What is lacking, part 3

Not all prayers are answered. This is a simple fact of faith. And technically, my prayers from the night before weren’t answered the next misty morning as I went for a walk and listened to a sermon on my iPod. What I got, however, was better than an answer. I got a reason.

God walked beside me down that muddy road, listening to Francis Chan from Simi Valley, CA, preach on Colossians 1:24.

“Now I rejoice in what was suffered for you, and I fill up in my flesh what is still lacking in regard to Christ’s affliction, for the sake of his body, which is the church.”

First off, this verse does not imply that Christ’s sacrifice on the cross is lacking. His payment for sin is perfect, once and for all, and sufficient to redeem all mankind. So what is “lacking” then?

Francis (pictured above) gave a few interpretations, but the one that made most sense to me was this.

We are Christ’s body in this world. He has no feet and hands in this world or any kind of physical manifestation except through us. We, those who believe in him, are his church, the “body” of Christ. If we are like him, we should resemble him in every way. In the way he lived, loved, healed, gave, and sacrificed. Our words shouldn’t just speak of sacrificial love; our lives should exhibit it.

Jesus Christ was able to persevere through the shame and pain of the cross in Jerusalem in 30 A.D., but he has never had a chance to persevere in the face of suffering at Rift Valley Academy in 2009. My puny little story “fills up what is still lacking in regard to Christ’s affliction” because I can show the world what it means to love God right here, right now. This pain I’m feeling over losing friends—and particularly Wally—is a glorious opportunity for me to “rejoice” for the sake of the church.

God hasn’t sent us suffering for the sake of suffering. God’s car doesn’t have the bumper sticker “No Pain, No Gain” on the back of it. Suffering is part of life on earth, but to God, it’s our opportunity to offer our measly sacrifice alongside of Christ’s enormous sacrifice and boldly announce—“I’m with him! I want to be like him! Look at me if you want to see a tiny glimpse of him, right here, right now.”

I’ll miss Wally and all the others whom we may never see again, but this is part of the life of faith, part of this community we find ourselves in as believers in our loving God. Philippians 3:10—which has been my life verse for over a decade—must be embraced in its entirety, and not just for the favorable parts. It’s all a part of the life, and the life is good.

“I want to know Christ and the power or his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead.”

That’s still what I want.

What is lacking, part 2

In light of this, the past month has been a doozy. Already facing the prospect of saying goodbye to the junior and senior class for good (the seniors will be leaving for college when we leave in July and the juniors will graduate during our year of home assignment), we got news that some good friends with four little kids around our kids’ ages wouldn’t be coming back due to lack of financial support. (I mentioned them in my “Cell Phone History Lesson” post.) They had already been here a decade and hoped to be here for life.

Then, last week, the staff received a long, shocking email describing how Wally, the student chaplain, and his nurse wife were being led by the Lord (against their human will) to return to the U.S.

We’ve gotten used to saying hello and goodbye to people here on a frequent basis—but when “career” people are taken out from under us, it’s especially hard to take.

Losing Wally though is one of the hardest losses of all. You may be thinking—hold on, you’re getting ready for home assignment…you yourself are leaving that place…how can you be lamenting other people leaving RVA? That’s a great point, but as we leave, it’s comforting to know what and who will still be here when we come back in August of 2010. These career people are the backbone of our school, and losing a key piece of your vertebrate (like Wally and his wife Donna) can turn your heart into a joyless jellyfish.

Wally has been one of my closest friends in a place where I’ve lacked close friends. He’s been a coaching mentor for basketball (he’s the varsity coach) and a fellow fan of college football (even though he’s allied with the dark force of unholy wickedness, i.e. Ohio State). He’s taught me a lot about student ministry and activities, and he’s a great preacher as well. It’s said that every Christian should have a Timothy and be a Timothy (referring to Paul’s relationship with this young man), and I really felt like I was a Timothy to Wally. He is/was a great mentor for me and knowing that he’s going to be leaving RVA was a hard blow to me.

My tearful prayers the night I found out consisted mainly of questions. How can you take him? Why now? Why is this happening again? Who will fill his void, both in my life and for the school? Why?

What is lacking, part 1

Perhaps the biggest shock of the missions life for me has been in the area of relationships. I had expectations coming in of a “Band of Brothers”-like experience. After all, we’d be working along side of men and women here with similar passions and giftings, working towards the same goals, and we’d be relying on and needing each other for everything. I’d heard from other missionaries that “you’ll make the closest relationships you’ll ever make on the mission field.”

