tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47577601484570255122023-11-16T09:46:16.780+03:00Under African SkiesThere is a story. Every life is a story. Each story is a part of a larger story. This larger story has been going for a very long time. Are you brave enough to not be the star of your story, to be a bit part in the larger story going on around you? I hope I am...Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566199811994392047noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4757760148457025512.post-63976035112438279322011-12-10T20:28:00.000+03:002011-12-10T20:28:04.836+03:00Another Dose of Reality...<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><div class="MsoNormal">What you are about to read is a tough story. Some of it may be too much for some of you, but it is what happened. It covers some of the realities that the people of Kenya face on a regular basis. It covers something that I (Sean) needed to be a part of; something that I needed to experience. Not because of morbid curiosity, but it could be something I will need to face in the future here. I have not included names in this story because I do not feel it is appropriate at this time.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This week, one of our staff members lost her son to an illness. What that illness was, I am not sure. It was something that he had been battling for a while. But, this seemed to take his life without warning. The son was twenty-three years old. The mother was so distraught over her son’s death that she didn’t know what her next steps should be. A few of us from In Step went to her house to help her get her son to the mortuary. Not something that we really do in the West. The transport of our loved ones is usually left to a coroner, or a funeral home.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When we got to the home, there were a few community members there to offer their support and condolences. As we entered the house, sitting in a chair in the corner, was our Auntie. At her feet was her son. He was placed on a tattered foam mattress, and covered over with a bed sheet. I am not sure how long she had been sitting there.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The story we were told about how this came about was that her son had vomited blood earlier in the day. He told her not to worry, that he believed that God performed the operation he needed to be well again. Later that evening, a friend paid him a visit and the two of them talked about everyday things. The friend got up to leave, and shortly after leaving the door, heard the young man vomiting again. He entered the house to see that he was throwing up blood again. Our Auntie was in the room trying to comfort her son, who kept telling her that he was weak, and that she shouldn’t worry, but just hold him. I believe that he fell asleep and died in her arms.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After we greeted the woman, she pulled back the sheet to show us her son. He was positioned in a manner that made it look like he was sleeping. His hands placed up beside his head. We asked her what she needed us to do. She had no idea. We asked her if her family was here to help her. She said that two of her other sons were away, and were trying to arrange transport to come. Her brother was going to be arriving on Sunday (this was on Friday). Her brother-in-law was at the home, but he hadn’t been a part of her life since her husband died in 1999.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This woman had been living with her now dead son and a granddaughter who may have been about thirteen years old. No one else in her family had even visited her in years. We found out that she didn’t expect much help from her family, as they “went wild” (as she put it) when she asked for assistance when her husband died. She was adrift and had no one who could guide her through this loss.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A couple of people went into the house to collect the body. They wrapped him in a wool blanket and carried him into the back of the vehicle. For reasons I can’t explain, because I don’t know the reason, about five people went with us for the ride to the mortuary. I can only guess that it was to support the mother in her time of grief. This is something that I have heard about, and seen from a distance.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Once we got to our destination, and were finally allowed in, a metal gurney was wheeled up to the back of the truck, and a couple of attendants removed the body. The son was then taken into the main room of the mortuary. We looked on from the outside, as they removed the blanket with as little grace and dignity as possible. The blanket was thrown to the entrance of the building. When asked if she wanted it back, the mother shook her head no and flung her hand at it as if to say “Just get rid of it.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I found out later, that standing on the threshold of the door, was the limit of where I wanted to be in the mortuary. Once you entered into the main room, behind a curtain was a stack of bodies that were either waiting to be collected, or were not going to be collected. Because they were not afforded the special treatment of the coolers, they were in various “states” and numbered over one hundred. It has been a busy time at the Kitale District Hospital’s mortuary.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Once everything was settled, and we were back in the vehicle to take everyone home, the woman fell asleep. Emotionally and I am sure physically exhausted from everything her day and previous night entailed. We dropped everyone off, and wished the woman well and went home ourselves.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I cannot imagine the pain that this woman is experiencing. I cannot fathom the loneliness of having to handle something of this magnitude alone. The only good thing that is coming from this is that the community around this woman is gathering to be at her side. Her church is helping her with some expenses, as are her neighbours and co-workers. What is her family’s contribution? They will cover the cost of the suit that her son will be buried in.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This is Kenya. This is life. This is death. This is another dose of reality.</div><!--EndFragment--></div>Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566199811994392047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4757760148457025512.post-79106179091679518422010-10-09T23:37:00.000+03:002010-10-10T00:00:42.903+03:00Hollowness<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhESgezXTcoFYVJYUK-xx8FLYVfmjIFYb5VxCjF6cAGH3GPZt9jikbv2e0NYOToh3jAqX2vX6w9lD27VlBWSXsphS1Af40_eTl1ABqNfxgDJrRYEqWAMoXxkuGbU5BgJZ-blaOnz25vsCyU/s1600/DSC_6945.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhESgezXTcoFYVJYUK-xx8FLYVfmjIFYb5VxCjF6cAGH3GPZt9jikbv2e0NYOToh3jAqX2vX6w9lD27VlBWSXsphS1Af40_eTl1ABqNfxgDJrRYEqWAMoXxkuGbU5BgJZ-blaOnz25vsCyU/s320/DSC_6945.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526150621968986178" /></a><br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">Last year, while walking home from town, I had a thought based on an observation of a tree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>For months I walked past the same line of trees along the road to town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>One day, something grabbed my attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I had to stop to make sure that my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>As I took a second look, my suspicions were correct.