Shine on me!

What can I give back to God for the blessings he’s poured out on me?
I’ll lift high the cup of salvation—a toast to God!
    I’ll pray in the name of God;
I’ll complete what I promised God I’d do,
    and I’ll do it together with his people.  Psalm 116:12-13 (MSG)

For months I had been dreaming of Christmas Eve, the day we would pack our suitcases and make our way into the rainforest for a well-deserved getaway.  Jessy had arrived safe and sound from the States, family and friends had supplied us with chocolates and sweets, and we even had enough little trinkets to fill three stockings.  So when the big day arrived, Ken filled our car with petrol, loaded up the supplies, and placed a Christmas wreath on the front grille.  We were off!

But as excited as I was, my heart was not quite right.  I thought to myself, "Where did the year go?"  It was as if my life had been so full this past year that I hadn't noticed the date so much as the list of things I had to accomplish.  I even asked the Lord to forgive me for not accomplishing all that I had intended during our first year here.  So much had been left undone.

Baboons on the road to our cottage in the rainforest

 

When we arrived at the Rondo Retreat centre, we unpacked our bags,and began preparing for the evening candlelight service.  At 8:55pm, the church bell rang.  Clutching our flashlights, we took the short walk through the dark to the chapel where we would join other guests (many of whom are also missionaries) for worship.

The tiny chapel was bathed in soft candlelight.  As we sat down, members of the Rondo staff, each holding a single candle, entered as they sang "Silent Night."  The service was moving, but it was the closing prayer by one of the missionaries that caught my attention.  He prayed that the Lord would shed His light on the past, as well as the present and future. 

When the service was over, we again stepped out into the pitch-black night, and I looked down to turn on my flashlight.  But Ken nudged me and said, "Look at that!"  For the first time that evening, I looked up, and it was then that I saw the most magnificent night sky I have ever seen.  There were a million brilliant stars.  They had been there all along, of course, but I simply hadn't noticed them.  I had been so caught up in dealing with the dark that I had simply failed to look up.

The next morning Ken gave the message at the Christmas service.  The title of his thought-provoking sermon was, "A Change of Perspective."   We hadn't talked about it the night before, but I knew in my heart that his message was for me.

When we returned to Kakamega on Boxing Day, I happened to stop by one of our local markets.  When I walked in, I heard something familiar, and then suddenly realized that it was the Pasadena Tabernacle Songsters, singing "Candlelight Carol."  One of the employees saw me, gave me a thumbs up, and yelled out, "We are playing the CD you gave us for Christmas."  I couldn't help but smile.  All of God's little messages were starting to make sense.

As Ken and I have reminisced over the past few days, we've been amazed to see just how good the Lord has been this year.  The Territory has opened fifty-one new corps and enrolled thousands of senior and junior soldiers.  Plans for the new Training College have taken shape, new programmes have been instituted, and the number of children enrolled in our schools has continued to grow.  Thanks to the generosity of donors around the world, the Army has been able to increase the number of sponsorships, install dozens of water tanks, repair or replace untold pieces of equipment, install new generators, and even secure medical insurance for its officers.  From my human perspective, every single day has been a tough one, filled with a myriad of challenges and obstacles.  But as I look back on the whole, I think I'm seeing it more as the Lord does . . . and I wouldn't change a thing.

 

Albert Schweitzer said it best when he wrote:

Your life is something opaque, not transparent, as long as you look at it in an ordinary human way.  But if you hold it up against the light of God's goodness, it shines and turns transparent, radiant and bright.  And then you ask yourself in amazement: 

 Is this really my own life I see before me? 

Leading the women of the Territory with the Home League flag in a victory march.

His light has shone down on my life this past week, and it's been as brilliant as those stars.  Thanks to His goodness, 2013 was a great year.  And you know what?  2014 promises to be even better.

Happy New Year!

 

 

 

 

It's Going to be OK

He is the Lord of the desert . . . even your desert.

Chuck Swindoll

Our tiny plane landed with a thud and skidded to a halt on the short airstrip.  Passengers disembarked while the crew unloaded the luggage, which included a large shipment of live chickens and a body that had been sent home for traditional burial. 

As soon as you arrive in Turkana, you know you're in a different world.  This county lies in the far northwest of Kenya, and it essentially consists of a 1,700 million-acre desert.  Gazing over the arid, desolate landscape, it's hard to imagine how anyone could survive there.

