraged me, chastised me, and gave me comfort and hope. I came to see that God was (and is!) in that book, alive and well, and oh so relevant.

It was on staff that I saw God work in SO many different ways. Big, small, ordinary and extraordinary. It was amazing to get to see him work through me, in me, and often despite me, and in and through so many other people, too. Camp is not the only place I've experienced this, but the thing about camp is that all the rest of life's pressures and messiness just isn't there, so it's much easier to see things more clearly. And seeing God work and answer prayer at camp was training for seeing Him work in the 'real world,' where sometimes it's not so recognizable amidst the stress and business of regular life.

It was on staff that I had one of my most humbling moments - where God began teaching me to back off on my own plan, cause his is so much better. (Oh how I wish it only took that once to learn that lesson! It's gonna be a lifetime before I get that one down!) It was a particularly hot week, and I had wanted to surprise my girls by sleeping down on the dock. I had gotten permission, and waited till they were all ready for bed before I surprised them. They were so excited to get to sleep outside, and I'm sure one of the reasons was that it was about a kajilion degrees in our cabin. We bundled up our sleeping bags and pillows and made our trek down the giant hill to the beach, only to find that some of the junior counsellors were swimming and the dock was soaking wet.

It was definitely not one of my proudest moments when I told off the junior staff leader and made it perfectly clear how annoyed I was that now we couldn't sleep on the dock. I was disappointed for my girls, too, who were really looking forward to this. So, up we trekked back to our cabin - waaay up the hill - and had to go back into our sweltering cabin to sleep after being out in the cool breezy summer air down at the beach. *grumble grumble grumble* At staff meeting the next morning, I made sure that EVERYBODY knew that I'd like my girls to sleep on the dock, so puh-leeeease don't go swimming after campfire.

Take two. It wasn't a surprise, but the girls were still looking forward to sleeping out. After we all got settled on the dock, we began looking up at the stars. "Hey! There's a shooting star!" "And another one!" "Look! I just saw one, too!" It turns out that that night, and not the night before, was the night of the huge August meteor shower. We lay awake for hours watching falling stars and talking about God's creation, reading Psalms and praising God for his creativity and beauty. Ok, God, I get it. You've got a better plan! :P

And it was on staff that I made one of the biggest discoveries about myself I've made so far. For a year or so, I had been plagued with the question of "What's my passion?" I saw people with a passion for scuba diving, or a passion for missions, or a passion for sports and on and on... But what was mine? Sure, I liked a lot of different things, but I couldn't call any of them "my passion." I guess in some ways it was a quest for purpose: what is my purpose, my calling - where that place where my great love and the world's great need intersected?

Well, it was the last night of the second to last week of camp in 2001. I had had the most incredible week - I had the best cabin I've ever had, and witnessed some extremely meaningful changes in the lives of every single girl in my cabin. It was a particularly impacting week for many, many campers, not to mention staff. We were at campfire on the last night, and I found myself looking around. The kids - many who had never once set foot in a church in their lives - were singing with all their hearts, arms raised to heaven, knowing what it felt like to experience the love of God. They were deciding to trust him, choosing to accept the gift he offers.

It was at that moment that I knew. What's my passion? It's here. It's this. It's helping kids come to a greater understanding of who God is and what he's done for them. It's seeing lives changed. I've struggled since then to understand how that translates to the 'real world,' as sadly, camp is not a year round event. But it's trying to see how that works into my daily life - in whatever role I'm in - that will be the lifelong lesson. It was on staff at Kawkawa where I realized that nothing gets to my heart quicker than a child in love with God. And to have God allow me to help that happen? That's my passion.

I am a minister of reconcilliation for God

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old is gone, the new has come! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting men's sins against them. And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation. We are therefore Christ's ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us. We implore you on Christ's behalf: be reconciled to God. God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him, we might become the righteousness of God.

As God's fellow workers, we urge you not to receive God's grace in vain. For he says, "In the time of my favour, I heard you, in the day of my salvation I helped you." I tell you, now is the time of God's favour, now is the day of salvation!

~ 2 Corinthians 5:17-21

This passage overwhelmes me. It speaks of identity. It speaks of the core message of the entire Bible. It speaks of my overwhelmingly huge yet blissfully simple purpose as a Christian. It speaks of my heart's desire for people to know and understand the depth of what God has done for them. This passage speaks. This passage is life.