I spoke with our daughter Julia last night. Their trip to Rwanda was an incredible success and they’ve now begun their work in Kenya. One of the concerns we face each time we go to Africa is what we’ll do if someone gets sick… it happened in Rwanda and the someone was my sister Kathleen. She was able to get medical treatment in Kigali but unfortunately was forced to cut her trip short, returning to the US with her husband, leaving her children, now adults, and Julia, behind. Pray for her continued healing. Pray also for Phil, Erica and Pat, who I’m sure are each worried about their mom in the midst of being excited about their work in Kitale.
Sad news was that David, owner of the camp we’ve stayed at in Mariche Pass, while working in W. Pokot, was killed in an auto accident recently. Hard to imagine that with all the miles we log on our freeways each day, while David’s working a lifetime away from the nearest freeway or traffic jam in one of the most remote places on the planet, could die while traveling around Kitale. He and his wife Hadat have always been gracious hosts and welcomed us in whether we had reservations or not; their generosity to so many will not go unrewarded.
David was very good at sharing the stories of the wilderness over a cup or chai late into the night or a bowl of ugi in the morning. He had ventured into a desert region and set up his little outpost as an academic research station used by universities and educators from around the world. In an area with almost none of the creature comforts of modern society he had created a little oasis beside the river that enabled groups like ours to work on the edge of a frontier that would have been otherwise completely out of reach.
It wasn’t modern… not by a long shot… the only electricity during dinner, from one small generator and that only when they had diesel. Oil burning lanterns were left each night at the doorstep of thatched huts we slept in for those willing to brave a walk in the dark to find an outdoor latrine, (David’s advice was to stay as close to the hut’s step as possible after dark and just go!). And wonderfully powerful cold water outdoor showers, in the midst of the desert, shaded by giant acacias filled with monkeys, curious and laughing from above.
In February of this year we were there during a wind storm that blew lanterns and anything else not tied down clear out of the grounds… fortunately there was only one other guest and all was well. Last October we received over two inches of rain while we were trying to sleep… the most they’d had in decades in their parched part of the planet… and our thatched roof leaked life a sieve. David greeted us in the morning with a smile, fresh from measuring the new rainfall and checking it against records, anxious to share the blessings. Rain in the desert can save entire communities.
Every visit to Mariche Pass held adventure and David helped make each of them possible. It’s going to be a much lonelier planet without him on it. I was fortunate to not just know him, but to call him a friend. He extended his arms to strangers, developed pre-school programs for tribal children, facilitated the building of medical clinics and schools in rural villages that had never received modern medical support and so much more. He was well known, well loved by people in the region and by those of us who travel to lonely places in Kenya and he’ll be greatly missed. Please keep his wife Hadat, the staff of Mariche Pass, his son who’s traveled from England to help in this time and all those they employed, educated and undergirded with their work in your prayers.
Characters: David was definitely one of them and Kenya, as well as the world, has lost a bit of its character with his passing.
I’ll miss him.
[ 8 comments ] ( 279 views ) | related link
http://news.bbc.co.uk/media/avdb/news/w ... 6x9_bb.asx
A letter came in the mail this week from a friend in Kenya. It’s always fun getting mail from other countries. The three stamps, 1, 35KSH and 2, 30KSH, are beautiful: one has a picture of a coconut, the other two of “groundnuts,” that look just like peanuts. Opening it, reading the greetings, the few lines to catch me up to speed and the plea for help, the cry for money… I thought of this friend… and I remembered Kenya. Not the Kenya filled with violence reported almost daily internationally, but the Kenya filled with friends and I realized how deeply I miss them, how I miss our work, still in its infancy and how much I’d forgotten about this land and these people we’ve come to love.
Local news doesn’t cover so much of the world we care about; places we’ve come to love and have invested our hearts and ministry in. Last year violence erupted in the community around our children’s home in Mexico. Local police were kidnapped and decapitated by drug lords. Fear and tensions ran high. It barely made the news, even here in Southern California, just minutes away. Entire communities could die off- some communities ARE dying off –in Kenya, and we’ll not hear about it. I’d like to think that it has more to do with our busy lives and just not having time for an entire world’s worth of news… but then Paris Hilton captures world headlines… for no particularly good reason and I’m reminded of how easy it is to not just forget Kenya, but to ignore her completely.
The letter came from a man who’s headmaster of a little private school in a small community. He dreams of completing his education- he doesn’t have a college degree and he wants one desperately. His work hasn’t required it. It’ll cost more money than he’ll ever recoup in salary but he dreams of a greater education: he loves math. He’s been accepted to a university- he sent his acceptance letter and tuition needs… and asked for my help. I’m praying he sent it to several dozen other friends as well- praying that someone is able to come along side him and scholarship his entire education –he’s worthy. He’s one of so many needs in Kenya that cross my desk on a regular basis. Now they have names, pretty stamps, hand written requests… each one touches my heart, most, never even receive a reply, much less any money.