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I could see the traffic through one of the trees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>My first thoughts were about how little I pay attention to things around me.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It was clear that this tree in front of me was indeed hollow, and so eaten by termites, that even some of the bark allowed a clear view of the road way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>However, I couldn’t see it in passing, because the outward appearance of the tree said it was healthy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It still had, and has, leaves on its branches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>There were, and are, flowers blooming on it.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm1wJ4SWUeC1UWYYpV3MdtH02xnZszVGmc7Xs2WFvpm5VckBe2Qob3oQlPYBm-4m_WFkE7Faz3xCgYZYiDwplnqq_P6yXcOA52y3fs30qB3770MgdyUho6T252cbP4FUg_AxuL1BrHwhJA/s320/DSC_6946.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526153135052149954" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I then thought about how many of us claim to be “Spiritual”, but when we actually get a closer look at ourselves, we are just as hollow as the tree on the roadside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Whatever our brand of “Spirituality” is (Christians, this means us too…), we aren’t always as put together as we might think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We can say the right things, and look happy.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We can look like we are doing things to show that we are the brand that we subscribe to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But, when people really get to know us, when they stop and take a closer look, they can see right through us.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We are going through a teaching series with our interns this year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The series is called “Get Over Yourself: Rebelling Against the Culture of Narcissism”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It is from a Canadian church called “The Meeting House”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>You can find the podcast on iTunes, or on their website <a href="http://www.themeetinghouse.ca/">www.themeetinghouse.ca</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The series talks about how we as a culture have become extremely self-absorbed.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The listeners are challenged to look beyond themselves, and learn to live lives that are other person centered.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As I reflect on the teaching, I am starting to wonder about another perspective.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>What if we are hollow because we are neglecting to notice the hollowness of others around us?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It is true that we can allow life’s distractions to eat us up to the point of appearing like we have it all together, when we really don’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>What would it look like if we focused on the needs of others first?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>What if our identity is not bound up in keeping up with the Jones’, but in serving them?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Stresses will come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I am not saying that when we are other person centered that life will become a bed of roses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I am wondering if we put so much emphasis on our problems that we fail to see the problems of those around us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In one of the messages, Bruxy Cavey (the teaching pastor at the Meeting House), put forth the challenge to spend enough time to get ourselves dressed in the morning to be presentable, and then spend an equal amount (if not more) of time dressing ourselves up on the inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In another message, he challenged people to take time to list all of the things that they were thankful for each day.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The time of reflection could be in the morning about the previous day’s events, or in the evening about that particular day’s events.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Cavey quoted a study, which had one group of people make a list like the one mentioned above.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The participants made the list every day for ten weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>At the end of those ten weeks the people felt better about themselves, had better physical health, and had more desire to meet the needs of others than those who did not make the list of things to be thankful for.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Maybe we aren’t as hollow as we thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Maybe we are.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Maybe our hollowness is a result of not noticing that others are hollow and need some kind of service or care.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Take time to stop and really get to know someone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Enter into intentional, and authentic relationships with people, and see if they are feeling hollow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The Apostle Paul wrote in his letter to the Romans:</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“Therefore, I urge you brethren, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies a living and holy sacrifice, acceptable to God, which is your spiritual service of worship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, so that you may prove what the will of God is, that which is good and acceptable and perfect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>For through the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think more highly of himself than he ought to think; but to think so as to have sound judgment, as God has allotted to each a measure of faith.” (Romans 12:1-3 NASB)</p> <!--EndFragment-->Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566199811994392047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4757760148457025512.post-4691361125808184902010-07-29T13:49:00.000+03:002010-07-29T14:46:21.753+03:00Glimmers of HopeAfter over a year of no blogs, I feel that it is time to start again. I have had one that is rolling over in my mind for quite a while now. This particular blog is not about that one. It will have to come later down the road. This one is about the glimmers of hope that I have seen while interacting with different people around Kitale.<div><br /></div><div>About a month or two ago, I was approached by a street boy named Joseph. I had just passed a group of boys all greeting me, and some of them asking me to buy them bread, or to give them a few shillings. As usual, I greeted them, and said no to the ones who asked for food or money. Joseph came right up to me and asked me to help him. I said that I didn't have money for food for him, but he said that wasn't what he wanted. He showed me his hand and said that he needed medicine to treat it. I looked and saw that his right hand was indeed swollen. I thought about it for a second and told Joseph to wait for me while I finished the tasks that I had gone to town to do.