Getting through the obstacles...

Last night I went to our church’s volleyball night for the first time ever.  It’s a pretty fun evening that has happened for years, where folks just come together and play volleyball.  We play in our gym there at the church and as we played I began to get slightly annoyed with the ceiling.  The ceiling seemed to play a hand in a pretty high percentage of the shots.  There are lights and various kinds of steel bars and vents sticking out up there, so when it does hit the ceiling it’s ruled the other team’s point.  

On one of the shots, a gal on my team sent the ball soaring towards the roof.  I’d given up hope of any possible point for our team, when suddenly the ball soared through various obstacles and over a pipe without touching anything.  The ball landed in play, and we got the point.  

It got me thinking about this faith thing.  How many times do we try and get through life on our own, with our own agendas?  It can be quite hard at times.  There are different types of real obstacles whether they be physical or spiritual that can get in our way.  We tend to not rely fully on God until we really need him.  There are a couple of tough circumstances in my life that I have been dealing with lately.  At first, I thought I could do it by myself.  When I thought this, the reality of their insurmountableness hit me.  I alone can’t handle he obstacles.  The moment I surrendered the issues to God, I received a deep sense of peace in my life.  I even had affirmations from others that God would give me the strength to get through trials (and they didn’t even know I was going through anything).  

Trying to get through life on my own strength is like hitting a ball up at the ceiling in the gym at church.  I will always lose the point, if you will.  But with God’s help, life can be like the shot of the girl from church.  God can take our seemingly impossibilities and make a way through those to bring out the possible.  I pray that I can rely on God in the good and bad, so that he can take my life and weave it through the tough times.  

Oh Death, Where is Your Sting?

The last couple of weeks I’ve heard of more death and sickness within the lives of friends and family than I have in a long time, or possibly ever.  This is probably due to the fact that my connections continue to widen and get deeper as I grow older; thus my circles of interaction are getting much bigger.  Death just seems like such a strange part of life.  Creation was created for life.  It wasn’t created to die.  And do, all of us, all of our experiences deal with life.  Sure, we study history and hear of death.  Sure we all watch the news and see the atrocities that happen across the world and see death on a screen, but when we actually feel it, touch it, and see it face to face, it so much more tangible.  

Friday afternoon as I walked up to the casket of a lady at our church who died suddenly last week, I couldn’t think but marvel at what a weird practice that is.  Morticians take a body and fill it with chemicals and the like to make it appear as if the person is just taking a nice snooze.  I realize that’s not exactly what’s happening, but on the surface level it sure appears that way.  

Don’t get me wrong, I understand it’s part of the mourning process.  It was good to say farewell to this dear old lady.  However, I most definitely wasn’t saying goodbye to her.  She’s already gone.  It’s more just a chance to look at something almost like a picture or some other kind of image and think about the good memories we’ve had with that person.  I think back to four years ago and the death of my grandpa.  I knew that the person in that casket wasn’t my grandpa.  As much as the morticians tried to make it appear like my grandpa, he was gone.  

As I process the news of death that I’ve heard ranging from an eight year old to an eighty odd year old, I can’t but help but try and comprehend a little more about this death thing. As I’ve studied in a two week module course on Genesis, the coursework has taken me back to the opposite of death: the beginning of life.  I’ve found the study time fascinating.  It’s given me the chance to look at the ancient Israel cultural context and think about what the book of Genesis is actually trying to convey.

In chapter 3 of Genesis, God tells some things to the serpent, Adam, and Eve.  Each of these individuals will face some things in the span of their life time.  Yet, as God’s created creation, there’s nothing to suggest that this is because they sinned.  Creation was always destined to die.  I realize that can be a pretty big theological statement.  However, what modern Evangelicalism has taught us about the so called ‘fall’ is also a pretty large theological statement that I think requires some further thinking.  

The authors that our class have been utilizing speak of the relationship that existed when God created life.  It was a relationship of love and of intimacy.  Little changed in regards to this when Adam and Eve ate of the tree of knowledge and of good and evil.  When that happened, Adam and Eve were given aspects of divine knowledge that they had not had before.  Now, they began to comprehend life in the way that God created it.  God continued to tell them of what this life would be like.  The serpent would be cursed and would roam on its belly.  Eve will have pain whilst giving birth, and she would be subjected to the men in her life at times.  Adam learns that life will be hard, and he’ll have to work for food.  So how does fall language come about from this passage?  If anything, God is telling them more about life than they had heard before.  I definitely agree that this is our first look at a sinful choice, but there would be many more made in the future that reveal to us what sin is like in much greater detail.  God created his creation with a choice, their choices would lead to more sinful decision making.  The knowledge that they gained helped them to comprehend that they are indeed human, and as God said, they would indeed return to dust in something called death.  

