Lelei, Psalm 121

My Kenyan friend, Lelei, emailed me recently and asked me to read Psalm 121... He was one of the students (he's just 19), who was right in the middle of all of the political chaos and turmoil in western Kenya...

I lift up my eyes to the hills --
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the LORD,
the Maker of heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot slip --
he who watches over you will not slumber;
indeed, he who watches of Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.

The LORD watches over you --
the LORD is you shade at your right hand;
the sun will not harm you by day,
nor the moon by night.

The LORD will keep you from all harm --
he will watch over your life;
the LORD will watch over your coming and going
both now and forevermore.

"To Know the Cross", Thomas Merton

The Christian must not only accept suffering: he must make it holy. Nothing so easily becomes unholy as suffering.

Merely accepted, suffering does nothing for our souls except, perhaps, to harden them. Endurance alone is no consecration. True asceticism is not a mere cult of fortitude. We can deny ourselves rigorously for the wrong reason and end up by pleasing ourselves mightily with our self-denial.

Suffering is consecrated to God by faith - not by faith in suffering, but by faith in God. Some of us believe in the power and the value of suffering. But such a belief is an illusion. Suffering has no power and no value of its own.

It is valuable only as a test of faith. What if our faith fails the test? Is it good to suffer, then? What if we enter into suffering with a strong faith in suffering, and then discover that suffering destroys us?

To believe in suffering is pride: but to suffer, believing in God, is humility. For pride may tell us that we are strong enough to suffer, that suffering is good for us because we are good. Humility tells us that suffering is an evil which we must always expect to find in our lives because of the evil that is in ourselves. But faith also knows that the mercy of God is given to those who seek him in suffering, and that by his grace we can overcome evil with good. Suffering, then, becomes good by accident, by the good that it enables us to receive more abundantly from the mercy of God. It does not make us good by itself, but it enables us to make ourselves better than we are. Thus, what we consecrate to God in suffering is not our suffering but our selves.

Only the sufferings of Christ are valuable in the sight of God, who hates evil, and to him they are valuable chiefly as a sign. The death of Jesus on the cross has an infinite meaning and value not because it is a death, but because it is the death of the Son of God. The cross of Christ says nothing of the power of suffering or of death. It speaks only of the power of him who overcame both suffering and death by rising from the grave.

The wounds that evil stamped upon the flesh of Christ are to be worshiped as holy not because they are wounds, but because they are his wounds. Nor would we worship them if he had merely died of them, without rising again. For Jesus is not merely someone who once loved us enough to die for us. His love for us is the infinite love of God, which is stronger than all evil and cannot be touched by death.

Suffering, therefore, can only be consecrated to God by one who believes that Jesus is not dead. And it is of the very essence of Christianity to face suffering and death not because they are good, not because they have meaning, but because the resurrection of Jesus has robbed them of their meaning.

To know the cross is not merely to know our own sufferings. For the cross is the sing of salvation, and no one is saved by his own sufferings. To know the cross is to know that we are saved by the sufferings of Christ; more, it is to know the love of Christ who underwent suffering and death in order to save us. It is, then, to know Christ. For to know his love is not merely to know the story of his love, but to experience in our spirit that we are loved by him, and that in his love the Father manifests his own love for us, through his Spirit poured forth into our hearts...

The effect of suffering upon us depends on what we love. If we love only ourselves, suffering is merely hateful. It has to be avoided at all costs. It brings out all the evil that is in us, so that the one who loves only himself will commit any sin and inflict any evil on others merely in order to avoid suffering himself.

Worse, if a person loves himself and learns that suffering in unavoidable, he may even come to take a perverse pleasure in suffering itself, showing that he loves and hates himself at the same time.

In any case, if we love ourselves, suffering inexorably brings out selfishness, and then, after making known what we are, drives us to make ourselves even worse than we are.