</div><div><br /></div><div>When I met him a few minutes later, I asked Joseph what had happened. He told me that the night before he was chased my a security guard, because he was sleeping somewhere he shouldn't have been. During the chase he fell and hurt his hand. My first thought was that medicine wasn't going to fix the problem. I might be going with this kid to the hospital to fix a broken hand. How much more would that cost me?</div><div><br /></div><div>We went to a near by pharmacy and I had Joseph explain to the man behind the counter what was wrong. The pharmacist explained to me what medicines he was recommending, and explained to Joseph, how to apply the ointment and how often to take the pain killers. The total bill came to about 150 shillings (about $2 CAD). I handed the package to Joseph and explained to him that this was for him and the treatment of his hand only. He was not to sell any of it for glue or anything else. I told him that if I discovered that he sold what I bought him, that neither Meredith or I would buy him anything ever again. He promised me that he wouldn't, thanked me and left the pharmacy.</div><div><br /></div><div>Over the next few days, any time that I was in town, Joseph would come up to me and show me his hand. I would ask him how he was doing and he would respond that things were going well. In a matter of days, Joseph was pleased to announce to me (and show me) that his hand was better. The swelling was gone and there was no more pain. He continued to thank me and every time he sees me in town, he makes a point of greeting me. He always has a big smile on his face.</div><div><br /></div><div>Last weekend, a few of us from the community (Kenyans, and North Americans) met with a few of the community elders and the community chief for our area. This was a meeting to discuss the security issues that have come up recently. The chief wanted to let us know that in the past year since he became chief, he had started some new security measures in the community. He told us that he had some armed guards that were patrolling the streets while we slept. He gave us all his personal number to call him any time, day or night, if there was anything that we needed to call him about. He opened the floor for questions and addressed each one. About the only downfall to the meeting was that he answered his phone and left the room, on more than one occasion, while people were asking their questions or voicing their concerns.</div><div><br /></div><div>The chief told us that we needed to be diligent when hiring people to work on our compound. We needed to do background checks, ask people who are looking for jobs a bit about their history. He told us that he was pushing the town council to improve our roads to make them drivable, and even to put new tarmac down (something that has not been done since the 60's). It is the chief's desire to make the Mili Mani community of Kitale what the Mili Mani communities of the rest of the country are.</div><div><br /></div><div>When the meeting was over, we as a community agreed that issues of security are everyone's concern and we would do what we could to improve things. I believe that for the most part, people were feeling better about things in Mili Mani.</div><div><br /></div><div>Every once and a while we get glimmers of hope that life can be better for the people of Kenya. It is people like Joseph showing responsibility and gratefulness when someone helps him out. It is people like Chief Sylvester standing above corruption and doing his part to protect the people he has sworn to serve. Here's hoping that something more comes from these stories and that more and more people take responsibility for the life that they live.</div>Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566199811994392047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4757760148457025512.post-15219501615929317262009-06-18T11:08:00.000+03:002009-06-18T11:15:41.444+03:00A Very Easy Process.......Not!<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">Meredith and I set up a bank account a few weeks ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It is quite a long and drawn out process…</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">We went to the bank knowing that we needed our passports, photocopies of our passports, photos of us (passport size) and a person who has an account with the bank and could vouch for us as fine upstanding citizens (we chose Daniel).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We approached the desk and began filling out the appropriate paper work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>When all was done we asked how we could get our bankcards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The person told us that we could come back next week and get them.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>That was no problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We put it off an extra week due to the fact that the banks would be busy with everyone in town getting their monthly salaries and clogging up the lines.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">We entered the bank again a week later and asked the person who set up our account, for our bankcards.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He told us to visit the enquiries counter with a copy of our passports to get the cards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I said, “But, we gave you photocopies of them when we set up the account.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We were informed that those copies were to set up the account, and other copies were needed to get the bankcards. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">We returned on another day with the copies of our passports in hand, and approached the enquiries counter.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We had forgotten to bring our account number with us, but didn’t think that it would be difficult for the guy behind the counter to access it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We told him the reason for our visit, and he asked for the copies of our passports, and our account number.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>When we told him we forgot the number, he looked as if it would take hours to locate the account.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It didn’t.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">He informed us that we had yet to deposit any money into the account and that he couldn’t give us our cards until the money was deposited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He also gave us forms to fill out to apply for the cards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Meredith’s response was “This is a very difficult process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In North America we visit one person to set up the account and get the bankcard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I don’t understand why it needs to be this hard.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The bank employee’s response was “This is very easy, it is not hard.