The letter closes with regards to friends that have visited the school with me in the past, an invitation to those planning our trip this August led by Pastor Ken, a reminder of his desire to begin an exchange program with teachers from the US and finally, blessings and prayers: he closes the letter simply- “from your brother.”
“Your brother…” and my heart is stirred again to remember- I’ve been warmly embraced and welcomed into communities that had no reason to love and welcome me- and yet they did. I’ve sat with the staff of this school and led an impromptu in service for her instructors- my first career was as an educator –and their commitment, their desire to serve and see the best in each of their students, inspired me. I’ve stood on the simple soil- wind blown, barren and dry –and in the wet season, grass tall, green and beautiful, just to play and celebrate life with their students. I have a debt to pay for their love, a debt to pay for their open arms, a debt to pay… and so I write… and pray… “Our Father,” that I might never forget my brother, who in his simple surroundings, prays for me, saves his shillings, sends a letter reaching out and hopes that I might be the one who can help in his time of need.
Elections are coming in Kenya. Violence is moving through her communities. Lines are being drawn and lives are being lost. In the midst of it all there are dreamers, believing that something better is out ahead of them. They’re willing to do the work but they need someone ready to help them pay the price. If you’d like to help, click the money button today. I promise to see that a man worthy of our support is lifted up and when we lift up one brother, we lift up the hopes and dreams of all mankind. Don’t forget Kenya.
Your brother,
Eric
[ 1 comment ] ( 50 views ) | related link
Kenya has produced the world’s greatest distance runners for decades. They’ve become national heroes and among those of us who run recreationally, a source of constant inspiration. Experts attribute their ability to run great distances at speeds the rest of us can barely maintain on a bicycle to a collection of factors, number 1 among them being Kenya’s great altitude; most of the populated areas of Kenya are well above 5,000 feet, usually followed by a running tradition that has taken on a “snowball” effect among the general population. The same way kids from my generation wanted to play ball because of Mickey Mantle, Willie Mays or Sandy Koufax. Larger than life heroes drew us in to a sport we might otherwise have only paid casual attention to. The great Kenyan runners are considered great- not just because they’re fast- but because when they earned success on the international stage they never forgot Kenya. They took pride in being what we call them: Kenyan runners.
They run fast- but they don’t run away.
Everyone in Kenya knows how easy it would be for them to run away from their home country. Lord knows there’s reason enough… but when they run… they run for Kenya, not from Kenya. That said, to introduce an email I received this week from a friend who pastors in Nairobi. This man is part of a group of pastors serving some of the poorest people on the planet in conditions most in the states will never see and can’t imagine.
THE EMAIL
Just imagine pastor
How people are killing one another in Kenya for nothing. We have seen things that are putting this nation in fear. Many people have been killed through tribal clashes on Mt. Elgon. My pastor you could not bear to see people who lived together fighting. And not only there- but all the slums in Nairobi. We are in prayers. Remember many people have no houses, children no schooling. Burning of houses created nakedness to many families.
Your coming this time must take you more days to visit with any support to them. NO more death recorded. Last week was 240 Mt. Elgon, Molo 139, Nairobi slums 65. The most affected are those.
We thank God your words to pastors were not in vain because now we are praying together. Unity is there now. We can pray together now and work in unity. When you come it will be better now. WE shall have revival and a conference together. All our church members need to hear that. All have agreed that.
This pastor, along with his brother’s and sister’s in the ministry, are watching an already bad situation in their country, get worse. Tribalism, or the return of first loyalty to a person’s tribe and away from their patriotism to Kenya, is on the rise. And it’s not just in rural areas like Mt. Elgon: it’s in the heart of Nairobi, in Molo, a city that we’d consider close enough to be a suburb of Nairobi and the fear is that it will continue to spread.
The hope of Kenya rest not with might, but with those who serve The Lord. Those willing to run well the race marked out for us. Those willing to go without fear into places like Molo, where press coverage will not follow and media attention will be scant. The hope of healing Kenya is in her pastors… in her church… in our Lord.
The Good News for Kenya is that her people don’t run away from a problem. While Nike and Adidas poor millions into runners that show promise, comparatively, money and support from the church barely trickles in to meet the needs of pastors of promise. Thousands of leaders are working to leave a lasting impression, not their own, but that of Christ Jesus. Many serve in solitude: walking from one rural community to the next, their very lives a prayer. Others, minister in the midst of the masses, quickly overlooked in their own community, feeling lost, isolated, yet yearning to do something great for God, to serve as an instrument in His Healing Hands. Most are quick to learn and ready to receive all we share with joy and celebration.
We don’t have to go with a solution in order to serve. The people of Kenya are waiting for you and me to come along side them in love, to let them know that they’re not alone in these trying times, to tell them that we won’t run but that we’d love to learn to “run our race to win” side by side, stride by stride, along with them.
