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Link to:   "Walking in White"

 

A Wing And A Prayer

"My soul is in the sky"
 

 William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream

 

 

A series of seemingly unrelated events this past week have come together to teach me an important lesson.

 

Early one morning, I was suddenly awakened by a strange noise coming from the kitchen.  I crawled out from underneath the mosquito net over our bed, unlocked the bedroom door, and cautiously made my way down the hallway.  The noise grew louder.  When I opened the door to the kitchen, I was startled to see the window blanketed by flying termites.  There were thousands of them.  A considerable number had been able to find their way into our home (our windows are a bit, well, porous), so I grabbed our trusty fly swatter and, with a few well-timed swipes, introduced a number of them to their maker.  I fought the good fight for about ten minutes, but somehow, Ken slept through the whole thing.

 

When Ken did get up, I proudly related my little adventure.  At first, he thought I was exaggerating, but once he opened the back door and found a large pile of termite wings on the ground, he became a believer.

 

 

At daylight, I was surprised to see two of our groundsmen arrive to collect the termites, which are apparently something of a delicacy here.  Then, once they departed, our garden was descended upon by various species of birds, including one magnificent eagle.  They feasted on the leftovers for hours.

As we drove through Kakamega later that day, we marvelled at the local public transport system.  The picture below gives you some idea of what's available, and how jammed the vehicles can become.  In fact, you will often see passengers sitting on top of or hanging onto the side of moving vehicles.  One way or the other, Kenyans are determined to get to their destination.

 

 On Saturday, Ken and I had the privilege of visiting the Madzuu District.  As we drove into the market, we found a group of Salvationists waiting for us.  Apparently the District band had asked for permission to escort us to headquarters, but recognizing how far they would have to march, they simply climbed into available vehicles.  Despite the potholes, they played their hearts out, and all the way there, Ken and I prayed that no one would lose a tooth.

 Finally, the Territory's budget for the next three fiscal years was due at International Headquarters on Friday.  When I looked at the funds we have (or, more accurately, don't have), I was amazed at what our people can accomplish.  Ken and I constantly search for ways to fund such basics as officer allowances and medical expenses, but our people never seem to worry about it.  They just keep serving, working miracles with what they have.

 

All of this came together when I heard a World War II song yesterday that had been inspired by the old John Wayne movie, "Flying Tigers."  The song was entitled, "On a Wing and a Prayer," and it told the story of a badly damaged aircraft successfully making its way back to base.  Yet the song also reminded me of Isaiah 40:31:

 

But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.

They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary;

they will walk and not be faint.

 

The circumstances of this week have coalesced to teach me that mounting up like an eagle requires more than an ability to rise above difficulties.  It also requires a victorious attitude, a keen eye for the work that needs to be done, and a complete reliance on the God whose strength is immeasurably greater than our own.  If we can do that, anything is possible.

 

Oh, and yes, the Kenya West Territory is soaring! 



Tiny Miracles

"There are only two ways to live your life.  One is as though nothing is a miracle. 

 The other is as though everything is a miracle."
 

                                                                                         Albert Einstein

 

After five months, I’m ready to make a sweeping biological generalization: bugs are bigger in Kakamega. The other day we had a moth in our home which was, and I am not kidding, larger than a small bird.  Frankly, it was a miracle that I didn't immediately pack my bags and head for the door.

Soon after we got here, my husband proudly presented me with a new vacuum cleaner.  I didn't quite understand.  I wondered to myself, "What is this for?  We don't have any carpets."  But Ken was proud of the fact that he'd been able to find one, and so I hugged him, expressed my thanks for his 'thoughtful' gift, and put it in a closet.

Yet since coming face to face with some of the smaller occupants of our home, that contraption has become my favorite toy.  Armed with our little vacuum cleaner, I whip through our quarters sucking up any creature that dares to show itself.  Oh, what power!  Now the only time I have to yell for help is when a large gecko gets into our bed or a frog refuses to leave my shower.

Since we started our furlough on Monday, we've had a flood in our washroom, a flood in our kitchen, and the shower head fell off.  The handle broke off our bedroom window.  Our printer is out of ink, and we can't find the cartridges anywhere in Kenya.  Ken's car had a flat, and my vehicle key broke in half . . . again.  More seriously, one of our cadets was hit by a motorcycle, Ken's secretary contracted typhoid, and some of our senior officers came down with malaria.  Unbelievable!

Training Principal and staff visiting our cadet in the hospital.

 

Not wanting our holiday to be ruined, however, we have been focusing on all of the good things that have happened. Our tire did not blow out while we were traveling through the rain forest after dark.  The cadet was not seriously injured, Ken's secretary and the officers are recovering, and we are blessed with a maintenance staff that has vast experience fixing leaks.