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">So, off we went to deposit our money, and fill out our forms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We returned to the counter and presented everything we had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The guy behind the counter asked us if we had put any money in our account yet, to which we responded with a frustrated “Yes. We were just there.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He proceeded to do the work necessary for the bankcards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>His next question was, “Do you have your passports?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I replied, “We just gave you our photocopies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We weren’t told to bring in our passports and they are at home.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">After confirming who set up the account for us, the man behind the counter called over to the desk of the person who set up the account.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He then gave us back the paperwork and told us to get the first guy’s signature on the spots indicated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Off we went to the other side of the bank to get the needed signatures.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">We returned again to the enquiries counter to complete the task we set out to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The cards were processes, and printed with our names on them.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We were then told to go to the next window, and wait for the next guy to come and set up our pin numbers.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Once that was done, we tested the cards to make sure they were working.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>All in all a 40 minute job to what was supposed to be walk in and get your card. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">One of the joys of banking under African skies…</p> <!--EndFragment-->Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566199811994392047noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4757760148457025512.post-6821740426787597802009-05-21T12:45:00.000+03:002009-05-21T13:43:54.888+03:00So, You Want to Pet a Rhino...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmOj7rQEokvXqeFAqP8S48ewrK_UiwbfzeGeUMTlBMBF0lYtWp8UlT6XQwd-Az-nC0hc9hlAUu8Jm4uQwncCGOo4wf5EEU3jv3SrZah6RRhKylUtqkxxRJ6hGmo-mng9QqgfVRjLZQEAvA/s1600-h/P1140194.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmOj7rQEokvXqeFAqP8S48ewrK_UiwbfzeGeUMTlBMBF0lYtWp8UlT6XQwd-Az-nC0hc9hlAUu8Jm4uQwncCGOo4wf5EEU3jv3SrZah6RRhKylUtqkxxRJ6hGmo-mng9QqgfVRjLZQEAvA/s320/P1140194.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338223039342517138" /></a><br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">It has been some months since I last posted a blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Things are going well for me here in Kitale.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I have been extremely busy with learning all of the ins and outs of what needs to be done.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I recently finished reading the book “Ragamuffin Gospel” by Brennan Manning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>If you are looking to gain a greater understanding of the grace of God, I highly recommend it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In this book he talks about the loss of wonder that we have for the world around us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He writes, “By and large, our world has lost its sense of wonder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We have grown up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We no longer catch our breath at the sight of a rainbow or the scent of a rose, as we once did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We have grown bigger and everything else smaller, less impressive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We get blasé and worldly-wise and sophisticated.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We no longer run our fingers through water, no longer shout at the stars or make faces at the moon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Water is H<sub>2</sub>O, the stars have been classified, and the moon is not made of green cheese.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Thanks to satellite TV and jet planes, we can visit places once accessible only to a Columbus, a Balboa, and other daring explorers.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This was made real to me over the past couple of months as I had the opportunity to witness a couple of children we spent time with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The first was the child of a missionary couple we hang out with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>His parents had gone away for a week to take one of the children they care for to a hospital for treatment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>While he was here, we took him out to the backyard for some fresh air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Meredith and I watched as he explored his world around him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>One item that was of particular fascination was the pen that we keep the rabbits in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> It was empty, and gave the child an opportunity for exploration. </span>This one-year-old boy looked, poked at, crawled around and in this cage lined with chicken wire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He looked at the water that was in the margarine container and dumped it out so he could add twigs and leaves and any other treasures he found on his journey.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I stood back and watched a bit on edge to make sure that he didn’t hurt himself, or pick up anything that he shouldn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I was laughing at the thought of how interested he was in how everything worked.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>What happened when he stood inside the cage (as it was on its side)?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>What happened when he pressed on the chicken wire?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>What happened when he put his fingers in the holes of the chicken wire?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>His amazement with the world around him was huge, and he was exploring all that he could.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The whole time I was watching this toddler explore the wonders of the world, I couldn’t relax.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I had to watch and make sure that he didn’t cause himself any harm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I started thinking about how there was no fear in his adventure on his part, but for me there was no peace unless I was assured that he wouldn’t get a cut, or eat something off the ground that might make him sick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Part of a response might be that as a responsible adult, it is my duty to make sure that he is safe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>However, why wasn’t I on the ground with him, getting myself dirty, and searching out the wonders of the world around me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Why didn’t the leaf that he showed me overly impress me?