In some respects this has challenged my views on death.  I tended to think that death came about because of sin.  In many ways I don’t think this to be true anymore.  Death was always going to happen.  Creation simply can’t live forever as creation.  I used to take hope in the fact that death wasn’t natural and that we were intended to live for eternity.  Somehow that was comforting to me.  I think now though, I’m beginning to take comfort in the fact that we do die, but God has something else in store for us.  There is redemption that will be coming, and we’re told about this through much of Paul’s writings.    Romans 8 has been hitting home to me over the past year or so.  I think that verse 20 really lets us know that death is a part of life, “For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it.”  Is that him there referring to God?  I think so.  Naturally, as part of life, death will come.  But thankfully, we weren’t just created to die.  Death does not have to be the final answer.  That passages goes on to say, “in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God.”  We now find glorious hope from these words.  It’s tough to believe in this hope, because we haven’t experienced it yet.  But that is what makes hope something to really hold on to.  It’s not a hope that fades away, like the hope promised by political figures.  It is a hope in the redemption of our bodies to an everlasting future in God’s kingdom.  

So while I sit and think about all of the death I’ve been hearing of lately, I surely am saddened by it all.  Gunmen destroying life.  Disease slowly eating away at our existence.  Old age creeping up on us.  It is absolutely devastating.  It’s devastating because we were created for life.  That’s all we have experienced as ourselves.  Death will come my friends. But death will also not have the last word.  Redemption into God’s kingdom is a hope that we can grasp and hold on to, a hope that is real.  

Humus...

To be close to the earth.  That is the title of this blogpost's definition.  A few different English words come from this Latin word.  One of those is humility.  I've often found it hard to define humility.  Over the last few years however, I've had numerous theologians try to define it by speaking about Philippians chapter 2.  Here we find the passage which speaks about Christ "who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, ⁷ but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. ⁸ And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. ^9"
Until I discovered the meaning of the Latin word humus recently, I still didn't fully understand what humility is all about, even after this awesome passage from Paul's writings.  How can a person comprehend what it means to be close to the earth?  They have to have nothing.  All the earth has is the soil, plants, etc., around it.  Christ came to earth empty.  he lived his life in such a sense as well.  He was a carpenter by trade for some of his growing up years; a living that would not end up providing him with too much of an income.  There weren't too many possessions to hinder his growth as the person that he was.  In a couple of weeks I'll be leading a mission trip with my youth group to an area of our city of Kansas CIty.  I've been thinking about this idea of humus quite a bit today as I prepare some devotionals for our trip.  The people we'll be with exemplify humus to an extent that most of the teens in our youth group have never comprehended, to no fault of their own.  Even I, as a pastor's kid, missionary kid, missionary, and no youth pastor, have had relative riches compares to most of the homes of the kids we'll be ministering to have grown up with.  Even where I was in Africa, whilst I had very little in American terms, I was a millionaire in Kenyan money.  And now I must ask myself, how can I be close to the earth?  How can I lower myself from the things tying me 'up' if you will?
The great part about humus is that we aren't alone.  We may have little to tie us down, but we have the community around us, the soil, to help us grow and find strength.  Jesus had his disciples with him, they provided companionship to him.  We need those around us.  At times they may be everything we have.

I had a Bizarre Encounter With a Woman this Weekend...

I’m an avid rugby fan.  Growing up my dad tweaked my interest in the sport from a young age, and I remember him watching a few of the games of the 1995 rugby world cup on pay per view.  It wasn’t until we moved back to South Africa in 1999 that I grew to really love the sport.  Dad and I would go over to a friend’s house to utilize their cable TV to watch our province play.  Since then, I’ve been hooked.  One of my favorite viewing places here in Kenya is a sports bar about 25 minutes away via public transport.  They have loads of TVs and pretty good food. 

Saturday night I went to watch one of our South African teams play a New Zealand team.  Almost immediately after I sat down, I Kenyan gal came and sat in the spot next to me.  I was quite sure that she would be being flirtatious the rest of the evening.  I was right.  Although, I’m not actively on the Smirnoff Ice downing lady market at the moment.  We began to talk about different things, and she learned that I have been here teaching at ANU.  She had grown up in the church and attended the Nazarene church for a while.  Since then she’s gone through a period of doubt in her faith.  I asked her why, and she told me it’s because God hasn’t answered her prayers.  I told her, “You know God doesn’t always answer our prayers positively, and I think there are times when God doesn’t answer our prayers because we ask them selfishly.”  The crux of her message was that she really felt like God had failed her in this situation.  She told me she’d done all the ‘right things’ growing up.  She’d gone to church, to Sunday School, etc.  But there was something that Caroline was lacking, and I think its something that a lot of nominal Christians struggle with.  

Sunday put a lot of things in perspective for me.  I was teaching a Sunday School class at church on John 10.  One of the lines from that passage says: “I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, 15  just as the Father knows me and I know the Father; and I lay down my life for the sheep.”  This knowing is something that takes some action on our part.  I think about what it means to know someone.  I can know someone’s name, but that doesn’t mean I know them.  To know someone, you have to spend time with them, you have to interact with them, you have to live intentionally desiring to become closer to that individual.  Because Jesus knows us and we know him, he lays down his life for us.  That’s commitment!  That’s a depth of knowledge that is incredibly tough to comprehend.  Amazingly, one of the people in attendance in Sunday School was a an actual shepherd from the community.  He shared that if he lost a sheep, he'd go after it out of the love he feels for it.  Do we have that same love for God?

