Dying to Live!

I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat is planted in the soil and dies, it remains alone.  But its death will produce many new kernels—a plentiful harvest of new lives.  John 12:24 (NLT)

Ken treated our new neighbours at the shop outside our compound to soda and sweets.

 Agnes, the shop owner standing with me, sells mangoes, various roots, and tasty termites.

The portion of Kakamega in which we live is called “Shimalavandu,” which literally translates as “place of death.”  We understand it was given that name in part because of the many accidents that occur in the area.  Yet it seems like a strange name for a place that is bursting with life.  Energetic roosters wake us each morning, and even before the sun is up, the roads are filled with activity.  Children walk to school.  Beautiful kites (large bird of preys) fly overhead.  Men steer their cattle around women who carry bundles of goods on their heads as they walk to the market for another day of business.  In short, there’s a lot going on in Shimalavandu.

There’s also a lot going on in the Army here.  During our first Board meeting, for example, we approved the opening of two new corps, one of which is located at the Kakuma Refugee Camp near the Sudanese border.  It's growing rapidly, with more than 270 in attendance on a normal Sunday.  In the same meeting, however, we also declined corps status to three outposts, even though they all have more than 150 soldiers each, own their land, and have built their own buildings.  They simply aren’t big enough yet! 

We also see a great deal of life in the view from our kitchen window.   In addition to the rolling green hills, you can see the top of the banana tree that grows in our little shamba (farm plot).  While Ken and I haven’t really attempted to grow anything yet, Ken is very proud of his recent crop of sweet bananas.

I suppose that, in the last analysis, Shimalavandu is a good name for our compound.   The ten officer families and twenty-five cadets who live here have given up their lives to Christ.  In scriptural terms, they have put themselves to death, and in so doing, have found abundant life in Him – a life that Ken and I are privileged to witness every day.

 

Homecoming

Homecoming means coming home

 to what is in your heart.  

 

"Do not call to mind the former things, or ponder things of the past.
Behold, I will do something new."

Isaiah. 43:18-19

 

On 4 January 2013, we arrived back home in Kenya. The THQ officers and staff, a band, and two Songster brigades met us at the airport. After a brief programme in the African heat, we were whisked away for a lovely luncheon with the welcome party. Then we began the road journey to Kakamega. Upon reaching our new quarters, we were told to go and rest as a group of ladies prepared yet another feast in our kitchen. Several hours later, the Cabinet arrived at our home for the welcome dinner.

It didn't take long for us to realize that living in Kakamega will be different from living in Nairobi. Instead of a guard dog, a 'guard cow' meets us at the compound gate. Instead of waking up to our alarm clock, the roosters awaken us, and much more effectively. Also, while I was somewhat anonymous in Nairobi, I am already recognized around town as the "Army mama." Even Lydia, the guard hired to scan shoppers before they enter the market, just smiles, kisses me, and welcomes me inside.

Since we live on the outskirts of the rain forest, I doubt that we will ever be without water. In fact, the other night it rained so hard I was convinced we were going to be swept down the hillside. The thunderous noise on the tin roof didn't help the situation. Electricity is another issue, though. As of now, we have been without power for about two days. Just before we lost it, I had purchased a week’s worth of groceries, and Ken had splurged on a large container of ice cream. That's been lost, of course, and I've learned a lesson. My shopping list now consists of fewer fresh meats and more dried beans!

I keep thinking of the lessons my daughter, Jessy, took from the circus trapeze she tried in London. She had to let go of the bar she was comfortably swinging on just at the right moment, hover for a second in the void, and then catch hold on the next swing. That is how I feel right now. I was comfortable in London, enjoying my life and ministry. God called me to grab hold of something new and exciting. I am still in that void, not quite grasping my new life, but believing I will be just fine. My faith lies in Christ, my safety net.