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Or, the rock he had put into the container?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The second event of the wonder of a child came when some friends came to visit us for a month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>They brought their two-year-old daughter, and we took them to the baby elephant orphanage in Nairobi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>While we were there we found out about how the people care for the elephants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We got to see them in their various stages of growth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>For the “finale” the keepers brought out a baby rhinoceros for us to see, and our friends’ daughter got to pet the baby rhino.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It was very exciting!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>On our way out of the orphanage, the gates to another area were opened and we were able to see a few full-grown rhinos in some pens.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Some people were able to go up to the pens and take pictures of the rhinos through the bars of the pens.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But if the rhinos walked too close the people would back away.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It was at one of these times, that the little girl decided that she might like to pet the rhino.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>She reached out her hand and went up to the pen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Her mother grabbed her at the last second, and a woman standing close by said, “Well, she has no fear!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There is a definite wonder that has been lost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Why don’t we want to try to pet rhinos?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Why don’t we find amazement in a leaf?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Brennan Manning offers some insight into these questions:</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top:0in;margin-right:.5in;margin-bottom:0in;margin-left:.5in;margin-bottom:.0001pt">We get so preoccupied with ourselves, the words we speak, the plans and projects we conceive, that we become immune to the glory of creation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We barely notice the cloud passing over the moon or the dewdrops clinging to the rose petals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The ice on the pond comes and goes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The wild blackberries ripen and wither.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The blackbird nests outside our bedroom window, but we don’t see her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We avoid the colds and heat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We refrigerate ourselves in summer and entomb ourselves in plastic in winter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We rake up every leaf as it falls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We are so accustomed to buying prepackaged meats and fish and fowl in supermarkets, we never think and blink about the bounty of God’s creation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We grow complacent and lead practical lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We miss the experience of awe, reverence, and wonder.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top:0in;margin-right:.5in;margin-bottom:0in;margin-left:.5in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top:0in;margin-right:.5in;margin-bottom:0in;margin-left:.5in;margin-bottom:.0001pt">Our world is saturated with grace, and the lurking presence of God is revealed not only in spirit but in matter—in a deer leaping across a meadow, in the flight of an eagle, in fire and water, in a rainbow after a summer storm, in a gentle doe streaking through a forest, in Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, in a child licking a chocolate ice cream cone, in a woman with windblown hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>God intended for us to discover His loving presence in the world around us.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right:.5in"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s time to stop and smell the roses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Let us not take the world, or the creation in and around it, for granted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I hope that I will never again miss the opportunity to look with wonder at creation through the eyes of a child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Discover the flexibility of the stem of a flower.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Think about the vegetables in the garden and marvel at how a plant can give us needed nutrients.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Stop and look and wonder of birds in flight while you are walking the sidewalks of your towns and cities.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">**Quotes taken from "Ragamuffin Gospel" by Brennan Manning. pgs 90-91.</p> <!--EndFragment-->Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566199811994392047noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4757760148457025512.post-68896868362650819652008-12-16T06:40:00.000+03:002008-12-18T11:16:33.004+03:00The CrossingThis is the only adventure that I have felt that I could blog about that was exciting enough to talk about. Not that I have had a boring past four months. It is just that everything that I have participated in has been what takes place on a daily basis here. Or, is something that someone else has blogged about already.<div><br /></div><div>The other day, Daniel took two of the young men that have just joined TI (Mark and Derrick), and me out on a tour of Shimo La Tewa, the slum area in Kitale that is just about in our backyard. While we didn't enter the heart of Shimo, we crossed the bridge that leads you to that heart. There is a river that runs under the bridge. From that river, people gather the water they need for drinking, they will gather water to do laundry, or bathe. As we prepared to cross back over the bridge to follow the roads out of Shimo, we were discussing different ways that people could access the water without having to go down the ravine to fetch it. There was talk of a pulley system, or of a windmill that could gather the water to bring it to the bridge level.</div><div><br /></div><div>As we turned to make our way across, we heard the approaching of chanting from a circumcision party. The four of us turned to look, and saw that the party was going to be crossing the same bridge as we were. Daniel promptly told us that we had to get across. While we didn't run, we carried ourselves as fast as we could back to the safety of the other side. No one looked back and a sense of panic overtook us. The sound of what seemed like one hundred men chanting was overwhelming.