Yesterday, May 22, CNN headlined the violence currently spreading across Kenya in a well written article you can find at here: http://www.cnn.com/2007/WORLD/africa/05 ... index.html
It’s sad. Makes one want to run. We have a choice- we can run to help, or we can run away. What will you do?
[ 4 comments ] ( 389 views ) | related link
So many sad bits of news have arrived in my email box from Kenya recently. It becomes easy to dread one more note of heart break or to avoid hearing about what’s happening. It’s easy to fall into the frustration so many share with me when I tell them about our work, sometimes they say it straight out, other times you can see it as their eyes glaze over: “What do you think you can accomplish?”
It’s a fair question.
The brutal battle for land and power continues on Mt. Elgon. I’m no closer to understanding the reasons behind it… and I’ve read everything that’s come my way… It’s just so difficult for me to imagine justification for the slaughter. But I remember a friend in the Maasai community telling me bluntly: “Murder is very common among the Maasai.” The admission seemed impossible to me. Even watching the our own evening news, with the violence on our streets as well as thousands of young men and women killed on the mid-east battlefield, I would swallow hard before saying that “Murder is very common” among us.
One thing that’s been clear to me as each note, shared journal, news article or email has arrived is that something deep inside me feels as if I’m abandoning friends as I live my life of comfort. Particularly disturbing was the news of the recent out break of violence and death in Kitale as refugees from Mt. Elgon seek the nearby town for safety. The faces in the news papers now look like faces of friends. It’s no longer “just” nameless Africans in one more nameless catastrophe… it’s now people I love in a place that I know.
A friend recently told me that until we began our work in Kenya she had no idea of the pain and suffering going on in Africa. She’s educated, well read, and lives with a mind to learn… it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen the pictures out of Biafra when over one million died in the late ‘60’s, that somehow the deaths of hundreds of thousands in Ethiopia and the Eastern Horn had escaped her during the drought and famine years of the ‘70’s or that she’d not heard about the rise of HIV in Africa that’s killed millions since the ‘80’s, or even that she’d somehow missed watching “Hotel Rwanda” and learned of the genocide of the ‘90’s. Most people, at least most who’ve read newspapers or watched TV, have always had an image of the loss in Africa… even if it’s like Rwanda, a decade late and a million lives short of being any help, we know it’s there. It’s just become acceptable to us: Africans die faceless, nameless deaths. What can we do about it?
People ask me why I go and I always give the same simple response: “So I’ll never forget.” A “once in a lifetime” mission trip is a fantastic opportunity to serve. It’s also an easy way to excuse our indifference as if we’ve somehow “done our part,” “pleased God,” and that’s it. We’re not all called to the same part of the planet; however, Christ sent each of us with the same command: “Go, into the whole world and make disciples.” It’s hard to “Go!” if you’ve scheduled a life that overlooks the heartbreak of the world around us. Harder still, if when millions are dying, one child in poverty every 3 seconds, we’re so busy feeding ourselves that the suffering that cries out- decade after decade –generation after generation, continues… without us stepping up and saying: “Hear am I Lord. Send me.”
A group of young men- just teens really –dressed up like police, jumped in the back of a pick up truck and drove through the marketplace in Kitale last week and opened fire with AK 47’s. At least 10 people were killed during a 20 minute spree of violence. Some store owners were pulled out of their shops with their children, forced to kneel on the sidewalk, then brutally slaughtered. Just a third the loss at Virginia Tech in one morning, not a fraction the loss in Iraq, more die in killings each week across LA, of hunger and exploitation in Tijuana… but somehow, last night as I watched video from our October trip to Kenya, when we spent a couple of days working in Kitale, I saw the face of death on each person in the scenes of us walking through the marketplace and I heard The Command of Christ to “Go.”
We go because He sent us. We go to serve. We go because, now that we know, how can we stay home? We go because our hearts have been “wonderfully broken” by Africa. We go because “You can leave Africa but Africa never leaves you.” We go because God’s opened the door… and who are we to say no…
What do we hope to accomplish? We hope to serve, meet a need, to grow, to share in God’s great adventure and at the heart of all we are… to please Him.
We have a trip going in August ’07 – and February ’08, Lord Willing. You’re invited. Enjoy the video. Keep the people of Kenya, Kitale and Mt. Elgon in your prayers.
Blessings,
Eric
PS
To view the video click on the following link: http://video.yahoo.com/video/play?vid=497567
[ 1 comment ] ( 83 views ) | related link
My sister helped found a weekend seminar for teenage girls called “The Promise.” It’s goal is to give young women Christian support and guidance, allowing them to make the best decisions possible for their lives. It’s not easy being a teenager. Society forces young women… sometimes when they’re just girls… into making decisions they’re probably not ready or equipped to make. I’m not sure, but I think the promise is meant to be part of a positive “rite of passage” from girlhood to womanhood here in the US. It’s a lofty and worthy goal in a community that’s surrendered most “rites of passage” for their teens over to peer or commercial control.
