Day 6-8: Christmas Kenya-style

It's still weird that we're celebrating Christmas in the middle of the summer - even weird for native Kenyan residents such as Kristin and her roommate, Amber. Church on Sunday helped a lot to get us into mood, which is what we did on Day 6, followed by a relaxing afternoon at home. Christmas Eve, Day 7, was about getting ready for the big holiday. We took a trip to the grocery store, the pie place to get a pumpkin pie, and a small market for last-minute gifts. 

Now here I sit on Day 8. MERRY CHRISTMAS! Amber made us yummy cinnamon rolls which we enjoyed after a quick gift exchange. A rhubarb pie just came out of the oven for tonight's big dinner, and we're just relaxing.

I've been reflecting on Zechariah's praise song in Luke 1 since Sunday. What a man of God who really understood the big picture, at least for that moment. I especially like the three reasons he gives for Christ's coming:
1. that we should be saved (v. 71)
2. to show mercy (v. 72)
3. to be faithful to himself and keep his oath (v. 73)
Christmas really is a remembrance of the biggest sacrifice made, a sign post that shows God putting his plan formed at the dawn of the ages into motion. May these truths be especially true and important to us this year, and like Zechariah, may our worship be drawn up in service to him forever (v. 74).

Merry Christmas!

Day 2-5: The Mara

Actually Day 2 was in Nairobi, but nothing noteworthy really happened. Other than to say it was a lovely, relaxing day. I worked mainly on grading papers for my Online Course.

Day 3, however, is another story. It saw us up at the crack of dawn to catch our safari vehicle south to The Masai Mara (an extension of Tanzania's Serengeti, though slightly smaller). I'll mainly let the pictures speak for themselves. Suffice it to say that we had an amazing time!!!

Top Ten Highlights:
1. Driving through the Rift Valley
2. Our "tent camp" room that really was in a tent but was gorgeous inside
3. Lions
4. Cheetahs!!!
5. Cheetahs chasing impala and running really fast
6. Cheetah babies!!!
7. Hippos, Giraffes, Rhinos, and Crocodiles
8. Seeing animals eat their prey (gross, but awe-inspiring, too)
9. the Food at our "tent camp" that included an all-you-can-eat buffet and all-you-can-drink mango juice
10. Hanging out with Kristin (who deserves credit for most of these photos) and her friend Emmy

Single Lowlight:
1. Getting sick on the first morning and spending a bit of time on the porcelain express. It made for a queasy ride on the next safari day.

Day 1: Nairobi

I don't know if today really counts as a true Kenyan experience with the exception of a few things:

1. The power went out 3 times while I tried to blow dry my hair. I think it was me. Oh well, the mop look did it for me.
2. I found a finger nail in my slushy. Yeah. That one was rather gross.

We slept in, had a lazy morning, and then drove to this nice, tropical-looking garden cafe for lunch. I had a Mexikenya salad and was simply thrilled that it was topped by lots of avacado. That in tandem with my mango juice set everything off on the right foot for the day.

The afternoon was spent seeing various parts of Nairobi from the back of the car and then enjoying The Hobbit. Now, I know what you're thinking. "You travel all the way to Kenya to see a movie theater!?" Well, when the price is $4.50 versus $20 in Switzerland - yes!

We came home, and I've been grading for my online class most of the evening. Not what you call an exciting night, but it needs to be done by tomorrow night, before I can leave on my Safari! So, I suppose I should probably call it a night, so that tomorrow I can have a few more adventures during the day.

Asante!

Worth It

November is tough for me. It tends to be the first slump in a school year (followed by another in February). The semester is starting to feel long, and Christmas break is still a month away. Students complain of too much homework, and teachers complain of unrequiting students (yes, I made up a word). As a Middle School staff, it's been our prayer these last few weeks to maintain an atmosphere of love and grace at school. It's so easy when you're tired and frustrated to slip into a legalistic mode where rule-keeping and survival are the orders of the day, so our desire was to continue enjoying our students and help them thrive. But how do you measure something like that? How do you know if students are seeing your attempt to be grace-filled?

I had a couple of beautiful moments that reminded me of why it is worth it to (try to) live every moment in God's joy rather than the exhaustion of the month of November. The first was a sweet note from an anonymous student in my box. In homeroom one morning, I prayed something along the lines of "Help us run to you, not just when we need you, but all the time." Check out the card of enormous encouragement in the picture below. I know with all my heart that kids will never look to me and see someone who has it all together, who has all the answers. My biggest prayer is that if and when they look, they'll see someone simply trying to love God.

The other moment of "Hooray, this is worth it all" came last night in the car. I was driving four 8th grade girls to their class party at an ice skating rink. Somewhat out of the blue, ME asked a question out loud. "How do you know when God is calling you to do something?" The other girls probed a bit, and she was thinking about how her parents left Korea for the Philippines under the guise of "God called us," and then again the move to Turkey, and now the fact that she and her brother attend BFA in yet another country - all because God had told her parents they had a job to do. The other girls shared similar stories of how their parents left their countries (Canada, USA, and Switzerland) to complete their missions, but none of them could really say either what "being called" truly meant. I got to share my story of how I thought I was heading to China and the Lord redirected my steps while also making use of my random gifts (German, teaching, and MK-ness) all in my mission: to serve at BFA.

The girls went on to share of some of the blessings they've already seen come out of their parents' work or the things in their own lives that were impacted by this calling to be an MK: challenges overcome, friendships old and new, a growing family around the world, and a closer walk with God. As I squinted in the dark to spot the Ice Rink sign, all I could think is "This is why I do what I do. Conversations like this make everything worth it!"