</div><div><br /></div><div>As we crossed the bridge, I started to feel dizzy. I wanted to get across as quickly as possible. I kept thinking, "Just get across the bridge. Just get across the bridge." Daniel turned to me and said, "Good thing there are no women with us!" We could hear the group closing in on us. Once we got to the other side, we pulled off to one side to let the group pass.</div><div><br /></div><div>Much to our suprise, the group consisted of about twenty to thirty teen-aged kids and a few people in their early twenties. Straggling along behind the group were two elderly ladies, who were very much intoxicated on the local brew. As they passed us, they said in Swahili, "We are going to cut someone so that we can be healed!" Daniel quickly assessed that there was a demonic attachment to the parade and the whole tribal tradition of circumcision. Even Mark and Derrick said that they were experiencing something weird and demonic.</div><div><br /></div><div>This was an eye-opening experience for me. It is one that I am able to laugh about. We have had discussions about the dark side of these circumcision parties. I have seen the parades in town, and have had other parties pass me on the street. This was the first one that had affected me in anyway. Some of you might be wondering what my next course of action will be with this group of circumcisers (for lack of a better term). I won't be doing anything with them. I will be part of the process that teaches the children that we interact with on a personal level that some tribal traditions are good, and others can be met through other means. This is a country that claims to be eighty percent Christian. It is not up to me to interfere with traditions on a large scale. Especially, when there are many traditions in the North American culture that are probably just as bad.</div><div><br /></div><div>There are many activities and rituals that we participate in, and many of them are just as detrimental to our spiritual, and physical well being as what the people of Kenya participate in. We might think about how archaic the practices and traditions of Kenya are, or other parts of Africa for that matter. However, are we really any different? Are the gods that we appease any less primitive? Are our practices and traditions any less archaic?</div><div><br /></div><div>It will be something for me to ponder as I return to Canada this week and face the rush of Christmas and New Year's Eve.</div>Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566199811994392047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4757760148457025512.post-92118151387580246192008-11-30T10:31:00.000+03:002008-11-30T11:01:46.812+03:00Obama-mania & WaldoI have decided to have a little fun with this blog. In light of the recent American election, and all of the Obama-mania that has taken place in Kenya. Everywhere we have gone, people have asked if we were going to vote for Obama (before the election) and then ask us what we think of Obama. I have had to tell people that I really don’t care about Obama, because I am Canadian. I would not vote for him, because I am Canadian. They still ask my opinion, and I have to once again say that I do not know about American politics, and therefore, cannot form an opinion.<br /><br />The people, and the politicians here believe that tourism is going to increase, and that once the president-elect takes office, that he will increase trade with Kenya, and Africa. The reason for the hype is because his father was from Kenya. It will be interesting to see, just how accurate their dreams are going to be. It will also be interesting to see how they will react, if their dreams do not come true.<br /><br />There is a Kenyan music artist here who has written a song called “Obama Be Thy Name.” We are also hearing on the radio the “Barak Obama” song that talks about painting the Whitehouse black. One of the national newspapers in Kenya gave away free calendar posters called “The Year of Obama” and begins with the month of November. You can buy Barak Obama key chains, posters, and other paraphernalia.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYG6r1Z7l77J8WXHfREY8EQ5BAVoPhHIQPjWDeKnG03pex6ahM1MSFTaGSqd6iG7UARa8MOel7-gqmbaO8JxalmYSzs8J795A_0-w0De8hdDk4XbRh6cpF7Ra3Lr4g-W26vTLs_RTRIGKJ/s1600-h/Obama.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYG6r1Z7l77J8WXHfREY8EQ5BAVoPhHIQPjWDeKnG03pex6ahM1MSFTaGSqd6iG7UARa8MOel7-gqmbaO8JxalmYSzs8J795A_0-w0De8hdDk4XbRh6cpF7Ra3Lr4g-W26vTLs_RTRIGKJ/s320/Obama.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274356827823813154" /></a><br /><br />Obama-mania has caused those of us in the TI compound to come up with a few “Obama-isms” of our own. We talk about how we like “Barak-and Roll” music. When something exciting is happening we say “Barak on!” I think I even heard someone make a reference to an “Obama-nation.” Please understand that we are not bashing the newly elected president. We are just feeling like we are caught between “Barak and a hard place” when it comes to celebrating his victory as someone who came from very little, to the 44th president of the United States, and yet is seemingly worshipped as some kind of god.<br /><br />Now to return to things I am here to do in Kenya. I love hanging out with the kids here at out different projects, and meeting different kids on our journeys. One of the first places I visited here (with the rest of the TI team) was a school. I had fun with the kids by jumping with them as they surrounded me and jumped themselves. As I jumped, I would bend my knees to make myself shorter as I jumped. Once I got as low as my legs would allow, I duck-walked around the yard with them. I then extended my hand to shake hands with one of the children. As I shook their hand, I would stand up as though the hand shaking would act a jack. The jumping would begin again when I was back to “full height.”<br /><br />I had my picture taken in the crowd of children, and have included two levels of a “Where’s Waldo” type game for you to pass your time away. Have fun, and I will post more of what is happening under African skies again later.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWq8Fxpnp139bl044r7IkXAa-v98rYXMl63N4r5WZazPQLReZfBdfk06Bh-oL9WkAJA42YB_7_sqOGTC89UfoUdW6KHB3l-gqVC0p59OaM7OnCtknTvog-HdRiEeJ5dN90j8_Jy4DoLak_/s1600-h/Waldo+1.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWq8Fxpnp139bl044r7IkXAa-v98rYXMl63N4r5WZazPQLReZfBdfk06Bh-oL9WkAJA42YB_7_sqOGTC89UfoUdW6KHB3l-gqVC0p59OaM7OnCtknTvog-HdRiEeJ5dN90j8_Jy4DoLak_/s320/Waldo+1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274352496558850018" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2TvgrqpStZyFc4mklqXUdxdSD9wglQvDiOTIQWOGf92Z8Br5dH9MHxzF1PaqS1ol0FhT6SwnBtYaS4gfkWhNmponFUDIpHemFu-1kZGHVCz4nDAXcI2KYkDt56Xw4iCL94B8DP2vIV8rn/s1600-h/Waldo+2.