If we love others and suffer for them, even without a supernatural love for other people in God, suffering can give us a certain nobility and goodness. It brings out something fine in our natures, and gives glory to God who made us greater than suffering. But in the end a natural unselfishness cannot prevent suffering from destroying us along with all we love.

If we love God, and love others in him, we will be glad to let suffering destroy anything in us that God is pleased to let it destroy, because we know that all it destroys is unimportant. We will prefer to let the accidental trash of life be consumed by suffering in order that his glory may come out clean in everything we do.

If we love God, suffering does not matter. Christ in us, his love, his Passion in us: that is what we care about. Pain does not cease to be pain, but we can be glad of it because it enables Christ to suffer in us and give glory to his Father by being greater, in our hearts, than suffering would ever be.


Siki berurin rana. Be blessed today.

Ash Wednesday on the East Side

This Lenten year... I planned to attend Ash Wednesday service at Westminster Church in Buffalo.

Then Jess got a call yesterday morning from one of our store workers (and friend/little brother/this young man that both of us have come to love so much), Markee, asking if there was any way that we (I) could give him a ride to the East Side to get his birth certificate from his Aunt (his mom isn't present and his dad, well...). He needs his birth certificate so he can finish getting his SS card so that he can get some photo ID so he can get his permit... you get the picture. It's so despairingly sad sometimes, to realize just how much our "system" sets up failure for those who needs its help the most. Markee is one of the fortunate ones... at least he knew his aunt had his birth certificate. Quite a few others have absolutely no idea, or their mom/dad took everything when they left, or it burned in a fire, or it was stolen when their apt was robbed.
But I digress.

Admittedly, I wasn't too excited about driving to the East Side (also referred to as the "[something] war zone") as dark was encroaching on us and the streets were quickly being overgrown with layer upon layer of frozen ice chunkies falling from a seemingly revengeful sky. Scary under my perceived "normal" country conditions let alone driving in the midst of some crazy Buffalo traffic. Not thrilled, but who else did Markee have to take him...? Seriously, nobody. Jess. Me. That's it. And he doesn't have enough money for bus fare. Sobering thought....

So we get to his aunt's house, and he hops out and says he'll be right back... Markee is better at African time than Africans I think. grins (That's not meant offensively by any means!) So close to 40 min later, Jess and I decided that we'll give him "ONE MORE MINUTE". So, out we went in search for Markee, and I in search of their bathroom, and though we found both we also found something that we weren't at all expecting...
An aunt committed to Christ and to her confused at life, errant, lost in his heart Nephew. By the way that both she and Markee's older cousin Douglas peeled into him, it was obvious that they cared deeply for him, and most especially his aunt. "Markee! Y'need to stop messin' aROUND! Git oughta dat mess you in and staat PRAYIN'!! What you doin'?! I done took you ta chaach growin' up! You KNOW how ta make yaself right wi da LORD! You betta start readin' yoa Bible - you got a Bible??! You betta staat prayin' cuz da only one dat can help you outta dat mess you in is JEsus! I'm serious Markee! Stop messin' wit dem druugs and smokin' and all dat! An' stop bein' lazy an' get yoself outta bed in da mornin' and get ta chaach! An' if ya can't read dat Bible you got, den sleep on it! Put it right unda yo PILLOW an' maybe somepin be happenin' when you's aSLEEP! Da only reason you's alive ri'now is cuz da Lord's hand be upon you! But da Lord ain'gonna keep helpin' you if you keep ignorin' him - da mo' you ASK da mo' you RECEIVE!! An' Jesus be da only one dat can help you straighten things out! You listenin' ta me?! I'm serious Markee!"

Wow. I was totally floored. Everything his aunt and cousin said to him had exclamation marks, and for a few brief (20-30 or so) minutes, Jess and I were in a completely different world than the ones we'd grown up in or had ever known. I got my Ash Wednesday service, but from a minister I hadn't foreseen, in a church I didn't know existed, and with sinners who know about God's grace and provision through Jesus Christ more deeply and profoundly than I ever have, and in a different way than I ever will.

