While we are living in the present, we must celebrate life every day, knowing that we are becoming history with every work, every action, every deed. - Mattie Stepanek
It's strange what one misses when serving so far from home. This Easter, for example, I missed colored eggs, lilies, and spring dresses. I often miss birthday cakes with candles, decorative ribbon and fluffy bows. I constantly think about roast turkey and baked ham, and what I wouldn't give for a good old-fashioned holiday barbeque!
I also miss certain days, including American national holidays and family birthdays. Although I never used to think it would be possible, such celebrations have become even more precious to me since I left the United States over seven years ago.
I also miss certain days, including American national holidays and family birthdays. Although I never used to think it would be possible, such celebrations have become even more precious to me since I left the United States over seven years ago.
A "celebration" is usually defined as a joyful occasion that marks a significant event. But I noticed this past week that Webster's Dictionary also defines it as "any joyous diversion." There's a lesson in that for me, because although I cannot always celebrate holidays and special occasions as I would like, the Lord often sprinkles a variety of joyous diversions into my days of service in Kenya.
I was reminded of this twice last weekend. While conducting Officers' Councils in the Eldoret Division, Ken and I noticed that one young couple had brought their baby girl with them, which is never done. When we inquired about it, we were told that the little girl's name is Precious Jolene Shivisi. The parents had brought her hoping that Ken would agree to dedicate her to the Lord, which he was glad to do. I recalled as I watched that, although I had missed celebrating my own little girl's 21st birthday last week, the Lord was granting me a joyous diversion.
But that wasn't all. After Officers Councils had concluded, we visited the Race Course Corps, which essentially consists of two mud structures in the slums of Eldoret. Yet the entire community lined the road to welcome us. The Army band and timbrels played as they marched behind our vehicle. There was singing and dancing, and children surrounded our car to get a good look at the "wazungu" (white people). It was overwhelming.
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| Arriving on the Race Course Corps compound |
After Ken proudly laid the foundation stone for a new corps building, we were ushered into the little corps building. Once my eyes adjusted to the dark, I was amazed to see that the building was so jammed with people that children literally stuffed themselves in through the windows. They simply did not want to miss the celebration. Of course, there was lots of singing and dancing, but Ken later told me why this particular celebration was different.
After the elections of 2007, the slums around the Race Course Corps were among the nation's most violent. Scores of residents were slaughtered in the streets, many of them right outside the Army compound. But in the midst of it all, the corps officer at the time determined that his corps would be a refuge for those in need. So he put on his full white uniform, donned his Army cap, and stood boldly at the entrance to the compound, all the while clutching his Bible to his chest. He loudly declared sanctuary, and those who were in danger streamed into the corps. But the rioters never dared to enter.
So for me, the "joyous diversions" I experienced at Officers' Councils and the Race Course Corps were ultimately an affirmation of life itself. But that's just like Kenyans, because these wonderful people celebrate life every day. In fact, they've taught me what it really means to live. Their joy constantly reminds me that, if we are faithful in His service, there will be cause for celebration every single day.
After the elections of 2007, the slums around the Race Course Corps were among the nation's most violent. Scores of residents were slaughtered in the streets, many of them right outside the Army compound. But in the midst of it all, the corps officer at the time determined that his corps would be a refuge for those in need. So he put on his full white uniform, donned his Army cap, and stood boldly at the entrance to the compound, all the while clutching his Bible to his chest. He loudly declared sanctuary, and those who were in danger streamed into the corps. But the rioters never dared to enter.
So for me, the "joyous diversions" I experienced at Officers' Councils and the Race Course Corps were ultimately an affirmation of life itself. But that's just like Kenyans, because these wonderful people celebrate life every day. In fact, they've taught me what it really means to live. Their joy constantly reminds me that, if we are faithful in His service, there will be cause for celebration every single day.
Blessed are the people who know the passwords of praise,
who shout on parade in the bright presence of God.
Delighted, they dance all day long; they know
who you are, what you do—they can’t keep it quiet!
Your vibrant beauty has gotten inside us—
you’ve been so good to us! We’re walking on air!
All we are and have we owe to God,
Holy God of Israel, our King!
Psalm 89:15-18 (THE MESSAGE)
who shout on parade in the bright presence of God.
Delighted, they dance all day long; they know
who you are, what you do—they can’t keep it quiet!
Your vibrant beauty has gotten inside us—
you’ve been so good to us! We’re walking on air!
All we are and have we owe to God,
Holy God of Israel, our King!
Psalm 89:15-18 (THE MESSAGE)