Our relationship with God isn’t about doing the right things, but living in right relationship with him.  Our of that right relationship with God flows the rest.  Caroline was lacking the commitment.  It’s something we all struggle with, and I’ve struggled with, but something we are promised in scripture time and time again, is that if we abide in Christ, he will remain with us.  Still, God won’t answer our prayers the way we always want, maybe it seems like he won’t even answer them, yet that presence, that knowledge of God is what sustains us.  

I didn't know that I'd be undesirably hit on for two and half hours by a tipsy gal, and yet end up having a deep talk with her about God.  Strange how things happen sometimes.  Caroline had quite a lot to drink, and ironically lives relatively close to me, so I paid for her matatu ride home and we parted ways.  

What I'll Miss About Kenya...

Kenya has once again become my home.  For those of you who didn't know, I attended boarding school here in Kenya for all of high school.  I left in 2005 and returned last September for a program through my graduate school, Nazarene Theological Seminary, called 365m.  365m sends students all over the world for practicul intercultural experience and to continue taking classes online through our school.  I've been based at Africa Nazarene University and have loved (or come to love) every second of it.  Here are some of the top things I'll miss:

1. The people.  They are amongst the kindest I’ve met anywhere.  I'll miss walking down to the tuk tuk corner hand in hand with Lucy's kids.  
2. Their hospitality.  The very first weekend I was here some new friends invited me to spend the weekend at their house.  They and others have cooked elaborate meals for me, over which I’ve learned much.  Other times I've been in the middle of town with thousands of people around me when some kind soul comes up and offers to take me where I need to go, and have even paid my bus fares along the way.
3. Church.  The church I’ve been attending is the local Nazarene church on campus.  We’re very diverse with a huge group of students from many countries in Africa.  We also have probably the largest kids group on the East Africa Field for the Nazarene Church.  Our church is vibrant and does some incredible things for the community.  Just today I paused and listened whilst everyone around me sang his or her praises to God.  I got the chills and a couple of tears in my eyes.  Gonna miss Sunday’s here.  
4. The students on campus and their diversity.  Our students come from multiple countries, ethnicities, and tribes.  They speak hundreds of languages (combined).  I have learned so much from our dialogues during and outside of class. 
5. My co-workers in the religion department, especially my office mate Rev. Gift Mtukwa.  He (and the others) has become a great friend.  I’ve learned much about God and how he works in the world. 
6. Incredibly cheap and handy public transport.  Some kind of transport will take you almost anywhere you need to go.  People with cars hate matatus, but for those of us inside them, it’s nice to have them skirt around traffic illegallyJ
7. Wildlife/nature.  I live right next to Nairobi National Park.  97% of the nights I’ve been here I’ve heard hyenas.  I’ve occasionally heard the distant sound of lions.  I’ve also encountered several snakes.  A lengthy Rock Python slithered right between my legs whilst I was mid-stride.  Countless birds chirp starting about 3:30 in the morning till late.  The park provides great scenery for many a run along its borders. 
8. Slow pace of life.  At times I have hated this, but I think the majority of the time I’ve enjoyed it.  You never really have to worry about being late, as it’s not that big of a deal.  You rock up when you can in Kenya.  It’s gonna take some adjusting getting use to a more scheduled life in the States.
9. The food.   The Kenyan staple foods are great.  My favorite is probably chapati.  It’s a flour based bread type of food half way between a tortilla and a crepe in texture.  Kenyan’s used it to pick up other foods like stew and the like.  I’ll also miss the price of food.  Kenyan food from local joints is especially cheap.  There’s a place across the street where I can eat to my heart’s content for just under two bucks.  Non-Kenyan food is also quite cheap.  A relatively classy meal here is way cheaper than the US.
10. The rains.  I’ve written about this elsewhere, but the rains in Kenya and Africa have what seems to me to be a greater significance than I’ve noticed in the other places I’ve lived.  In the US, the places I’ve lived have received moisture all year through rain in the summer and snow in the winter.  Here, there are two seasons: the dry season and the rainy season.  The moment the rainy season begins, life comes back to creation.  Things turn green again, bugs come, animals regain their lost kgs from the dry season, the mud returns, etc.  

There are other things I'll miss as well.  Maybe I'll write a part II with these sometime.  