I know, I know. Pretty lofty expectations. And those expectations have made the reality of life here even more difficult.

The reality is there are about a hundred great men and women here who pour themselves into their various ministries. And when they get time off, they enjoy time with their families or with visitors from North America. Finally, when the pie chart of time is divvied out, the one area that seems to be absent or miniscule is that of adult relationships. It also seems like the time spent on peer interactions among missionaries gets shared among so many great people (one week we’ll visit with Family X and the next with Family Y) that it’s hard to form deeper bonds with any particular person/people.

At least, this has been my experience.

The one saving grace, for me, has been the length of my stay in Africa. A lot of people are here for a month or two, or maybe even a year or two, and then are gone. With the limited amount of time to forge relationships in general, trying to create something meaningful and lasting with these people is a frustrating endeavor. However, since my wife and I are “career” missionaries, we’ve had almost four years now to get to know other career missionaries.

The benefits of longer relationships are obvious. But in this context, there is one deeper blessing.

Transitions and loss are a constant way of life here. People are coming and going almost on a daily basis, and when you compound that steady emotional turmoil with the pressures of living in a cross-cultural setting, the burden is huge. One main saving grace is that we have some brothers and sisters here who are committed to this school and its purposes and (tangentially) to us and our friendships. We have others who are planning and hoping on being here for decades, and without those friends—even though we’re not extremely close—I’m not sure how I’d hold up.

Tomorrow, part two.

Cell phone history lesson

While watching Micah jump on a neighbors’ trampoline today, I went through my cell phone contacts to delete ones that aren’t applicable anymore. I do this about once a year, and it’s rather shocking how many get axed each year. And in some senses, it’s like a little life-history lesson of the last four years.

Bonface. My language helper had to sell his cell when his drunk brother got beat up on his way home. To pay the hospital bill, he needed Bonface’s help and so Bonface sold his phone. Bonface’s sacrifice and Christian love for his brother inspired him to quit drinking and start going to church.

Dr. Patel. He delivered Asher. Asher’s here. We’re not pregnant. No need for that one anymore.

Elias. A driver to get us around Nairobi for shopping and business before we bought our own vehicle. Lord willing, we won’t be needing him anytime soon. Living here is so, so, so much easier with transportation.

Jeremy. A senior I’ve been discipling for two years. He got a new cell, but I
haven’t gotten the number yet. I just met with him today to talk about the challenges of college but again forgot to ask him.

Mike. Probably my closest friend on the mission field. He’s in the States on home assignment until August. We don’t get back until August 2010. Since his phone number will be new when he gets back, his old digits are useless to me. About 20 months without seeing each other. Ouch.

Moses. A Kenya guy in Nairobi who used to cut my hair. He died in a house fire. One of these days I’ll write a blog about his life and his impact on me personally. A hard number to erase.

Naomi. A tour guide we employed when we had visitors here a few years ago. She gave us one of our first (and worst) tastes of Kenyan business. A vengeful number to erase.

The Richersons. A missionary family that Heather, the boys, and I are very close to. Because they couldn’t raise enough support to be at Rift Valley Academy anymore, they had to return to the States. Painful to erase.

Salim. Salim is the carpenter who made all of our mahogany furniture when we moved here. During the post-election violence in 2008, Salim was beaten and chased from his business in Nairobi. He went back to be with his own tribe. I learned this story from the person who answered his cell phone—a friend? a foe?—when I called it last year.

Sami. I have no idea who this was. Deleted.

Zac. A Kenyan guy with a heart for ministry to AIDS widows and children but who only wants to run his own program. I gave him some money each month to feed and counsel some people, but since he won’t accept accountability for his work from outsiders, I’ve cut ties with his ministry. A sad deletion.

So many relationships in four years. So many different reasons for fading out of relationship. So many sad goodbyes. So many blessings.

And in two months, I’ll need to buy a new cell phone and start populating it with dozens more numbers of friends and family members in America, leaving my Kenyan cell phone—and all that it represents—behind.

"I like this earth"

As Micah and I took a walk to a neighbor's trampoline on Tuesday, this is what he said, seemingly from out of the blue.

"I really like this earth, Dad. Don't you? I mean you get to eat good food and look at the beautiful valley. And there's trampolines and rainbows and easter eggs. I get to play with my friends every day and I have so many friends. I like this earth."

I do too, Micah, especially because I have a son like you. And you know what, buddy? Heaven's going to be even better!