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2TvgrqpStZyFc4mklqXUdxdSD9wglQvDiOTIQWOGf92Z8Br5dH9MHxzF1PaqS1ol0FhT6SwnBtYaS4gfkWhNmponFUDIpHemFu-1kZGHVCz4nDAXcI2KYkDt56Xw4iCL94B8DP2vIV8rn/s320/Waldo+2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274353789938292866" /></a><br /><div><br /></div>Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566199811994392047noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4757760148457025512.post-68225823868231409812008-10-17T13:31:00.000+03:002008-10-21T13:12:29.523+03:00A Realization of PurposeWe were discussing in our group devotion time about doing more than talking about our faith, and what it means to serve those around us and meet their needs. So many times we are asked what it is that we do when we participate in a mission trip. I have had people ask me what I am doing in Kenya. I came to the realization the other morning, that what I do should not be talked about. I should not provide a list of the things TI does. If you want to know what it is that I believe, if you want to know what it is that I do, go out into the community and serve those who are in need. I am sure that there are people who live in your community that need groceries purchased in order to survive the week. There are students in your area that need help with their school work, but cannot afford a tutor. If you would like, I am sure I could show you examples when I am around in Canada, or you can come here and get a feeling for it yourself. Just don't expect to leave what you do here, in Kenya. Take what you do back home with you and learn how to apply what you do in a third world country, to a first world country.<br /><br />Some want to know if we are saving souls for God. The answer to that is yes, but not in the way that you are expecting us to. We are participating in God's plan for restoring of all of creation to Him. He is not interested in a person's spirit only. He is not going to raise their ghost so that a person can play a harp for him while sitting on a cloud. God is interested in the entire person, body and soul. God wants to have creation back to the perfect state it was in before sin entered the world. We all have the chance to operate in the plan.<br /><br />Jesus was doing more than just making sure that people were going to heaven. He was restoring them to the Father so that creation was just a little bit better than it was. He was asked by John the Baptist, through his disciples, if Jesus was the one to be expected. Jesus did not respond by telling him how many people he had ushered into heaven when they died. His response talked about the sick that were healed. If you want to know if I am making a difference in the spiritual lives of others, I will ask you what you see when you look at the TI site. Children are being fed and educated, their widowed mothers and grandmothers are earning a living. Street girls are being taken off the street and given a home to live in, food in their bellies, an education, and are surrounded by people who love them for who they are, not what they can get from them.<br /><br />Everything in life is spiritual, because God is in all and through all. When someone becomes a little bit more whole because of a need being met in their physical life, their spiritual life is affected too. We read in the book of Hebrews that the great heroes of faith did not see the end result of what they were doing. I will not see the end result of what I am doing while I am still alive, but I know that everything that I am doing is for the benefit of God's Kingdom when it is restored to the proper design.<br /><br /><br /><br />I could never understand why I was feeling so awkward when people asked me what I would be doing. I now understand the reason. I had not contributed to the needy. I had given money to things, and I had provided clothing to organizations, but I never stepped into the lives of those who were in need and truly saw their need. My role here is still developing, but I no longer am ashamed that I didn't know how to answer people. For those of you who pray for me, continue to ask God to show me what it is that I am doing here. I need guidance on how to come along side the interns and help them understand their purposes when they are here and when they return to their homes.<br /><br />I may be opening a can of worms for some people. However, as I stated in my blurb about me, I want to encourage people to make a difference in the world, and see the world as something bigger than their individual stories. I think that we as North Americans and Western culture people, have become too self absorbed. We need to look beyond ourselves and start making a difference in the lives around us.<br /><br />Until next time....Grace and Peace.Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566199811994392047noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4757760148457025512.post-1236720709882629742008-09-01T18:04:00.001+03:002008-09-01T18:15:24.061+03:00One Week Under African Skies<span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">At the time I originally wrote this, I had been in Kenya for a week. It has taken almost another week to get this posted thanks to the frustrations of internet connections (or, lack thereof)...</span><br /><br /> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">It has been one week since I landed in Nairobi.<span style=""> </span>I hit the ground running, as I got a chance to visit with most of the projects supported in one fashion or another by Transformed International (TI). There are still a lot of adjustments to make to my new home here in Kitale.<span style=""> </span>Not the least of which is recognizing that Kitale is now my home.<span style=""> </span>I am feeling somewhat disjointed, but am slowly fitting into the culture here.<span style=""> </span>The language barrier is huge.<span style=""> </span>All I can do is sit and listen to the Swahili being spoken around me, and ask for translation if I think that I should know what is being said.</p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">On Saturday, we went to visit Hope Bright Future (HBF), which is the children’s home that TI sponsors.<span style=""> </span>As soon as we rode in on the back of the boda bodas (bicycle taxi’s), the children came running to meet us.<span style=""> </span>Two boys immediately latched on to me, and proceeded to treat me as their own personal mzungu (white person) jungle gym.<span style=""> </span>The first child to greet me and tell me his name was Molongo.<span style=""> </span>I picked him up and he proceeded to ask the kids if they knew who I was.<span style=""> </span>When they told him “No” he proudly told them that he did know me, and that my name was Sean.</p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">The second boy, John, clung to me for the entire day, and only let go when it was time to take lunch, and when it was time to go.<span style=""> </span>The rest of the day was spent with him sitting on my lap, walking as he held my hand, jumping up and hooking his legs around mine so that he could hang upside down while I walked (a very difficult task to accomplish I might add).<span style=""> </span>The older girls in the home treated us to a couple of dramas, some poems, and a few songs.<span style=""> </span>They were very good.<span style=""> </span>One of the dramas was called “The Stupid Maid.”<span style=""> </span>It was about a girl who was hired as a maid, but knew nothing of what is meant to be a maid, or how to do anything.<span style=""> </span>She was shown around the house and how things worked, and what their purpose was.<span style=""> </span>She was told that the fridge was for making warm things cold.<span style=""> </span>When the lady who hired her left for the day, the stupid maid found that the baby was warm and remembered, “Madam said that if something is warm, it is to go into the fridge.”<span style=""> </span>The maid promptly put the baby in the fridge.<span style=""> </span>When the mother came home, she had to call the police to come and arrest her stupid maid, because the baby did not survive the stay in the fridge.<span style=""> </span>It was a rather morbid, but funny story none-the-less.