I'll miss the rains down in Africa

I awoke from a mid-afternoon slumber feeling it was time to attempt some kind of callisthenic.  I’d had a big lunch at a local Indian joint, and I needed to burn off a few kilojoules.  One of my favorite runs goes down on the road which passes along the southern border of Nairobi National Park.  Eventually if you take this route you arrive at Rolf’s place, a critically acclaimed German restaurant built on the side of Leopard Cliffs.  I quickly threw on my running gear and headed outside, knowing that it’s best to get a run in before it turns dark, especially on that road where the rumors of simba passing by after dark abound.  As I stepped outside I noticed large dark clouds forming to the Northwest and to the Northeast.  Normally the clouds come from due west here in Kenya, so I thought I may be able to just miss the normal afternoon deluge which is ever so common during the rainy season.  I exited campus through our main gate and crossed the main road to begin my run on the ever familiar John P. Marangu road.  This is a dirt road that is closed to through traffic, save for the boda boda’s who ferry passengers between a local junction and a small town on the other side of ANU.  After about ¾ of a mile, this road T’s into Maasai Lodge Road.  From here you take a right and are on the road which runs along the Southern side of the park.  As I ran along, the clouds were ever so ominous as they gathered over Nairobi.  They were pregnant with a fierce downpour that makes one miss Africa in incredible ways when away from it.  Over my right shoulder the clouds were beginning to get bigger as well.  But, it still looked like I could go and come back and make my way along the edge of the storm.  This is one of my favorite runs in the world, for you always have a shot of seeing some kind of an animal right along with you.  I gazed over Nairobi National Park in search of some kind of wildlife.  The birds of the African plains chirped as the light was slowly fading from the sky.  Almost everyone was going the opposite direction as me.  It was home time, and they were all trying to get home before the rains.  I reached the iconic Rolf’s place in good time.  The Maasai guard was at his usual post by their gate.  I greeted him in his language, and he greeted me back with a chuckle.  I think his chuckle was because he knew I was about to get stuck in a massive storm, yet I tried to think otherwise.  I turned around and started the run home.  Then I felt the first drop fall from the sky.  Still, I thought it was just the edge of the storm.  Soon more drops gathered with their fallen comrade, and I began to realize it was going to pour.  What had happened was all of the clouds which I had seen around me were converging over my head, and a downpour began.  At first the rain was fierce, hitting my skin with the strength of a small pebble.  Then the rain turned softer, yet still heavy.  Small puddles were forming on my shoulders, my running clothes and shoes now completely soaked.  I gazed up at the heavens, in awe of the beauty of such storms.  I’m quite sure everyone I came across on the last two miles of my run thought I was a crazy man.  They were all decked out in their raincoats, Welly’s, umbrellas, and the like.  Whilst I arrived back at my flat soaked, I was thankful to experience a run in the rains that I’ve come to love so dearly.  In approximately 50 days time I will once again be singing along with Toto of how I miss them as I fly out of the city of my birth with my parents on our way back to the United States.

"It looked and felt like 'hell on earth'"

Some of us runners running through the desert.

My good friend Robert Congdon described the area around Lake Magadi, Kenya this way during a conversation with him last week as I prepared to travel down to Oloika, in Southern Kenya, for a half-marathon.  My friend Matt Hall, a fellow volunteer here at ANU, and I decided we'd like to give this race a shot a couple of months ago when seeing it online.  We purchased the race + tented camp option for the Saturday and Sunday.  Included in our journey were transport down and lunch, dinner and breakfast.  Those of you who know the African scene will recognize the phrase tented camp.  Lately that has come to mean a relatively luxurious way to spend a night at a game park or the like.  Thinking of this phrase, I thought something similar.  I was quite excited for the weekend.  Oloika is down close to the Shompole Wildlife Conservancy, a posh game park and lodge near by.  I figured we'd be staying in something similar.  I did some research on the area last week and discovered some pretty interesting facts.  We'd be running part of our race through the salt flats on Lake Magadi, which is the world's largest producer of soda.  Flamingos flock to the lake to snack on whatever flamingos snack on.  Natural hot springs feed the lake with 40 degree Celsius water.  From what I was discovering and from what Robert told me, I was beginning to second-guess my hypothesis about the tented camp.  

Saturday came along and Matt and I ventured to our designated meeting place where we'd hitch a ride down with the race organizers and others who had bought the package.  We had a multicultural van.  People from seven nations hopped into the safari van and headed down to Oloika just on the southern tip of Lake Magadi.  As we made the trip, we dropped roughly 4,000 feet in elevation from the elevation here on campus.  The scenery was actually rustically beautiful.  It was a chance to see vegetation you don't normally see around Nairobi.  As we travelled we passed through little Maasai town after little Maasai town.  Each of them looking like a scene straight out of the movie The First Grader, which I highly recommend by the way.  

Finally we turn a corner out of the mountains to see a glimpse of the soda factory.  We scurried along the road a little further until we happened upon the town.  This is a public highway mind you, yet to get in and through the town you have to go through a security stop.  We passed over the railway line, which must surely ferry the soda from Magadi to Nairobi where it is sold or distributed.  Magadi is a fascinatingly strange town.  There is no real vegetation to speak of, save for some acacia trees.  The ground is basically covered in the natural for the area, gravel.  There are a series of apartment buildings painted a clay color that must house the factory workers.  There is a public pool in the town, which would have felt very nice.  There are also these signs scattered through the town for 'assembly points'.  I'm not sure when they would assemble there?  A true mystery.  

We pulled into the local sports/country club.  The race organizers had sent down a couple of ladies to have lunch prepared for us there.  The shade of the thatch roof umbrella-shaped roofs provided an escape from the heat.  At the sports club they had a basketball court and volleyball/tennis court outside.  These were made of gravel, so I'm not entirely sure how effectively you could play any of the aforementioned sports.  Inside the club they did have a nice badminton court.  We had a delicious meal of rice, chicken, beans, cabbage, and chapattis. Definitely good food for pre race day.  