The young women pictured above, little more than girls themselves, know exactly what to expect at their rite of passage. The Maasai, like many other pastoral people groups in Africa, “circumcise” their girls before they spend time together- then time alone- and finally are married away to a much older man who may already have one or more wives. The “circumcision” now commonly referred to as “Female Genital Mutilation” (FGM) is a physical and expected “rite of passage.” It seems brutal and primitive to many in the developing world and it’s long been illegal in all of Kenya, however, the practice continues in full view today. You can read much more about it at www.maasaieducation.org, (MED), the group that hosted us into the interior regions of their homeland this year.
Lillian Seenoi, head of the FGM Rescue Project for MED, enters villages on wedding day and snatches young girls away from their community, families and waiting husband as if she were pulling them out of a burning building. Families that have already paid large dowries and waiting husbands are not amused and she often needs to enter the community with well armed assistance. There is no 911 to call and her work is being carried out hours away from Nairobi, where the laws against FGM were laid down. Still, people are aware that these rites are no longer legal and that marriage under the age of 18 is punishable by jail time in Kenya. When she leaves a village with an 11 or 12 year old girl in tow just moments away from a life that left education, career or something as simple as a monogamous marriage behind her, she feels little guilt.
Lillian is a hard working Maasai woman, from an educated family, with a supportive husband, father and brothers, working with her, who believe there is more for these children to discover than the burden of a child barer, water carrier, who always walks behind. They have a mission statement: “Reinventing the Maasai Woman through Choice and Voice.” It’s more than a slogan.
Once the girls are out of the village they are placed in a rescue house. Here they begin their new education. Together they go through new rites of passage. They learn that there is more for them than life in the village. They are invited to experience a wider world in computer labs. They’re trained and equipped to discover a career path. And most importantly, their families and community are invited in for a time of reconciliation. The ripping out on wedding day leaves scars: emotional, spiritual and financial. The people at MED realize and address these issues. The process is not short: it can take as long as several years. It’s not inexpensive: funding comes in from around the world. Tragically, it’s not wanting for participants: they sometimes have in excess of 100 girls in their rescue center at a time.
Kenya, like many nations in Africa, is divided; divided between those with an education and those without. Much of the developing world still struggles with the battle people like Lillian are fighting. We look to the undeveloped peoples and see something of the “noble savage” of the America’s who were brutally destroyed and wonder if this movement isn’t another form of “westernization” and eventually annihilation of cultures and people groups. MED sees it differently. They see it from the inside, looking out. Inside a culture that treats girls like women and women like property. Inside a culture controlled by the past and losing the strength of their youth. Inside a people of beauty and power, who once equipped with education and the tools of today, will carry the Maasai community into regions of new discovery.
Most days, it begins with the rescue of a little girl and the promise to carry her through to a new image of the Maasai woman: reinvented into a woman of choice, a woman with a voice, a woman with a future and a hope. Their work deserves our prayers. It’s happening on a shoe string budget, with women and men on a mission operating with nerves of steel. It’s lifting up “the least of these” in places most of us will never even dream existed. Check out their site today. I look forward to going back and sharing their work again soon. You can join me.
[ 1 comment ] ( 57 views ) | related link
This Posting is on my personal blog and the Kenya Blog today. Our hearts go out to all those who grieve today- especially the families caught up in the tragedy at Virginia Tech.
Loss at Home
Shock and heartbreak have again touched our homes as the tragedy at Virginia Tech continues to play out on the news. Adjectives we rarely hear in reference to campus life; “massacre,” “slaughter” and a collection of others more commonly associated with horror films, now top web pages at CNN, MSN and front our daily headlines. Well meaning people are talking and writing about how we all grieve the loss of these young lives, this seeming loss of innocence on a university campus.
Watching the news, reading profiles of the victims, we can’t help but have our hearts go out to these families- only the coldest of individuals could not be moved by the devastation wrought in a matter of seconds… minutes… hours… lifetimes… by this young gunman. It’s enough to make us question our own humanity and value system as a people- and we should. This culture of death, violence and corruption is quickly who we’re becoming. This is “us.” We can’t escape the unwanted glare of the spotlight down this dark alley of neglect we’re so quickly accepting as another facet of our daily news programming. Tragically, with each event, we’re a little less shocked and few solutions are lifted up.
But for dozens of families- most we’ll never meet- many we’ll only see a picture of on TV or hear an uncle or aunt interviewed as the only willing participant in the media coverage, they truly grieve… life will never be the same. The deepest investment of their heart- the reason for their home and so many late nights at work- the child they coached and encouraged through dreams that were always looking forward… “You can do it son.” “Just stick with it sweetheart.” “We’re so proud of you.” Have come to an unwanted end and won’t be coming home after this semester. When the murdered and wounded of Virginia Tech fall off our “news cycle” like Columbine did, like the killing of the little Amish children did, there will still be an empty bedroom, t-ball trophies on the wall, unfulfilled dreams and clothes in the closet for families of each individual killed.
