Are you ready?

Let me apologize now for this bit of anachronistic story-telling, but I just remembered this little flashback now.

As I prepared for three days and two nights away from home with Earnest and Daniel (mountain top experience posts)—a weekend living like the Kenyans whom I live among every day—I did the typical American thing: I ran through a checklist in my head of things I’d need while I was gone. The only difference is that this checklist had to be complete. The place we were headed was so remote that there would be no toothbrush or bar of soap to buy at the local 7-11.

And so I spent a good 30 minutes longer than I normally would packing, teasing out every conceivable scenario, envisioning what life would be like in the house of a rural Kenyan. More and more things came to mind, things that could help me have a more comfortable and pleasurable weekend. And while they did, my bag got fuller and fuller. But that was no problem. If my bag overflowed, I had the back seat of my SUV to catch the spillage.

My brain scanned over its own “needs” list continuously until I began to back out of my driveway. At that point, I realized how obsessive I am, how obsessive I believe Americans are, when it comes to being un-needy.

The reason I wanted to be “prepared” for this weekend, was so that I wouldn’t need anything. I wanted to be self-sufficient as I traveled hundreds of miles and didn’t want to get in any situation where I’d need someone’s help or gifts. Although the journey was to be difficult, I wanted to be able to succeed by myself, on my own strength, and with my own wisdom to be credited with the victory.

This is such a metaphor for my spiritual life. I don’t want to be needy, even when it comes to my relationship with God. I want to be able to do it all on my own, even the hardest things, so that I can get the credit for the good I’ve done—credit both from God and from men.

I catch myself all the time praying silly, selfish words like, “Lord, please give me a good day,” words that sound fine on the surface, but when you peel just one layer back, you find a desire for un-neediness. In reality I’m saying, “Lord, please let this day be easy so that I don’t need You.” Even the prayer itself is a way of packing up my metaphorical bags, as some part of me thinks that praying such a prayer will be a ticket to a comfortable, independent day.

Kenyans aren’t afraid to be needy. Plainly and straight-forwardly asking for what you need or want is natural to them. Of course, this is one of the cultural traits that most irks Westerners (and irks me!) about living among them. It takes such radical and desperate humility for us to ask for help—financially, emotionally, spiritually—that we shudder at the thought of being needy in everything as a way of life. Yet that’s how my Kenyan brothers and sisters live. And it’s not only for physical things—money, food, jobs—but it’s for spiritual things as well. Those who are sincere Christians (and there are many) will beg for God’s provision as naturally as you or I breathe. Neediness is life.

But for me, self-reliance is a way of life. Bag filled with snacks, jugs filled with water, spare tire inflated, extra toilet paper rolls, cash-stuffed wallet, changes of clothing, two pair of shoes in case of rain, and the list goes on. While I’d usually think of that list and say, “Attaboy, Ryan. Way to be prepared,” I now simply shake my head and say, “Ryan, Ryan, Ryan…you need so much more than that. If only you could see…”

Laughter is the best medicine

Reader’s Digest has a weekly sidebar called “Laughter is the best medicine” which includes jokes sent in by their readers. It’s a nice, relaxing break from all of the serious articles about being trapped on top of a mountain and dying from rare diseases, and as a kid, I think it was the only column I read religiously.
In the same vein, I don’t want readers of Strangers in Kenya to get too weighed down by the weight of the mission world. So, I reflected on the funniest things said in the 2006-2007 school year. Here are a few.

“He is now a man.”

Our son Asher was born in a Kenyan hospital in February, and we asked them to follow the American custom of circumcision after birth. In Kenya, however, they still follow the custom of circumcision as a rite of passage from boyhood to manhood—it usually happens at around 16. So, when the Kenyan doctor emerged from surgery with my son on the day after his birth, he brings the swaddled boy to me and pronounces, “He is now a man.” I got the joke.

“I Married a Cannibal.”

Although RVA is an American school, we get missionary kids from all over the world—Brazil, South Korea, South Africa, Norway, even Canada (just kidding, eh!). Some have known English all their lives, but many are still gaining fluency in tenth grade English. One Dutch student has spoken English for years, but this is her first year learning in an English-speaking school. During her book report in the fall, her accent was so thick that I was struggling to follow the plot. I couldn’t even make out the title. At the end of the speech, I embarrassedly asked her if the title was I Married a Cannibal. She laughed and said, “No, it was I Marched with Hannibal.” Much different book. Much, much different book.

I'll post some more "laughter medicine" soon. As for the picture above, that's my son eating gummy worms. Doesn't look like "worms" to you? Well, after they've traveled across the ocean in a brown envelope in hundred degree heat, that's what gummy worms look like. I will note that they taste just fine, even though they're far less bite size...

Media Literacy Project

In order to study commercials as part of our 8th grade media literacy assignment, I've had to go to great lengths. In the States, I'd simply say, "Go home tonight and watch TV." Here, there are some network channels, but most of our dorm students don't have access, and I must say, the commercials here just aren't as good. (Keep in mind that each of these will take at least 5 minutes for the students to download with the speed of our Internet.)

Click on two of the links below and watch
Messin' with Sasquatch--beef jerky
LeBron James--Nike shoes
Super people--Pepsi cola
GAP--clothing store
Terry Tate--Reebok shoes
Caveman--FedEx shipping

I hope this works...