We were then off to Oloika.  On the way out of Magadi we passed the Magadi Golf Course.  Any avid golf fan, or simply anyone who has seen a golf course before would laugh at this place.  It too seems to be made of the indigenous gravel/dirt.  Frames of wood designated the t-boxes.  I never once spotted any greens, or anything green for that matter.  I had a good chuckle at this place.  We made it through town and rounded the southern edge of the lake.  Around a corner we saw hundreds of the flamingoes feeding.  That was quite the sight.  There are several such flamingo havens in the area, but I believe that was the first time I've seen them in their natural habitat.  We got out to take some pictures.  The dudes went and felt the salt/soda material.  It matched its name in texture.  

Back in the van and off we were to Oloika.  We soon began to drive over salt flats and across the edge of the lakebed.  Reminded me of what people say of the Salt Flats in Utah.  We began to see chalk shaped into numbers on the lakebed.  We guessed correctly these were markings for the race the next day.  We drove up a series of small hills to a plateau.  We'd arrived at Oloika.  We pulled into a complex for the Oloika guest lodge.  There was a lone, small house that was the guesthouse.  We got out and asked where we were supposed to be.  Across the way was the 'tented camp'.  It was a campsite.  We all gazed at each other with that look of, what have we gotten ourselves into.  On the journey down we could feel it getting hotter and hotter.  My guess was that it was at least 100 degrees.  We were given the royal tour of the tented camp, and we all settled into our tents.  This place was by no means similar to the memories of my tented camp experience on the shores of the Shire River in Malawi.  In fact it was just about as opposite as you could get.  This wasn't really that much of a damper; it was just adjusting to the fact that this is where we were staying.  

Matt and I went and registered.  We were given our race numbers.  They were probably the highest numbers either of us has ever had.  Matt had 34 and I had 35.  Our friends who were running the 10k had numbers 1 and 2.  We unpacked out things into our tents, which were at least 15 degrees warmer than outside, and then gathered under the shade of a thatched roof structure.  We stayed here in shock with our fellow travelers for a little while.  Matt and I then went and explored Oloika.  It didn't take much time to explore it.  Metal houses, churches, and businesses were strewn about.  We practiced our best Maasai and Swahili with the townsfolk.  All of them are Maasai or have Maasai heritage.  Most of the people were in their traditional garb.  We explored until the kiddies runs.  There was a 5km race and a 1km or so race for them.  A Kenyan kid won the 5km race.  In the smaller race, there were some very young kids!  One of the girls looked about 3.  Cute stuff!  Matt and I cheered them on with a group of kids from the town.  They were inquisitive as usual.  Some spoke broken English and a few had learned to be almost fluent from their school in Magadi.  We talked about various things with them.  We asked what their favorite classes were, etc.  Some kids said math, which Matt enjoyed (having a doctorate in the subject) and others said CRE (Christian Religious Education), which I enjoyed.  The one kid was incredibly knowledgeable about the Bible because of this, and we quizzed each other on various Biblical things.  I asked him if he knew what sport his t-shirt was from (it was a Cubs shirt) and he said it’s from the sport where they throw a ball to one another.  I also asked him where all the dads were as I'd only seen a few in the whole town.  He said they are shepherds, which I figured and had told Matt previously.  We then said goodbye and it was time for dinner. 

Dinner was pretty similar to lunch, but very tasty.  As it began to grow dark, more and more campers arrived. After dinner I called it a night, for I knew we'd have an early start with the 7 o'clock race start time. Unfortunately, the temps hadn't cooled down all that much, if at all.  The sweat was still dripping off of me even in my briefs.  It was very windy outside, so I tried to figure out how to open the windows in my tent.  They were covered with a thick netting to keep bugs out, which hadn't arrived yet.  I therefore just opened up the tent door.  When the winds died down, I heard the faint wine of mosquitoes grow closer and closer.  Attracted to the scent of my body, hundreds gathered around my tent.  I managed to get the tent door close with only a few entering my tent.  They were enough to give me about a dozen bites.  I tossed and turned in my sweatiness till about 1am when I finally dozed off.  I woke up a couple of times during the night to use the choo (Swahili for bathroom/toilet).  Thankfully, they actually had toilets installed in outhouse looking buildings.  They just had no seats.  During one such usage, I lost my left contact.  I was thankful for the spares in my backpack.  

Morning came, and I was thankful for the rest.  I downed some water first thing to give it a chance to get a decent way through my system before race time.  

Matt and I went to breakfast and had a couple of bananas.  Then, we all began to gather for the race.  We all found it quite comical to watch a man approach the start shirtless (he was the only one) and puffing away on a cigarette.  Surely he didn't need one last puff right before the start?  The race director showed us a hand drawn map of the route.  It looked relatively simple to follow.  There would also be marshals stationed through the race directing us and giving us water bottles.  We started in a flash.  Mr. Smoker/Shirtless man was out to a fast start with a pretty speedy lady.  Matt and I were in the following pack.  There were several parts to the route that weren't on the map.  The main three things were three u-turns which threw us all for a loop.  We began by running off the plateau of Oloika down to the left.  U-turn number one was there.  We came back to town and then went straight from where we had started.  Matt and I were in the following pack for most of the race.  Even though this place was so hot and desolate, there was a real beauty to it.  The course took us pass small settlements outside of town.  Maasai kids and adults alike greeted us as we went.  At around km 8 or 9 we made our way down to the salt flats.  We spent a good amount of time running on them.  Another thing that wasn't on the map was that there was no bridge across a river area.  Instead we had to run through it.  After the salt flats/lake bed, we got to the final hilly section.  This is where most of us really faced the music.  In the conditions, those hills seemed like killers.  After about 20 minutes in this section a saw a man waiting for his wife.  He offered the hope that the end was near.  It was.  Right over the next bend was Oloika.  I crossed the line in 1hr 52 mins and in 7th place.  I feel like were it not for the conditions, I could have faced the hills stronger and finished around 1hr 38 mins.  I'd kept a pretty good pace with a Frenchmen a few hundred meters ahead up until that point.  