These families grieve. We sit in the shadow of their grief and in our best moments, pray for their comfort- wish there was more we could do… and more often, embrace our own children, with a phone call- or, if we’re close enough, hug them tightly –maybe buy them lunch, and silently thank God they were spared… whisper a plea for continued protection over them… this is how it should be… this is not grieving.
Both of our children went away to college and lived in dorms. Both of our kids returned- like the great majority of young adults do –safe, forever changed by college life – never the same little boy or girl we sent off to college –but safe. I’ll never forget the tears we shed or the moment we said “goodbye.” It was like confronting an unexpected sadness that we couldn’t shake for weeks.
Our daughter went to a state university: we’d gone to the parent days and walked through each step of the assimilation process with her- but she was our first born- first out of the house, I was devastated. I’d unwisely promised to keep a church obligation later the same evening, leaving my wife to finish the final hours with her at the dorm after we’d kissed, cried and said goodbye… I felt like such a big baby. That night, people moved around me, talked, asked me questions and I responded like a man in a trance- my heart, my mind, “I” was someplace else. For weeks, I’d walk by her empty bedroom, sometimes sit on the edge of her bed… heck, sometimes, if no one was around, I’d throw myself across it and weep openly.
My daughter wasn’t brutally and unexpectedly murdered- she was just growing up –and I couldn’t deal with it. I felt like no one knew my pain…
Our son went to a private Christian university that offered an entire weekend for mom and dad to take a bath in letting go of their kid. Having been down the road once- knowing fully how much it hurt –we jumped in with both feet and sought all the help they offered. It was good. I was smart enough not to schedule a thing for days around the big goodbye- I’d learned. Even still, when they sent “the kids” off to the dorms after a worship service together and a few final moments to say goodbye… my wife and I found a bench on that little campus, held each other as tightly as we could and cried our hearts out. Our little boy was “grown up” and moving away to college… hours away. Even watching other parents go through the same ritual, we felt uniquely alone, surely no one could know our pain at letting go… our joy, our pride.
Our son didn’t have his life shattered by a gunshot, his dreams ended by a young man he’d never even met. He was doing what every parent prays and works for their children to do- living out his dream- growing up. We were still ill prepared to confront the moment.
The families of the dead wake this morning with no hope of graduation. Loved ones murdered: today their hopes are in Heaven. The tears they shed are not those of a mom or dad learning how to let go of a growing child- they’ve done that. They now grieve the ultimate loss… their children will never come home. Their only hope of reunion is in The Lord. Like King David and every other parent forced to release a child to death too soon, they’re invited to embrace The Hope of our future Homecoming. The trance they walked the night their daughter moved out- now an attractive memory. The final embrace as their son walked to a new dorm- a precious part of letting go they hope never to lose.
Grief: it touches us all. Love is always tempered by the reality of life and death. Carol Kent, in her book on loss: When I Lay My Isaac Down, openly discusses the pain and suffering that comes with the midnight call every parent dreads. The loss of hope when a child- in her case –a son, who was president of the National Honor Society, a graduate of Annapolis and just beginning the joy of family life and career when they received the call that shattered everything; death… gunfire… murder in a random parking lot. Unbelievable tragedy, an entire gun emptied into the back- instant death –so many lives changed forever. Their son, their only son, who’d given them so much promise, joy, hope… had been a valuable reason for living… was now a murderer. Life would never be the same for two families. One man would never breathe again.
How does one continue? She tells the story of Abraham and his faith in giving his son Isaac back to God. She recounts how she day by day, is able to face her new reality, the mother of a murderer… now living behind bars for life. Reading the book this week I couldn’t help but think of the families of the Virginia Tech students and professors as they each in their own ways, in the ways families always have, try to survive this darkness and find reason to live. We all pray they experience comfort and grace beyond any they’ve ever imagined in the days and years to come. Each of us must ask ourselves: “How do we continue?” The temptation is to pray for something to take the spotlight off of this dark moment… but that won’t change the path we’re on.
The families who’ve lost a loved one this week will never be the same- and they know it- we all know it. American society will also never be the same… we just don’t know it yet. How many mass killings will it require until we’re ready for change? Our children pay the price. Until then, we lay our “Isaac’s” down at the altar of an uncertain world.
Talk with your family about the tragedy in Virginia. Give your friends and loved ones the opportunity to vent their fears, pain and grief – it’s the least we can do. Pray for those who are directly impacted, who’ve lost loved ones, who are in positions of authority and now seek a solution. Turn to The Father. His Heart breaks. He holds The Solution to our heart break today. We can trust Him. May He richly surround those in loss and suffering just now with The Fullness of His Mercy, Comfort and Healing Grace in this time of deep loss and death.
Blessings,
Eric
PS
Thanks So Much to our friends in Kenya and around the world who are lifting up the US today. Keep all our pastors and church leaders working with the families of Virginia Tech at the front of your prayers. Thanks
[ 1 comment ] ( 29 views ) | related link
Today’s Email from Kenya
We met after breakfast - at this table - enjoyed tea and prayer
Dear Pastor Eric,
Greetings in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ who is Lord of all and who holds everything together, without whom nothing can exist.