So this week has reminded me of the fact that life actually consists of thousands of tiny miracles, most of which we don't even think about:  a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, new opportunities, and precious experiences.  In fact, we live and move in the midst of these miracles, the greatest of which are His daily protection and care.  Those are two gifts I should never take for granted, and I do my best to thank Him for them.  Yet I know that I'll always be a bit like the Psalmist, who wrote:

Who can list the glorious miracles of the Lord?

Who can ever praise him enough?

Psalms 106:2 (NLT)

On My Knees

 

You faithfully answer our prayers with awesome deeds, O God our savior.
You are the hope of everyone on earth, even those who sail on distant seas.

Psalm 65:5 (NLT)

 

Usually I find my visits to the market a bit stressful, but yesterday was different.  As I strolled down the aisle with a grocery list in one hand and attempting to maneuver my cart with the other, I suddenly found myself swaying and singing along with the music that blared over the sound system.  It was a country rendition of "Take It to the Lord in Prayer," complete with steel guitar twang.  Not quite what you’d expect for western Kenya.

But as surreal as that moment was, it was also quite fitting, since you never quite know what will be on the shelves here.  A good portion of the staples on my list are usually not in stock, and so I’ve resorted to creating a “wish list.”  Well, actually, it’s more of a “Desperate Prayer List.”  I feel a bit silly knowing that other people pray for world peace while I pray for coffee creamer, but I think God understands. 

The cadets are praying now that the Lord will provide them with a Training College. The land that was originally purchased for that purpose five years ago is tied up in a legal dispute between two other parties, but Ken recently found a large plot of land that is perfect.  And the Army already owns it!  The cadets and Training College staff were so excited with this news that they piled into a bus and made the one-hour trip out to see the land and hold a prayer walk around its boundaries, claiming it as their Promised Land. Every time I think of those wonderful young people, who live every day without running water in the cramped little cubicles we’ve pieced together in the old bakery warehouse, I beg the Lord to answer their prayers.



Cadets praying for a Training College

Of course, we’ve also been praying for a lot of other thing. We prayed for the long rains to come so that the crops would grow.  The rains came.  We then prayed that the rains would stop, since all that rain was destroying the maize. The rains stopped.  Now, believe it or not, we’re praying that the rains will return before the harvest.  It’s exhausting.  Until I moved to Kakamega, I took corn and fresh produce for granted.  But seeing what our people go through to plant, nurture, and harvest their crops, and then get them safely to market for sale, has changed my thinking forever.  Above all, I’ve learned that it takes a lot of prayer!

 

The other day, a young mother came to Territorial Headquarters hoping that the Lord would answer her prayers.  Her husband died of AIDS, and now she is dying.  Totally disgraced, her family has disowned her.  Yet despite this, she is doing all she can in the midst of her illness to ensure that her children are cared for before she dies.  When she heard the woman’s story, our Social and Sponsorship Secretary, who had to fight back her own tears, quickly found some funds to pay for pain killer and school fees. She’s also started the hunt for a long-term sponsor, and Ken and I are joining her in prayer for that.

 

All those things I so easily take for granted are precisely the things that others pray for.  Their needs are so great, and I have so little to offer.  I now understand what Abraham Lincoln meant when he said, “I have been driven many times to my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had nowhere else to go.”

I’m right there with you, Abe.  O Lord, hear our prayers.

 

 

It Is Enough!

 

If you try to hang on to your life, you will lose it.

But if you give up your life for my sake and for the sake of the Good News,
you will save it.

  Mark 8:35

 

I love my excursions to the "big city" of Kisumu.  The drive is lovely, and the anticipation of what treasures I might find at the market makes me giddy with anticipation.  On one trip, I actually found Ragu spaghetti sauce and tinned pears.  Wow!!  We've also been fortunate enough to discover a dry cleaners, a beautician that has experience cutting "mzungu" hair, and a restaurant that serves cheeseburgers.  My cup runneth over! 

 

But our journeys to Kisumu have not been quite the same since I recently noticed a large white "X" painted on many of the buildings and gates along the way.  Our driver explained that the government is widening the road, and the marked structures are those that will be demolished (with no compensation, I might add).  So my heart sinks a little whenever I see an "X", knowing that it represents someone who will lose his home or his business.  In fact, until he checked on the proposed route with the local authorities, Ken was concerned that the Army might even lose the front gate at Territorial Headquarters.

 

X Marks the Spot

 

 

Actually, we've seen a great deal of loss in the past two weeks.  The Kaptanai Corps hall was destroyed in a storm, and wind blew the roof off the home of one of our dear retired officers.  She had nowhere else to go, of course, so she is still living there.  On top of that, there has been a renewal of politically-motivated violence, and twelve Salvationist families at the Mayanja Corps have been senselessly attacked at night in their beds.  They've not only been injured, but they've also lost any sense of personal security. 

 

Most tragic, however, has been the loss of several children at our schools.  Sudden illness claims the lives of children here with depressing frequency, and we were deeply saddened when one of our brightest and most delightful students passed away.  She was a young lady with big dreams.