The realities of life in Turkana are overwhelming.  Severe drought over the last decade has left the people (and their herds) in desperate need of food and water.  More than 83 percent of the people earn less than $18 per month, which means that virtually all of them are below the poverty line.  Only three in every 100 children will ever have the chance to attend secondary school.  In fact, more than 80 percent of Turkana's people have never even set foot in a classroom.

Women leaving their traditional homes to fetch water.
 

But I didn't have time to reflect on these facts.  Instead, my attention was quickly directed to the people who had come to greet us.  Our plane had been delayed by fifteen hours, but they didn't seem to care.  They smiled, waved, and shouted their greetings to Ken and me.  A few of them ran forward to take our bags, all the time asking, "How is Kenya?"  Then we were whisked away to the Army's compound, where we were warmly welcomed by more than 100 officers, soldiers, men, women, and children, all of whom were eager to see the strangers who had come to visit them.

Over the course of the weekend, I would learn a great deal more about Turkana and the Army's work there, and quite frankly, the results that our officers and soldiers are able to achieve are nothing short of miraculous.  The vast majority of people in Turkana still follow traditional religion, but because of the perseverance and dedication of our dedicated team, more and more are being introduced to Christ.  Salvation Army programmes are growing, and we were even able to celebrate the opening of two new corps.  It was thrilling.

Most churches in Turkana ask women to remove their beads as soon as they become Christians.
 But not the Army.  The Army only asks them to remove the beads when they choose to wear uniform.

But whenever Ken and I had the opportunity to speak with officers about their personal situations, my heart broke.  Our people are starving, and no matter how hard they work or what they sacrifice, sending even one of their children to school remains a dream.  And don't even get me started on the deadly snakes, spiders, scorpions, and plants that pose a daily threat to the children. 

As I lay in bed that first night, I begged the Lord to show me what to do.  How could we help our Turkana family?  It is one thing to read about the situation in reports, I told Him, but putting faces to the stories made it almost too much to bear.  So couldn't He please give me an answer?  There was no response.

Ken and I have talked about Turkana every day since we got back to Kakamega, but the Lord still hasn't given me an answer to my plea.  But He has reminded me of His promise in  Revelations 7:16-17:

Never again will they hunger; never again will they thirst. The sun will not beat down on them, nor any scorching heat.   For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd; he will lead them to springs of living water.  And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes. 

That's right.  On top of everything else, He's the God of the desert.  He promises that, in the midst of our suffering, everything will one day be alright.  My prayers might not be answered immediately, but in His time and in His way, I can be confident that His people will one day feast at His banquet table, and that all of them will be more than satisfied.

When my own situation is desperate, when my spirit is forlorn, and when I'm tempted to see life as  empty as a wasteland, I must also remember to hold on.  Because He's the Lord of my desert too.   

The Imposible

I know that you can do all things and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted. 

Job 42:2

Earlier this year, the Women's Ministries Department in the USA Western Territory sent us funds for a Junior Home League Congress.  Our planning committee determined that, if we exercised good stewardship of those resources, we could host 1,500 girls for a four-day "Girls4God"  event.   But two weeks before the Congress, I was informed that 2,200 girls had registered.   Oh boy.  When she saw the panic on my face, my Junior Home League Secretary quickly said, "It's OK, Mama.  We will have enough food, and there is enough room at the school for them to sleep."  I trust my staff implicitly, and I knew that I wouldn't want to turn any girl away.  So I took a big breath, slowly nodded my head, told her not to accept any more registrations, and then silently started to pray for a miracle.

Well, the miracle came, but it wasn't the one I asked for.  When I finally arrived at the Congress, our vehicle had trouble entering the compound because more than 4,000 girls and leaders were there.  Closing registration had made no impact whatsoever.  Girls who hadn't signed up simply showed up.  One of the officers loudly declared that Mama would never turn away any of her girls, which was right.  So with a weak smile on my face and the biblical story of loaves and fishes on my mind, I welcomed them all.  But how would we manage?

 

Commissioner Kenneth Hodder and Lt. Colonel Edward Hill
 taking the salute in the Troop Uniform Contest

Well, God did it.  It was a simply wonderful four days, full of miracles, one right after another.  Twenty cooks slaughtered three bulls and 110 chickens.  A lorry arrived full of firewood.  The girls made room for one another to sleep on the floor, the rain was minimal, and all of the outdoor meetings took place as planned and on time.  Even the newly inaugurated Territorial Junior Home League Band was a big hit!