I have just received your email and am so grateful. Daniel is our relative I pray that you pray for him as I do here, though sometimes he runs away from the orphanage back to street I don’t know why, but God will help.
For the clashes of Mt. Elgon. my church member were killed 32 people of , I feared to tell you to assist me with some money to assist there family who lost there beloved ones, u know I don’t like to talk about money always, the kids that remains orphans are in Mt. Elgon under my ministry they need food, shelter and clothing.
So may you pray for this matter coz I am really crying for the work of Satan has done. If God can open a way of money may you send through Western Union and send in the name of -. if I receive it I use in the work that I have told u above and I will also sends u some snaps of them.
Whatever you do may the Lord speak to you?
May God Bess you.
Pray for me I will also do the same......
Thanks
We don’t send money to Kenya unless it’s accompanied by people. Emails like this one make that commitment to focus our missions on people rather than money difficult, to say the least.
I’ve never seen 32 people dead, in one place, at one time.
I’ve not had to fight overseas in war and my life’s not been directly touched by major catastrophe. I remember the times my father’s told me about entering Nazi Concentration Camps near the end of WWII with US Liberation forces and I’ve watched as his eyes filled with tears, his voice caught and a dark shadow fell across him, confronting the memories. I spent a month counseling a man, early in my ministry, whose job had been “daily body counts” during the Vietnam War. I remember his stories of swooping down in jets following attacks, his job was to snap high imagery photos. After each mission he was required to blow up the photos as large as possible and then to count the bodies. He couldn’t sleep nights. Some of his stories use to keep me awake nights.
I met this pastor – actually a Bishop – last February. Two years ago February, I’d met his nephew- living on the streets –and had kept him in my prayers. The child was one of the “faceless” masses that I’d snapped a photo of, began to pray for, then on return trips, tried to locate in order to pray for by name. I’ve known his name for over a year. It’s rarely far from me. Amazing that God would bring his uncle into my life- it’s just like God. My sister once told me that praying for African children you didn’t know, just from their faces, was a dangerous thing- you never knew what God would do. She knew what she was talking about.
Now this pastor from Mt. Elgon is watching his church die, literally, as violence moves among the people. I don’t begin to understand it. I don’t even know why it’s happening. But I remember a cool morning in Kenya, less then two months ago, when Marty and I shared a cup of tea and then prayed together with this brother. As surreal as his violence seems, sitting in the safety of my community, the reality of my memory not only lingers- but it jumps to the front of all else and makes me want to help… but I don’t know how… and so I pray.
If the problems and heart break of poverty and warring communities were easily addressed and remedied- all would be well. But we choose our own ways- and 32 members of this good pastor’s church are still dead. Our money won’t bring them back. Our heart to share his burden will help him to remember that he’s not working through this alone. Join me in praying for an end to the blood letting. It’s so far from us, yet so close to The Heart of God.
Good people who love Christ Jesus are serving in this region. This man is but one of them. More children are left without families in Kenya. He’s trying to help… even when his own family is failing. He’s one of many “wounded healers.” Together, we can lift him up, today. God knows his name. Join me in prayer for his strength, encouragement, safety and continued willing heart to serve.
Blessings,
Eric
PS
I’ve begun to leave names out of my Kenya Blog to protect people. I don’t want to sound paranoid… but this blog is read in Kenya… I don’t know why they’re fighting and the last thing I want to do is put friends who’ve trusted us at risk.
[ 3 comments ] ( 220 views ) | related link
I posted a long blog on an email I received Tuesday- then lost the blog to cyberspace. Then Wednesday, this email arrived from Kenya and I thought you might enjoy it.The Email
God is good and know he is good for giving us another chance to share much of his grace. Imagine since you prayed in our church two things happened. 1. Unity of the members has grew strong and powerful.2 Revival in prayers and follow-up also restored. Three people are born again now and are in the church. August you come things will be greater now, everybody in central community church kahawa west Nairobi Kenya is praising God. You may wonder by that but we need the flowing anointing. God bless the head Office CCC America. Let the church understanding we are happy to serve under the powerful flow anointing ministry.
We are wishing you all, family and the church a blessed Easter. We are praying more and wish God to meet our needs.
thanks we are doing well
My friend’s enthusiasm inspires me. His desire to learn and grow God’s church should bless each of us. And changing the name of their church to Central Community… at first I thought it odd – got to love the part about the “Head Office – Central Community, America.” Is that us?!
A good friend saw the email and the cynic in him jumped out and said: “Looks like something I’d do if I were him… just to do a little fund raising.” Not that I hadn’t thought the same thing already. Then, as it’s filtered through my soul on this Friday, called Good, it touches me. He cried out for help. We came with a crusade and a pastor’s workshop. His heart was changed- his ministry found new direction and purpose – most importantly, the God gave the church revival in unity, prayers, salvation and restoration.
