Hey y'all. These are a few musings I wrote the day before we left...gosh I miss it all
Getting off the planeStepping off the plane into this strange land, my senses were immediately at capacity. The heavy, damp, industrial air of Upper East Tennessee was replaced by a thin, dry, and oddly smelling substance. I had last been in London’s Heathrow airport, a picture of modernity and I now was in an airport seemingly designed by Mike Brady. In less than a second, I was keenly aware that home was far, far away. Seized by the intensity and anxiety that accompanies such a revelation, questions permeated my mind. What am I doing? Why am I here? Is this God’s will? Do I want to serve him? Through the bevy of thoughts and questions, my mind was interrupted. One of my senses returned to familiarity and my brain unconsciously followed. I then realized that I was softly singing the words "...older than the trees, younger than the mountain, blowing like a breeze." As the chorus of John Denver’s "Country Roads" descended from speakers above, comfort and serenity descended upon me. Though my home was thousands of miles from Nairobi, a song about the very mountains I call home was being played. Astonished by the incredible odds, I began to remember why I had come, and my certainty in God’s calling. In the strangest of places, the most familiar of melodies played. Praise God whose assurance and comfort know no limit of distance.
1st trip to ChurchThroughout the abundance of rides to church in my lifetime, hardly anything eventful ever happened. Perhaps the most memorable was when I was the "navigator" for my dad as he raced his 74 MGB against my brother in his 86 Mazda RX-7. The ride to church alone should have awakened me to the fact that this day would be exceptional. Zebra, wildebeest, gazelle, impala, and camels were all part of the scenery by the trenched and pitted dirt road on which we drove. We parked outside, and upon getting out of our ragged Suzuki, I could feel the energy emanating from the small church 30 yards away. The feeling reminded me of standing outside Neyland Stadium on an October Saturday night. Energy, intensity, passion, excitement, and ferocity generated from 107,000 people pour from every opening; captivating the city. The same detection of these emotions consumed me as we approached the building. Only this wasn’t a modern, elaborate, beast of a structure. We neared a small collection of sticks, twine, and cow dung forming a church. Only 80 or so people were inside, but they had the fire of 80,000. Men leapt, children danced, and mamas twirled towels above their heads. We witnessed a beautiful collusion of passion and submission. People were there sharing the common bond of a life transformed by Christ Jesus. Worries were left at the door and anger was cast aside so that hearts could fully be set on He who redeems. Those in that small church lived Matthew 7:21...their treasures were above. If there is a blessing in poverty it is that you never question whether earth could possibly be better than heaven. Immediately I felt silly for ever worrying about cars, TVs, houses, or any other convenience. I could do nothing but be lost in the shared passion and intoxicated by the joy for Christ that engulfed the building.
TeachingDozens of inquisitive brown eyes were fixated upon me, a clueless, solitary, Caucasian man. Struggling to find words appropriate to the situation, I merely said, "hi, I’m Matt." Moments earlier I had been thrust into a standard 6 (6th grade) classroom in the village of Elengatta, Kenya. Having never taught anything more advanced than subtraction in any school setting, I was hoping for a bit of instruction. Unfortunately, my instructions were as underwhelming as my opening words: "Ask them questions, and they will ask you questions." Attempting to follow these instructions, I asked the class, "What would you like to know about me?" I received nothing but stares as blank as the chalkboard behind me. I began to wonder how on earth I was going to be able to fill a day’s worth of class time. My only idea was to petition God for some kind of breakthrough to at least interact with these children. The awkward silence was broken by my haphazard explanation of America and its characteristics. After drawing a map that bore a closer resemblance to a flounder than to America, I sheepishly asked the class if they had any questions. To my delight, one boy raised his hand. He then said, "We are not getting you." Turns out my Southern US brand of English is a far cry from the Kenyan version. Kenyans speak in a choppy, unsure sounding manner. With my drawn out vowels and shortened suffixes, I may as well have been speaking in Korean. After adjusting mt speech to their understanding we had a great time with one another.
Through this instance I realized something profound. My communication to the children was out of my selfish desire for progress and for time to pass. Nothing was accomplished until I grasped that my teaching was fully for them. Our efforts to help, teach, or instruct others are completely futile when we have ourselves in mind. In removing yourself from consideration, you are allowed to wholly serve others. Even if we’re speaking the same language, a selfish motivation provides a barrier greater than any language can create.
FrederickI walked into the dark, fire smelling home wanting only to drop my belongings. A man I knew only as Pastor was my host and I greeted him upon arrival. Seated across from him on the couch was another African man. His complexion, size, age, fleeting gray hair, late 80s gold glasses, and suspenders made him a perfect double for Terence Mann, James Earl Jones’ character from Field of Dreams. Though the resemblance struck me, I greeted him with due respect. His reply was different, "A blessing to meet you Matthew, my name is Frederick."
For the next 25 or so minutes we shared chai, laughs, and stories form years of ministry. I then learned that I would be sharing a room with Frederick that night and found myself looking forward to another conversation with him. After a few more questions, I politely excused myself to go discuss the following day’s events with my team. When I returned, Pastor was still awake and showed me to my room. To my disappointment, Frederick was sound asleep and obviously unavailable for further conversation. I quietly readied myself for bed and laid down without disturbing Frederick. I had nearly drifted off to sleep when I was startled by an amazingly loud snort. Sitting up, I concluded that either a giant pig was terrorizing Eastern Africa or Frederick was having a heart attack. Looking over at Frederick, I realized that he was sleeping peacefully and heart must have been working fine. As the horrific sound persisted, it slowly began to dawn on me that Frederick was snoring, and it was not going to stop...and I was not going to sleep. As moments became minutes and minutes became hours, my frustrations and weariness grew. Each of my efforts to suppress the sound (which ranged from burying my head in a pillow to removing my shirt, tying it around my head, and twisting the ends to fit in my ears) were abject failures. Nearly four hours after my struggle for slumber began, I finally found it by making enough noise to awaken Frederick. My manufactured coughing spell was enough to quiet him long enough for me to fall asleep.
At the desolate hour of 5:30 (only 2 hours after I had fallen asleep), Frederick woke me with loud morning greetings. Startled by my new found consciousness and angered by the same, I bristled at his words. I suppressed angry thoughts and resentment and mustered a half-hearted reply. Fully dressed in his business attire, Frederick was about to leave. I was expecting a simple goodbye, but instead he asked to pray for me. When first proposed with this I was appalled by his nerve of asking for more of my time, after occupying it for so long the previous night. Again, I mustered a half hearted reply. What followed was one of the most heart-felt, genuine, and articulate prayers for blessing I had ever received. Despite my wooden heart and angry spirit, Frederick refreshed, blessed, and restored me through his prayer. When I first woke up, I saw him as selfish and rude. His prayer alerted me to his true Godliness and humility. I was judging this man’s heart for something he had done in literal unconsciousness. As he got up to leave, I was again struggling for a proper response. My thanks and goodbye probably seemed less genuine the my previous utterances that morning, but it was the most sincere. My struggle for words this time was due to a pierced heart instead of a hardened one. In an instant I learned that selfishness is easily imposed on another when you suffer from the same. Frederick, wherever you are, God bless you.