Some of the cooks preparing our daily greens.

We sang, we danced, we laughed, and we wholeheartedly worshiped the God who made the entire thing possible.  At the closing meeting on Sunday, well over 500 girls flooded to the mercy seat, and I wept.

Walt Disney once said,

It is kind of fun to do the impossible.

 

How true that is.  So I'm glad that my ladies took a risk.  And I'm impressed by their faith.  Their faith is in a God who likes to surprise his children with miracles, a God whose plans are always bigger and better than our own.  And mine.

 

Lt. Colonel Shelley Hill, our international guest,

with girls from Turkana, a distant region boarding Sudan and Ethiopia.

 

 

OK, Lord.  What do you want to do next?
 



 

Praise & Thanksgiving

Perhaps it takes a purer faith to praise God for unrealized blessings

 than for those we once enjoyed or those we enjoy now.  ~A.W. Tozer

When you're serving overseas, holidays can be hard.  It's always my intention to celebrate as if we were at home, of course, but our little observances inevitably fall short of my vision.

Thanksgiving Day was no different.  I was going to cook my husband the best feast he had ever tasted (Sorry, Mom!).  I even resolved to drive to Eldoret, which is 90 minutes away, in order to get the turkey.  But then I was told that the turkey would be a live one.  So much for that.  Then I learned that the nearest source for cranberry sauce is in Nairobi.  Scratch that as well.  And with the heat we're now experiencing, I had to abandon my plan to prepare a pumpkin pie from scratch.

But I wasn't to be defeated.  I was on a mission.

As you know, since the fire on our compound two weeks ago, we've been without city power.  I am certainly grateful to God (and the Clearwater Corps and the Florida Division) for our generator, but we simply can’t afford to run it all the time.  So it's switched off every day between 9:00 am and 3:00 pm.  It was my plan to arrive home early from work on Thanksgiving  and get to work the moment power was restored.   

As soon as the generator kicked in, I revved up the oven and rushed to my computer in order to pull up a recipe I'd found on the internet that promised to produce the “best, juiciest bird possible.”  I didn't have the turkey, of course, but I did have a rather large chicken, and Ken could pretend, couldn't he?

That's when I discovered that the internet was down.  I ran to my cell phone to call for help, but it wouldn't function either.  So, with no time to spare, I resolved to use an old recipe and went to the refrigerator to get the meat.  That's when I discovered that the power outage had caused the bird to drip raw juice all over the interior of the refrigerator.

I cleaned up the mess, prepared the bird, put it in the oven, and started to set the table.  But as I put on the tablecloth, I remembered that most of the chairs around our dining table would be empty this year.  My eyes welled up, and I grabbed the place settings and set up a romantic place for two on the coffee table.

The drama continued all afternoon, featuring bugs in the flour (AGAIN!), humongous ants in the pantry, a wimpy bird burnt on top, and flat biscuits burnt on the bottom.  Ken eventually arrived home to find dinner on the table, but he also found an over-heated, frustrated, exhausted wife.

After surveying the scene, Ken just took me in his arms, thanked me, said the aroma was wonderful, and proceeded to eat every morsel.  Then he encouraged me to sit down and rest while he did the dishes.

As I plopped down on the sofa, I thought about how much easier it is to be thankful when you have a table surrounded by family and friends, a sumptuous feast to enjoy, a football game to watch, and everything else that goes with the holidays.  Being thankful is a bit more of a challenge, though, when the day isn't quite picture perfect. 

Then I thought of my Kenyan brothers and sisters who, according to recent reports, make an average wage of $1.83 a day.  They struggle to survive, and yet they never fail to praise the Lord for His generous provision.  Suddenly, I felt very guilty about my sour mood, and the Lord reminded me of  Hebrews 13:15:

 

"Let us continually offer to God a sacrifice of praise..."  

 

 
To offer a “sacrifice of praise,” I must surrender something.  I must give up my self-pity, as well as my selfish plans and ambition. 

Lord, during this holiday season, I resolve to surrender everything.  Without any hesitation or reservation, I will celebrate your generous, unmerited blessings in my life.  I have so much for which to give thanks.