After the race, everyone was in search of soda or maji (water) baridi (cold).  There wasn't a single fridge in Oloika.  Matt and I found some relatively less than warm sodas.  I'd also brought down some Gatorade/energy type drinks, which were warm, but replenishing to Matt and I.  For the weekend, I'd also brought down 4 litres of my own water, and consumed another litre and a half of water from the race organizers.  My backpack was way lighter on the journey back.  The journey back was good.  I'd suggested to the driver we stop off at the Magadi Sports Club again to get some soda baridi, since all of us wazungus were craving a cold beverage. That was a pleasant refresher.

Matt and I will surely never forget the experience of this race.  In many ways it looked like Arizona.  The drive felt like driving down into Death Valley.  It was great to get out of Nairobi and experience some of the Maasai culture.  This was the 4th annual Shompole Marathon.  A few of the people had done it last year.  If I was still living in Kenya this time next year, I'm not sure whether I'd return.  Though, I probably would in order to try and conquer those last few hills better than this year.  I'd probably do some training up on the Ngong Hills to prepare better like my Maasai friend Jack I'd seen up there in November.  It was a journey, and an unforgettable experience.  It would have been nice if someone came into my tent and said April Fools as I was preparing to sleep in my sweat, sadly no one appeared.  

The rains down in Africa...

For days the earth cried out for nourishment like a baby cries for a mother.  The Kenyan savannah was dry, the ground cracking due to lack of rain.  "The rains will come in February," we were told.  They never came.  We waited with anticipation for the coming day when the clouds would burst forth with the glorious sustenance creation so desperately needed.  Then it happened.  One evening, in the darkness of the night a rain drop fell on the mabati roof above my head.  At first, such a sound went unnoticed.  But when that single drop was joined by its comrades, one thing became certain: the rains had come.
It is these rains that are so iconic to the African setting.  Most places below the Sahara desert have two seasons: the rainy and the dry.  The rains mean that people can eat.  The rains mean that animals grow bigger.  The rains mean that there is life.  Everyday during the rainy season, these reminders of life are visible all around.  Perhaps it is this overwhelming sense of life that makes one miss the rains down in Africa when one becomes separated from them.

Resolution

Back at the time of my life when I weighed the most I ever had, I made a commitment to lose weight here on blogger. I then lost 60 pounds. Though I'm by no means as heavy as I was then, I do need to shed some excess pounds. I'm making the commitment again. It's time. Look out world.

Culture Shock: Why I haven't Experienced too Much of it.

During my stay back here in Kenya, countless people have asked me if I have experienced culture shock or any kind of adjustments in being back. They ask me if I miss home. My honest answer has always been, "not really." I have lived in four countries and travelled to fifteen during my 25 years of life. I've 'been around' more than the average person. Coming back to Kenya in September was for me more of a coming home. During my four years of boarding school here I grew to love Kenya. I must admit however, that this time I have taken a much deeper plunge into Kenya than I ever had in those four years. I live closer to the average Nairobian than I ever have before; yet at the same time, I am different. For reasons due solely to the womb I came out of and the mother and father who forced me to come out of that womb, I am who I am. Two of the most significant aspects of Roland that are different to the average Kenyan are my skin color and my access to money. By American standards I am no where near to wealthy, or by no means did I grow up in a wealthy home. In fact, I would say I'm actually relatively close to the lower class economic group. Yet, by Kenyan standards, that makes me seemingly wealthy. Those are just a few of the differences between myself and most Kenyans.

As far as culture shock goes, there are three things which have really helped me to grapple with it quite well. Firstly, as previously stated, I've been here before. Secondly, my education has caused me to view cultures from more of an insider perspective. Particularly during my education at my current school, Nazarene Theological Seminary, this idea has been ingrained into how I reflect on other cultures. I've read probably around 10 textbooks that deal specifically with this aspect of cultural respect. Cultural respect views others as equals yet as unique. The way they think is very unique to who they are. Lastly, my faith has caused me to view others differently. As a follower of Christ, I try to consider others as equals in light of their creation in the image of God. God showed no favoritism in his creation, and neither should we. The ministry of Christ and his death on the cross ensured that others have just as much value in God's eyes as I do.

Lately I have been rather disgusted (yes, a strong word, but truthfully I have) by individuals who somehow think that they are greater than others for a variety of reasons; whether that be skin color, education, age, etc. In my view educational discrimination is just as horrible as racial discrimination. Just because you have a few letters after your name does not mean that somehow God created you with a little more of his image engrained into the fabric of your makeup. It is therefore my desire to treat others as equals, to love others as equals, and to live as if this is true. I know I fail at times, but I think it is through the understanding of failure that we can become stronger. We have to make the choice to do so however.