Now they want to change their name, to affiliate with Central Community, the church they received blessings from, who can blame them. It’s a Good Friday all around the world.
A good friend of mine use to tell me that you’re not really rich until you’re making money while you sleep. Never knew how that would translate into my work for The Lord- it’s more common when you’re a preacher that people sleep while you work – hopefully they wake up when the offering plate goes by! Our work in Kenya has opened new doors and presented challenges we never dreamed of confronting – never thought people would want to model their church after Central Community. I’ve always left that for the big guys in the ministry.
Until now. Now, while the people of Central Community in California are sleeping: Central Community, Kahawa West is wide awake and at work for Jesus. Tonight while we celebrate communion at our Good Friday services, they’ll be waking up Saturday morning, putting plans in place for their first Easter after the crusade: knocking on doors, cleaning the little building, sweeping the dirt floors. Our work continues, even when we sleep, perhaps God’s reminding us of the incredible wealth He’s given us. It stretches around the world.
That’s the leadership of 3 churches in the picture above. The man I’m hugging is a pastor who serves humbly as my translator in Nairobi. Their each in my prayers this evening – as they sleep – I’m praying that God does His greatest work yet this Easter. Join me in lifting them up. Jesus is alive – all around the world.
Blessings,
Eric
[ 2 comments ] ( 253 views ) | related link
I snapped this photo with my phone the other day while pulling into our neighborhood. It was such a beautiful sunset, thought I might hold onto it for a little longer. No such hope. The phone just couldn't do it justice. However, as I've received emails from around the world and in particular with news about friends in Kenya, I've been reminded that it's the same sun that sets on them. None of us are more than hours apart as the earth rotates in its orbit around the sun- and yet the lives we live are night and day.
Last week a new friend, a Saboat pastor I met in February, emailed me to say he's praying for our concerns- could we remember him? We'd prayed for a friend and our daughter, who were both facing challenging medical concerns while I was in Kenya, today both are much improved. It was good to email this partner in prayer- a sunset away- and give him the good news and let him know that he's not forgotten.
When I email him I sit in my office- or even my easy chair at home- and wirelessly send off a note of love. My comfort is beyond his understanding. When he emails me, he walks, sometimes miles, to the closest internet cafe- which depending on the electricity can be as far as Kitale- probably a days walk- (a weeks walk for you or me, if we made it!). He pays the Kenya Schillings he's saved, sits at an outdated, dial up connection- a slow and painful reminder of our early days in computing- then reaches out in love. I try to remember that with each email I receive.
Then my sister forwarded a couple of heart breaking forwards from her friends who work closely with the Saboat on Mt. Elgon. Issues, well beyond my knowledge and understanding, have caused internal warfare on the mountain, dividing the community and causing many deaths. The works and churches we've visited in the past have had to be closed and these wonderful people, people who live in a world so removed from our own, have had to wrap up their few belongings and flee for their lives. Sadly, in some cases, bodies have littered the little dirt roads, victims of the current round of violence.
The average life expectancy of a Kenyan has dropped to below 40 years. That of a Saboat- this month in particular -I'm guessing is much shorter.
The same sun I watched set from my neighborhood the other night, I've watched set as we made the rough ride down the side of Mt. Elgon. The day had been amazing- it was our first trip to Kenya and everything was amazing -it was an "awakening trip" and our eyes were opened, our hearts expanded. We had begun the day as the community welcomed us in song- gathered under a little stand of eucalyptus trees- singing in Saboat- colors bright- it was a little bit like Heaven. The day went much longer then we expected and soon our drivers were anxious to get down the mountain- not wanting to risk anything after dark. I'll never forget leaving Tom and Kathy Ulrich, who were spending what I believe was their first week with the people doing workshops, my little mind couldn't wrap itself around simple things like: where will they sleep? What will they eat? Will they be safe? They've since been back numerous times and love the community deeply and have given sacrificially. Their heart break during this crisis must be tremendous. Intimacy always intensifies our heart break. They don't just know the place or the tribe- they know the people- they know their names.
It's a big... and it's a small world. The sun shines on both the rich and the poor alike. It sets on Riverside and it sets on Mt. Elgon. God's Son, Christ Jesus and His Kingdom, make us one. There's a pastor who's been praying for us, while his family is torn apart by violence, death and displacement- keep him in your prayers. The sun sets over Mt. Elgon, leaving not just the fear of losing animals to leopards and cattle rustlers from Uganda- but now also to the fear of fighting- death- and who will make it through the night. Parents are making difficult decisions on whether to protect their meager belongings and the only land they know- or to run in hope of rescue in the communities off the mountain, away from the violence. It's the same sun that rises and sets on us. Keep them in your prayers. They're close to my heart: as are those of you who share this work with us. Thanks so much for your loving support.