 The girls on the far right and in the center were in my car. :-)

Relearning He Rejoices

I love it when God re-reveals things (because let's face it, I keep relearning the same things over and over again all the time). When a concept shows up more than three times in the same week, I know he's got his hammer out and is chiseling away again. This week it was his laughter, his joy in expression, as seen in the Father of the Prodigal, in the God of Zephaniah, and in the Psalms. I've been reminded that I'm a work in progress and he is pleased with that. Please remember that also rings true of this poem below. Thanks for allowing me to be real here.

Delight

Zephaniah 3:15-17

To slink into his throne room

dirty,

polluted,

stained anew.

Age-old, repetitive sin – once again.

Mask of remorse over heart of fear.

Not a fear he’ll be shocked;

He knows me too intimately.

Not a fear he’ll be angry;

His patience knows no bounds.

Not a fear he won’t love;

His arms envelop me even now.

Not a fear he won’t forgive;

He’s proven himself too faithful.

A fear that with each return,

Each of my requests for

forgiveness,

love,

patience,

Is an exchange for his pleasure.

Dreading his disappointment

(Because I know how I respond

to my kids,

to my debtors,

to my friends.)

Fearing his joy toward me will wane.

Not realizing each moment of grace,

Every chance for forgiveness,

Is reason for rejoicing.

Me. Daughter of the King.

The Lord is in your midst;

you shall never again fear.

The prophets promise loud singing,

a God whisking away sin. Every time.

I twirl in his arms to catch his smile.

His song puts my fear to rest.

Thoughts on an Abbey

I stand looking through an opaque glass at the only remnant of the nave that once vaulted the entire length of 187 meters. Some of it has been reconstructed, with holes left in the wall so that we fanatical tourists who were willing to dole out 9 Euros can see the original, half-wasted pillar underneath. I want to reach out and touch it. Simply by virture of being 1,000 years old, it is stunningly beautiful, never mind the missing chunks or the fact that it would fall over if unsupported. I imagine the monks from the abbey next door who filed past this particular pillar on their way through the Galilee transcript into the biggest church the world knew at the time. Perhaps one monk’s hood brushed this exact spot my fingers now trace. The few stones that remain have seen all the ranks, from popes and kings down to vagabond pilgrims with nothing to their name, all united in a desire to do what pleased the heavenly Father.

Of course that thought sobers me. I know all too well how enormous cathedrals such as this one came into existence. The scene unfolds in my mind’s eye clearly: how a passerby is cajoled into buying an indulgence to lessen his sins (false) or shorten his time in purgatory (not true) and with his sacrifice help protect the relics of St. Peter and St. Paul (wrong) by building a huge church worthy of their names. Guilt built this monument, and the abbots who presided over the services knew full well that pilgrims came to gawk at their accomplishments much more than the Lord. Of course, they themselves had their sights set on bigger prizes: Rome itself, as is evidenced by the number of Cluniac monks who achieved just that. And Jesus? He was relegated to a seat at the top of the door, preferably the stone version so that he would be immobile to interfere too much with human plans.

Still, this was a house of God, and I’m moved. Surely among all the monks and visitors to these hallowed halls, there was at least one whose gaze was drawn heavenward. One believer who stared at the Bible stories etched in glass and felt the Spirit inside him confirm that this was indeed truth. One individual who truly worshiped the Lord our God right here, perhaps leaning against this very pillar I want so badly to set free from its confining walls.

And I’m angry and mournful all over again. It’s so senseless that this was all destroyed on purpose. Razed to the ground by men who considered themselves enlightened and beyond the crutch of needing a God who was of stone and therefore didn’t care. Colored stained glass and capitals atop columns were crushed, ground up, and thrown into the nearby river or rebuilt into farm homes. Special care was taken with the destruction of the front doors lintel: the Evangelists survived in fragments, but the part that held Jesus was completely wiped out. Cobblestones and homes were erected right on top of the altar, and the Cluny cathedral passed from sight into memory and – for a time – into legend.

From my pillar in the nave, I move through a gorgeous reconstructed door into a small chapel that survived the worst of the rage, though it was entirely gutted of all marble statues and decorations. I can make out one lone name still etched into the wall – St. Andrew’s – surrounded by eleven blanks spots. How would it feel to be erased from history, to have people pretend you never existed? That was the attempt, to say Christ was more fiction than fact.

That’s when a song, new to me, drifts back into my mind.

If they shut down the churches, where would you go?

If they melted all the stained glass windows, replaced every sanctuary with a condo, where would you go? If they burned every Bible, what would you know? If they tore your marked-up pages, how would you grow? We are a cathedral made of people in a kingdom that the eye can’t see. When they hate you for the things you know are true, they can tear down this temple, but they can’t touch you. 

(Excerpts from “Cathedral Made of People” by Downhere)

Andrew is more than a name left on a defaced wall of a tiny, forlorn chapel; he’s a stained glass window in the house of God. Peter was more than a made-up pile of bones that supposedly required people to donate large amounts of money; he’s a pillar in the temple Christ built, just as he himself told us. “Living Stones” he called us. Even I have a role to play. I can be like this door, ushering people in to the places where they can meet with my Savior. I don’t have to mourn the loss of Jesus’ face on the Cluny façade, for he is carving himself into each of us as we walk the cobblestone streets and seek to be his hands and feet in a tangible way.

The historian in me is still upset that I’m surveying ruins when it so easily could’ve been the 12^th century colossal masterpiece that it was. But the emotion of gratefulness swells stronger. No human plan could wipe out the truth in Cluny. Not this time. Not ever.

Coolest door ever!

Fall Party 2012

I just rediscovered pictures of my rockin' students at Fall Party. Check them out:

 SC arm wrestles the Hulk, Mr. R.

 Blind racing: Superman versus another Hulk

 The cast of Tintin - love these 6th graders!

 Batman jumps in to scare me!

AD and KG as Incredible family girls