</p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">Today (Wednesday), Daniel and I went to the street girls’ home to make a delivery, and to see how they are doing. We sat in on their sewing class for an hour, and watched as they each took turns naming the parts of the sewing machine and the tools that go with sewing, as well as watching them thread the machines.<span style=""> </span>Daniel said that they are more attentive to the seamstress than they are to their teacher for their schooling.<span style=""> </span>It was good to see them doing so well.<span style=""> </span>It is not an easy life that they have left behind, and the rules for them are pretty strict.<span style=""> </span>One of the original street girls, who left the project just 20 days in, begged Daniel, Meredith and Anne to take her back.<span style=""> </span>She said that she realized that she truly was alone on the streets and that she made a big mistake in leaving.<span style=""> </span>She returned to the NEEMA (pronounced nay-ma) home yesterday to even stricter rules than that of her house mates, and knows that this is her final chance to make a better life for herself.<span style=""> </span>If she leaves now, or in the future, she will not be allowed back ever.</p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: arial;">There is so much to report on, but I can’t put it all down.<span style=""> </span>I will try and update more quickly in the future, provided I can get the internet to co-operate with me.</span>Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566199811994392047noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4757760148457025512.post-38561493251952170982008-07-31T16:27:00.000+03:002008-08-01T17:22:54.353+03:00It is there, if we dare, or care, to look<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I was talking with my fiancee on MSN (as we so often do because she is in Kenya now). We were discussing different items that are in the news, and what makes the news in Canada and the U.S. and what makes the news in Kenya. As small as the world has become, thanks to the travel industry and the internet, it is still a very large planet when it comes to news items.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">The team at Transformed International is plugged into "Google News" feeds, and receives reports on everything that is happening in Kenya. Thanks to the internet, it is so much easier to find out what is happening in the world if we dare to look, or even care about what is happening beyond our front door. National news broadcasts are only going to give you what they deem to be news worthy, or what they think their audience will find interesting. I understand that there are restrictions to the number of stories that can be told. I understand that there may not be an interest in tourism rates increasing or decreasing in certain parts of the world. Not everyone wants to know how the football (soccer) teams are doing in Tanzania. I get that.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">If you scan the headlines, you can find stories about people who need a better deal in life. I have posted a link on this blog that tells the story of what is happening in the country I am about to enter. It sheds a little light on the uphill battle that faces Kenya. This story is the same story posted by the founder of TI on his blog. I have also posted a link for those of you outside Canada, who may not have heard about a brutal and disgusting attack that took place on a bus traveling across the prairies just the other day. I post it not to sensationalize the story, but to make you aware that Canada is not always the safest place to live. Even though Canada is a relatively safe place to live, there are still actions by people that make us pause and wonder what goes through someone's head sometimes.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">May you pause, and take time to be thankful for what you have. May you come to realize that as small as the world is, it is still bigger than you. May you find a way to get involved in a cause that is bigger than you.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(85, 26, 139); font-family: arial; text-decoration: underline;"><a href="http://www.iht.com/articles/ap/2008/07/31/africa/AF-Kenya-Twilight-Girls.php">Teen prostitution in Kenya</a></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><a href="http://ca.news.yahoo.com/s/capress/080801/national/mba_bus_stabbing">Stabbing on a bus in Manitoba</a></span></div>Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566199811994392047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4757760148457025512.post-30246371523789409402008-07-27T08:11:00.000+03:002008-07-27T09:40:17.548+03:00Ur of the ChaldeansAs I prepare to embark on a new chapter in life, I have been thinking about what it means to truly leave "the home of your family." What I am doing is not a simple move across town. It is not a move across the province, country, or even continent. I am leaving to live half-way around the world. I am leaving the "comforts" of North America, to live in the "comforts" of Africa.<div><br /></div><div>I was recently listening to a message from a pastor in the U.S. In his message he spoke about Abram (who eventually became Abraham), and how his call from God to leave his home, and family, was something completely earth shattering to Abram. The start of Abram's story can be found in Genesis chaper 12. The culture that Abram lived in was completely different than the life he would choose to live in when God called him. Abram was living in a major city. There was industry, and education. People had places to worship to go to. It is believed that Abram's father was an idol carver, and that Abram was his father's salesman. The main god that was worshipped in Ur (Abram's home) was Nannar, the moon god, and the moon goddess, Ningar (you can find all of this out by doing a search on Google. Try "ur of the chaldeans," "call of abram," etc...).</div><div><br /></div><div>Abram leaving the home of his family was not just as easy as "pack up and go." I think that we as English speaking North Americans miss the impact that this would have on Abram, and his family, and his community. This was a call by a personal God to leave the history and tradition of impersonal gods. This was a call for Abram to turn his back on all that he knew and understood, and go to a land he knew nothing about.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am leaving a land of opportunity and wealth to live in a land that is considered impoverished. I am leaving a country I know for a country that I don't know. I am unsure as to what life in Kenya holds for me. The gods that I am leaving here in Canada could be considered, by some, to be money, cars, houses, property, job, income, big screen televisions. The list could go on. I am going with the hopes of showing people in Kenya, that they matter. I want them to see that the choices they make have an impact on their future, and the future of those around them. I want them to know that they are loved, and that they have love to give.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lofty goals? Maybe. Am I dreaming? Maybe. I have to step out in faith. I have to believe that it is possible to make a difference. No matter how small the change, it can make a huge difference down the road. For now, I will walk under African skies...</div>Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566199811994392047noreply@blogger.com3