Know that you're in my thoughts and prayers today,
Eric
[ 1 comment ] ( 29 views ) | related link
It’s the voice of the Amsterdam Airport. At the end of every moving walkway it repeats incessantly: “Mind your step. Mind your step.” With an 8 hour layover it reminds me of a song we use to sing in Sunday School: “Be careful little hands what you do. Be careful little hands what you do. There’s a Father up above, looking down in tender love… so be careful little hands what you do.” Seems like it might have been easier to just have told us all to “Mind your step.”
Our final day in Nairobi was effective, restful and expensive.
We began our day with our final worship service at the host church for the crusade. It’s a humble little steel building with dirt floors. 40 or 50 people gathered in for an hour or two of worship and the message. The place was like a sauna! My texts over the weekend have been from Psalm 51:10-12, “Create in me a clean heart oh God and renew a right spirit within me…” and 2 Samuel 11 & 12, what David was referring to in Psalm 51: his affair with Bathsheba, killing her husband and the prophet Nathan’s rebuke with the painful, yet unforgettable story of the little lamb. The pastor’s in Nairobi had chosen “Restoring The Joy of Our Salvation,” as the theme of the crusade, and God has been doing exactly that.
After preaching a shorter message than I’m sure they’re use to, the pastor said church was ending an hour early- we gathered in a circle and prayed for personal healing. God moved in wonderful ways as we surrendered our anger, our pain, our bitterness, our sins into The Hands of The Loving Father and asked Him to restore the joy of our salvation. He is. Then with many hugs and heartfelt invitations to return to Kenya soon, we drove down the dusty lane, back towards the heart of the city.
Nairobi is a huge, diverse city and it seems invitations are coming from every corner of the community to return. Don’t know when or if God will allow it but know that people will be waiting in love if the opportunity arises. The need is so great, the people so wonderful, our work so small. Marty said: “You could stay here forever!” Even then, the work would not be complete.
My favorite invitations to return came from pastors and parishioners of churches in the heart of Nairobi’s, and the worlds, largest ghetto. I can never remember the name of the place- it was made almost famous in the movie, “The Constant Gardener.” My heart goes out to people living in the horrible oppression of urban poverty. I pray that God opens the door for Central Community to encourage the pastors and people living there.
The pastor’s fellowship that hosted this year’s crusade already wants to do another next year- a “big tent revival!” They’re on fire and ready to take their respective communities for God. Keep them in your prayers. Marty and me are just glad to be half way home… we’re ready to see our families, our church, our community.
We spent the afternoon checking out of the hotel, treating our driver to a leisurely lunch in a nice café, hanging out with some cool animals- I’ll try to post a picture or two –you’ll be amazed. We were invited into the cage with 3, 2-3 year old orphaned cheetahs. Wasn’t so sure I wanted to accept the invitation… but was chicken to back down in front of a group. Peer pressure, it’s a horrible thing! I needed someone nearby to say: “Be careful little hands what you do,” or “Mind your step,” instead I listened to the keeper who said, “Just be yourself, act like you do this all the time and they’ll accept you.” They accepted Marty and I no problem. But one wanted to play with one of the keepers buddy’s and grabbed his leg with it’s sizable paws, claws fully extended, going right through his Levi’s. I shivered, standing beside him: I was wearing shorts! It thought about the upside: finally an injury with a good story to go with it!
We petted the huge, beautiful creatures. Had our pictures taken next to them and were told: “Just say you were on the Maasai Mara, spotted the beautiful creature, jumped out of the van to pet it and get a picture, then left. Not quite how it happened. But still pretty amazing to scratch a cheetah between the ears and listen to it purr so loudly that I could feel it through his skull. The little benefits that come from mission trips to Kenya are always unexpected and surprising. I also got bit by an ostrich, TWICE! Figure it must be related to the one I rode last October. Just glad it was the ostrich and not the cheetah that decided to act out when I was nearby.
Finally it was time to check in at the airport. Suddenly, the weight limits they’d allowed us to enter the country with were 20 pounds per bag lighter to leave the country. It was no real problem… as long as we were willing to pay $260- to get our sound system and screen on the plane. Customs didn’t get us coming in – so the airlines nailed us going out. I paid the guy with a smile, after 20 or 30 minutes of hassle. Thought to myself: “Mind your step.” Slept all the way from Nairobi to Amsterdam and now just sitting out the wait until our next flight and thought I’d send this final note.
Special thanks to each of you that have taken the time to send encouraging notes and comments to the blogs. I’ve received them on my phone’s email and they’ve lifted me. Thanks also to those of you that have taken the time to forward the blog to a friend. It’s good to get the word out about what’s happening in Kenya. Finally, thanks to each of you that paid for this trip with your financial support and kept us on our feet with your prayer support: we could have never done it without you. More then once your part in our lives helped us to “Mind your step.”
Flying out in a bit to Seattle, then home to Ontario: I’ll keep you posted with follow up blogs in the days to come.
Blessings,
Eric
[ 2 comments ] ( 2034 views ) | related link
Next
Calendar