There have been times when I have realized over the last few months just how different my mutt of a culture is to the Kenyan culture. Just this week I have realized this, especially in relation to hospitality and to issues of time. However, it is in these instances of realization of cultural differences that those from the outside can shine in their interaction with those on the inside. There is a choice to be made. Do you view these differences through the lens of your own culture, or do you view these differences through the lens of the kingdom of God?

Great thoughts on Jeremiah 29:11 from a good friend

One of my good friends from seminary recently commented on a comment thread about Jeremiah 29:11. Often times this is a passage which is quoted from an individualistic stance. I love what he had to say:

Very humble suggestion: Remember as we read these words that the English 'you' that we read today is translated from the Hebrew ' אַתֶּם ' from the Old Testament. It is a plural 'you' referring to the entire people of Israel. I only present this because this passage is often presented and read in a very exclusive manner with 'plan' and 'prosperity' interpreted in a very individualistic and financial/economic approach. However, our modern understanding of 'economy' and society not to mention the 'individual' would be quite foreign to the context in which this passage was written. As we are encouraged by this passage, let us remember: that God established Israel to be a light to all the world and desired for them to prosper in that plan and for that plan to be the future they hoped for as this passage maintains. Because God desires that all, that ' אַתֶּם ' would prosper in the plans that God knows for us. For God's love is for all the world (John 3:16) and this 'plan' and 'prosperity' are intrinsically communal. So, let us 'individually' seek to prosper in servitude and death to Christ (Philippians 1: 21-30; Philippians 2: 1-11) Constantly putting the 'prosperity' of God and neighbor first before ourselves. We are who we are because of God, and God created and shapes us within community and God will redeem us in community (Every knee, every tongue) so let us read this passage and interpret our very lives through a communal lens.

There is neither Jew nor Greek, Indian nor Coloured, White nor Black.

South Africa: it's my home country. I was born there 24 years and 4 months ago. I haven't spent massive amounts of time there (only a total of 2 years and 10 months of living and around 4 months of vacation time there), yet I feel a deep sense that South Africa is my home. To a large extent that is because SA is where my roots are. As I said above, I was born there. It's also because I just flat out love it! South Africa has so much good going for it. Firstly, it's a beautiful place! South Africa's natural environment is so diverse, filled with a wide variety of landscapes. There are vast amounts of coastline both on the east and west sides of the country. There are huge mountains that dot the landscape inland from the ocean. There's a large desert in northwest South Africa. There are numerous game parks spread throughout the country with countless varieties and species of Africa's great animals. Secondly, South Africa has very diverse people groups. There are 11 official languages in the country and four distinct races in South Africa: black, white, indian, and colored (not a racist term, it's an actual race there). Thirdly, South Africa is a sports crazy nation. My favorite sport there is rugby, and man do we breed rugby players well! We've won two rugby world cups, and more will surely follow. Other key sports in the country are football, cricket, field hockey, surfing, golf, etc. In school, students are almost required to play a sport, and each grade level has on average five teams for the main sports. Lastly, I love South Africa because of the food! South Africa is home to as much diverse food as it has people groups and more! When I was there I surely gained at least five pounds feasting on all the good things South African cuisine has to offer. I ate massive amounts of meat at braais (Afrikaans for grill, thus BBQs) for three consecutive days and at least another two days non-consecutively. Are you starting to get the picture? Wanna visit sometime? You should!

Yet with all that there is to love about South Africa, one massive, dark cloud still hangs over the landscape of a country supposedly 17+ years on from Apartheid. I saw it vividly during my two and a half weeks there on vacation recently. The racism of South Africa is the key element to that dark cloud. Within the first 24 hours of my time in South Africa I saw its affects and heard its brutality. People asked me numerous times, "How are the blacks in Kenya, they aren't like our's are they?" "Surely they're better," they were thinking. It was during these moments that my heart broke. Driving through South Africa I'd go from affluence to incredible poverty in a flash. Most of the racial dividing lines set up by the Apartheid government during their oppressive reign at the helm of South Africa still stand today. Not because the people don't want to move out of their ghettos, but because there is no way to be able to do so. They simply cannot afford it. I realize that some have moved out, and some are doing quite well for themselves. But the vast majority of people have not left the now invisible barricades once enforced through papers and police people who kept them inside of particular sections of metropolitan areas.

It's at times like the moments I spent back in South Africa that I had to ask how does God view this place? What difference should his kingdom make in this landscape? This is where the road must feel the rubber running all over the top of it. This collision of rubber meeting the road has to happen every day. It's when words are turned into action. When the followers of Christ stand up and speak up for the oppressed of South Africa.

South Africa sort of has a minimum wage. But, millions work for less than that because there simply are not enough jobs at minimum wage to discover. And it's true. These jobs bellow minimum wage are needed, and people are thankful to at least be making something. It is this something that will provide food and some kind of sustenance to survive. But I have to ask, would I ever work for that? Would people of my skin color ever work for that? Most certainly not. I would never in my life work for less than $1.50 a day. Never would I work for less than 20 U.S. cents an hour. Yet, this is what is happening. Could it be that the people deemed lazy simply don't have the energy and motivation to work for piddle sticks? $10.50 a week. Would you work hard for that when you're used to a minimum wage of many times that a week? The honest answer is of course I would not, and definitely most of you wealthily enough to be reading this on a computer would not. Why? Because there is a heavenly kingdom that has come to earth that says this inequality has got to stop.