Mountain Top Experience, pt. 2

Mbooni Boys’ School was our first stop of the day. Earnest graduated from there, and they were glad to welcome back an alumnus and current pastor. Even though it was an honor to have Earnest return, Matt and I were the truly unusual guests (white missionaries) so we were invited to speak at both Mbooni and at the Africa Inland Church (AIC) later in the day. Matt deferred to me on both counts, and I willingly picked up the opportunities. Mbooni’s was a bit tougher to prepare for as a speaker since they asked me to continue their series. My topic? Victorious living. I took a slightly different angle on it however. Rather than make it a “rah, rah, you can do it!” kind of sermon, I talked about how we devote ourselves—our time, money, and thoughts—to things that will actually destroy us, partially or totally. In the book of Joshua, God killed people for this kind of disobedience, so I don’t think he’s changed his attitude from handing out death penalties to gently smirking at our half-devoted obedience. The service went great, and our brief chai with the headmaster afterwards was an honor. But the second service was really magical.
The AIC church where Earnest grew up was a piece of living history. The first AIM missionaries started on the coast (Mombasa) and headed inland, through wilderness and mountains. On this particular mountain in 1905, missionaries stopped and built a strategic church on top of a hill overlooking two small valleys and one vast one. One of the church elders pointed with pride towards a distant hill and told me the story of how the white man walked from that direction until he stopped at the very spot where we now stood. His pride was overwhelming, both in their faith’s short history and in the fact that he was talking to a current missionary. Yep, that’s right. Me.
Like I said, not a lot of whites make it all the way to their mountain anymore. Not only is it out-of-the-way, it’s also hard to get to. I thought I was simply visiting another African church, just like I’ve done countless times before. I figured I’d be warmly greeted, like every other time, but that’d be it. At Mbooni, however, visiting with me was like connecting with the treasured past for them. I had no idea how transcendent this experience would be for me.
Now I’m not a preacher or an evangelist, but it was all the same to them. I was a missionary and I was white and I preached to them for 30 minutes on how belief can overcome fear, and to them, it was like 1905 all over again. I spoke through a translator so that the older members (like the 97 year old man who actually knew the Lourdes family which began the church one hundred years prior) could understand what I was saying, and then Matt and I enjoyed meeting with all of the members at a luncheon right there at the church.
If my time at the AIC church in Mbooni reminded them of the past, it reminded me of the future. All over Africa on this very day, new churches are being planted by Africans and by missionaries. Africans are watching white men (and yellow men and brown men and other black men) come into their villages (maybe not by foot anymore but by car or by plane) for the first time and wondering what they’re up to. Memories, like the ones of the church I visited, will be passed down for generations of how the Gospel of grace came to each new people group.
And as a teacher of the missionaries’ kids, I get to be part of that process. Perhaps a hundred years from now, a naïve white man from America will walk into a remote tribe and be told the story of one of my colleagues and how he began a church in 2007 that has stood and grown for one hundred years.
Past, present, and future collide. And Jesus Christ is the same awesome God through them all.

Book Update

In case you missed it, my blog is being turned into a book. Father's Press out of Missouri will be publishing it late summer. It's a small publishing house, so the owner and I have been working closely together the past two months, trying to get a cover made and the text edited. Nearly every day we're emailing back and forth, getting nearer and nearer to being finished.
Well, today was a milestone. The text--from the title page to the endnotes--is perfect (and by perfect, I mean, as good as I can get it), and the cover is flawless. He sent me proofs of the book, and I faxed him back my approval of those proofs. That's me standing by the RVA fax machine above.
I believe the next step will be when the printing press sends us their proofs, the actual way the book will be printed. And once that's done, the book will be printed, and the marketing phase will begin. My two "target" audiences are people who are on the fence about going to the mission field and people who love the Lord but have no idea what missions is all about. And my goal for the book is that 10 people who were "interested" in missions would give their lives to reaching the lost.

Mountain Top Experience, pt. 1

This past weekend didn’t really feel like much of a weekend. It was more of an out-of-body experience than anything. My friend Matt and I drove three Kenyan friends (Earnest, Daniel, and Samuel) to their home area about 5 hours away.
As soon as school let out on Friday, we departed from Kijabe and drove the first leg of the trip. The journey would have been nearly impossible after dark so we stopped at a friend’s house half way to Earnest’s home. The next morning we awoke and finished our journey. We drove through streams and over boulders and through ruts and mud. We felt like stars in an SUV commercial as we zigzagged up the mountain. Fortunately, the weather was excellent, as rain or heat could have complicated our trip. Crystal clear skies provided one magnificent view after another.
Another reason we felt like stars was the attention we got as we journeyed. We’ve grown quite accustomed to stares everywhere we go in Kenya, but this particular area was so remote and mountainous that only a handful of whites are seen each year in the entire region.
The welcome was warm in Mbooni, as Earnest’s parents had not seen him in a few months. Also, the sight of visitors brought smiles to the family’s faces. Kenyans have an extremely gracious sense of hospitality, and since we were so unusual (white American missionaries), the greeting was extra gracious. Relatives from all over the hillside walked to Earnest’s house to meet us (and to see Earnest once again).
They offered us a buffet of traditional Kenyan foods (not differing much from what the Kikuyus in Kijabe eat), and Matt and I were graciously given the gizzard—a traditional gift for the guest at a meal. After sitting around and talking for a few hours, they then showed us the beautiful sights of their area, including a breathtaking 180 degree view of the valley extending hundred of miles to the mountain ranges in the distance.
The next morning we awoke early for church, and Earnest boiled water for us to bathe. Their brick outhouse has two rooms—on the right a long drop (hole in the ground) and on the left a room with a small pipe in the corner for bathing. The outdoor bath went pretty well, but the soap was a bit stickier than we had imagined and didn’t come off entirely even when we had emptied our bowl of warm water.
We thought we were making good time (Earnest prides himself on being like a mzungu--white--when it comes to being on time) until Earnest got a phone call saying that the church service where we were to appear and speak began a half hour earlier than he had thought. I quickly drove over the rugged terrain, and we arrived at the high school where six hundred boys were worshiping and awaiting their guests.