 

But we've also seen victories.  Last month, for example, Ken commissioned thirty-six new lieutenants.  These are men and women who have been praying for an opportunity to attend the Training College, but for one reason or another, had been told that they did not qualify.  Yet they never gave up, instead accepting leadership responsibilities at some of our poorest and most isolated corps.  Without adequate compensation, and receiving even less recognition, these dear servants have remained faithful to their calling for years, some of them for more than a decade.

One young woman in particular will always have a special place in my heart.  She suffered a stroke some years ago, but although the allowance she received was inadequate to pay for proper medical treatment and therapy, she stayed at her post.  On the day of her commissioning, she limped across the platform and did her best to raise her right hand in a Salvation Army salute.  I thought I saw Ken's eyes water as he presented her with an officer's commission, and my thoughts turned to a quote I heard some years ago:

  

 If God is all you have, you have all you need.

 

Another lesson from my Kenyan family.

 

 

 

Falling Together

So we’re not giving up. How could we? Even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where God is making new life, not a day goes by without his unfolding grace. These hard times are small potatoes compared to the coming good times, the lavish celebration prepared for us.

 

                                                                                         --   2 Corinthians 4:16-17 (The Message)



It has been a wild couple of weeks.  So on this national holiday of Labour Day, Ken and I decided to stay home and rest.  Wanting to get in a bit of exercise and try to process all that has happened recently, we got up at sunrise, donned our sweatsuits, strapped on our hiking boots, and left the house to hike the muddy paths behind our compound.

Our solitude did not last long, though.  Every few yards, someone stopped us on the trail to say hello.  Others looked up from back-breaking work in their small shambas and waved to us with broad smiles on their faces.  When we eventually reached the main road, motorcyclists honked, children standing at the doors of their mud-walled homes yelled out greetings in various local languages, and one car even stopped to ask how we were today.  It seemed to make no difference to the driver, or to anyone else for that matter, that traffic on the road had come to a complete halt.  Oh, the warmth and friendliness of Kenyans!

 

Now that I think about it, that road is still a bit of a challenge for me.  I have driven to work several times since coming to Kakamega, of course, but I still have not had the nerve to drive to the market.  It's only ten minutes up the road, but those ten minutes present the driver with a challenging obstacle course that includes unsteady old men with canes, women straining under the weight of firewood balanced precariously on their heads, children in school uniforms running to and fro, all types of vehicles in various stages of disrepair, a roaming collectionn of cows, chickens, and pigs, potholes large enough to swallow you whole, and a police checkpoint.  On top of all that, the GPS system in my van is in Japanese, and no one has been able to figure out how to turn it off.  So whenever I'm trying to negotiate my way down that road, I hear an insistent female voice giving what I am sure are urgent instructions in a language I can't understand.

But I'm not to be defeated.  So last week, I got up early, spent a few minutes praying for courage and protection, grabbed the car keys, and marched out to the van, determined to drive where I had never driven before.  I unlocked the door, put the key in the ignition, and turned it.  It promptly broke in half.  I called Ken, and he sent a driver to pick me up.  But I didn't have enough money to buy what I needed at the market, so the driver went back to the office to get my husband.  On the way there, his car was hit by a motorcycle.

When I finally reached home later that day, I attempted to apologize for having caused so much trouble by making Ken's favorite dessert, apple crumble, with a few apples that I had been able to find.  Of course, about halfway through the process, the power went out.  I left the pan in the oven, thinking that perhaps it might stay hot enough to finish the dessert.  But after doing other things for fifteen minutes or so, I realized to my horror that power had been restored.  Well, it's not that I simply realized this.  It was more a matter of smelling something burning.  I frantically ran back to the kitchen to get the potholders, and the handle on the drawer they were in broke off in my hand.  What a day. 

 

But it didn't end there.  In fact, that day seemed to trigger a chain of events in which a number of things simply fell apart.  For example, we've since had several massive thunderstorms in Kakamega, one of which pelted us with hailstones as big as golf balls.  Our buildings and vehicles paid the price.  I also came down with a sore throat, but the local chemist says that he won't have any antibiotics until this weekend.  We've had to cancel or postpone several Territorial events due to lack of funds, and the normal flow of requests from our corps, schools, and institutions for everything from roofs to water tanks has seemingly become a raging torrent.

 

So now that I'm finally sitting here in my quiet home on a national holiday, I asked the Lord a few minutes ago to speak to me.  And I never thought that He would use Marilyn Monroe to do that.  But for some reason I remembered an occasion on which she said, "Sometimes good things fall apart, so better things can fall together."  Yes, that's right.  God is still in control, and he will often use broken things to bring Him glory.  So I won't give up.  And besides, it's going to be interesting to see what great things the Lord is going to accomplish in and through broken little me.

 

Another Jolene - Kakamega Central

 

Planting a tree in Kapsabet

                   

Donating Soap-Making Supplies to a Women's Group

 

An Everyday Celebration

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.

 

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.

 

 

   

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.

  

 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)