Please don't think I'm only bashing the fair skinned people here. I'm not. I know there is a government of empty promises in power. This is a government that promised the impoverished of South Africa hope. They promised a better future. They promised jobs that not only allowed people to live, but allowed them to enjoy life. Sadly, it's not happening. At least not on the grander scale. Many of those promise givers are living the glorious life, but at the expense of the people they made promises to. I'm not necessarily agreeing with suspended ANC party member Julius Malema who says that he wants to see white domestic workers in South Africa in 10 years. What I am saying is there needs to be true equality. Not only on paper but in reality.

So what is the solution? That's tough to answer. But I think it starts when people truly begin to think about the fact that there is now neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female. In other words there is now neither white nor black, indian nor colored, Sandtonian nor Sowetoan. There are no longer dividing lines, we are ONE in Christ. This week I read Ephesians 2:11-22 with new eyes. I hope you can too:

Don’t take post Apartheid South Africa with a grain of salt. It seems like only yesterday that blacks, indians, coloureds, etc., had no idea what it was like to live like the whites. You hadn’t the faintest idea. You knew nothing of what it meant to be the chosen ones. Had no idea what it meant to go to a nice school, or drive a nice car, or work a decent job. But now, because of Mandela and the struggle of some fine men, some of which died for your freedom, you who were once out of it have now been given a chance.

Things have been made better between us, and apparently there is supposed to be equality. Both whites and darker skinned people are now one. The walls of hostility and segregation have now been demolished and we are supposed to be living in the same neighborhoods. The constitution has been rewritten, so that those laws which hurt us more than helped us have been erased. And we have now started over. We live in a democracy. Instead of continuing to live in our own places, separated by hundreds of years of aggression and hate, there is now a new creation, a new nation, a rainbow nation.

Democracy was supposed to bring us together. We were supposed to shake hands and hug our neighbors. The hostility was supposed to be over. There was supposed to be peace and equality. Through peace we are supposed to have equal access to quality education and well paying jobs.

That’s pretty simple right? We’re no longer supposed to be separated, looking for a better future. The bright future is now here. We’re no longer enemies, people living in different suburbs, neighborhoods, shanty towns, slums, villages, etc. We have a new country, and we all have access to it, irrespective of skin color. Let’s build a new nation, where everyone has a place, and an equal place at that. There is one thing that holds us together, and that is that we’re all created in the same image of God.

_________________

I realize that I'm asking for something that is way beyond reality. But, you have to remember, the kingdom of God is something which is way beyond reality as well.

Airports bring out the worst in me...

I wrote this blog on the plane to South Africa on December 12:

Yesterday I preached on the lectionary passage for the day. The passage of scripture which I was preaching from was John 1:6-8, 19-28. The main question that I asked in the sermon was, “What kind of a savior are you witnessing to?” Little did I know yesterday that today I would utterly fail at witnessing to a savior. In fact, there was probably little to no resemblance of the savior that John witnessed to, the savior seen in Isaiah 61:1-2 and following. Today I am flying down to South Africa to spend a couple of weeks with family. I’ve been looking forward to this day for quite sometime. In a sense, there’s a real advent them to that.

I arrived at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport in Nairobi, Kenya at around 1:30 today. It’s not a foreign place to me. I flew out of that airport on my way home to Malawi upwards of 12 times during my stay at boarding school in Kenya for my high school years. If there is any place where western culture and Kenyan culture clash, it’s at that airport. In the west, we want things done right away. Time is key not the event at hand. Kenya’s a culture where time is not considered higher than the event going on. This was extremely evident the first night I arrived back in Kenya back on September 6. The visa counter workers were having fat chats, texting and calling friends, all whilst hundreds of passengers queued in their lines waiting to get their passports stamped so they could get into Kenya.

Once again, things were taking a good amount of time today at the airport. I approached the ticket counter and turned over my passport. The desk attendant asked if she could see my health card. I passed it to her. She told me, “Isn’t there a way you can fabricate the date for your yellow fever vaccine?” On my health card, next to the vaccination I had 10 years ago for combating yellow fever, stood the date December 5, 2001. I’d noticed this long before arriving at the airport today. However, I’d seen in the fine print below this yellow fever vaccination that the ten years start ten days after you receive the vaccination.

After saying I’d rather not fabricate the date of my vaccination she called over her supervisor. This supervisor then began to tell me that they look at the date of the vaccination, and that this is the date that matters, not the ten days afterwards like my health card officially stated. I tried to comprehend why, but when I was given the notorious, “that’s just the way it is” statement, I felt the animosity growing within me towards this lady. My voice got a little louder, my face most likely a little more crimson, and my body language a little more stiff. Finally she did let me go through. It was in those moments that I was failing to witness to the Jesus that John was witnessing to. John was witnessing to a Messiah who would handle situations with love, albeit with righteous love at times. In those moments this afternoon, I was not pointing to any kind of love! Sometimes you have to practice what you preach eh?