The beginning of this Lenten year left me completely exhausted, shattered, physically and emotionally... and maybe spiritually too. The very first day it pried my old eyes away from me (not exactly an easy accomplishment), and started forming new ones in their stead. They're still being formed. Ash Wednesday told me, 'Here. Le'me show you what sacrifice be meanin' HERE. Let me show you what Lent be here. East Side AND West Side. You know what Lent is in a white chaach wi' white friends wi' a white pastor, and dem things be good, bu' you don' know what Lent be fo' us. An' den you be one of us too. Well... maybe no' quite, but at least you understan' different.'

And so I am....

Continue Praying for Kenya...

If all that has happened in Kenya has truly broken my heart, I can't imagine how those must feel who call it home, or who have been there and built relationships with people there for years instead of weeks...
The area where the most violence occurred - western Kenya/the Rift Valley, and particularly the large town of Eldoret - was quite close by to where I was living, working, coming to know the students and teachers and staff at the training center, as well as the surrounding area and community.
Praise God that peace is returning to the area, things are calming down, people's needs are beginning to be met, food and medical provisions are slowly making their way to the people who desperately need them. However, A LOT MORE needs to be done... and things that aren't so easily fixed need the powerful healing touch of the Lord's hand. Neighbors have burned each other's houses down, fought against and killed one another... and based on the violence done against one another, claimed that one tribe's blood is somehow better than another's. Each has taken justice into their own hands... claimed to be the victim and so justified their violence against the other. Yet no one has escaped the tragedy - there are perpetrators and victims on both sides. So pray instead, that people would understand justice as Jesus understood justice... in love and in grace... in forgiveness.

Stories in pictures...

A small sampling of students. :) The girl to the left of me is Helen, and the girl to the right is Nelly. The first time they REALLY opened up with me was when a group of us girls all started talking about boys. hahahaha I did find out a lot of cultural bits on dating and what kinds of boys Kenyan girls like and what happens surrounding marriage... grins


Bagging maize with Jemayo (my first friend, beautiful voice, huge heart) and some of the other students during one of my first days at the training center.


Justice is the boy biting the smirking girl's ear. He is Cosmas the Nightwatchman's son. Cosmas was like... my African dad. He's amazing. Olivia is the little girl front and center (red sweatshirt), one of the many orphans who now have a home at the Kipkaren Children's Home. The day I took this picture we had all gathered at the soccer field to watch the guys play - students vs. staff. Olivia, whom I'd never met before, came up to me and gave me a HUGE hug, and then stuck by my side for the rest of the game. Beautiful kids, eh? So so easy to love.


Linet (quiet and shy, yet funny), Jentrix (absolutely crazy! hehe). Two of my sisters.


Lelei, my little brother. He's pretty awesome. :) He sat behind me in class, and every time I didn't understand something that was being said in Kiswahili, I'd ask him about it later and he'd laugh and tell me what we were doing. The common line went: Lelei, kiyaene?! (Kinandi for - What are we doing?) And he would laugh because I'd spoken in Kinandi and then tell me what was announced or what was said - quite often it was about what we were doing next... Like, "Cherotich (my Nandi name), kiwendi kabungui!" (Kinandi: we're going to the garden). Or whatever variation of that! :)


Me, Joel (quiet and sweet), and Kiruwa (one of the most motivated and hardworking of all the students) - friends and students from the Ag program. This day we spent in the Agro-forestry unit (when you combine forestry and agriculture to create more environmentally sustainable conditions for growing crops, raising animals, etc) preparing baggies of dirt to transplant seedlings. We did something like... 3,000 baggies?!


All of these names and faces... they're all my friends, my brothers and sisters, my neighbors. I love them as I love myself. As they're still on Christmas break, each one is scattered across Kenya - some near, some far, in their own homes and communities with their families and friends. I don't know how any of them are, or how they managed through the post-election violence. I am moved to prayer on their accounts again and again, and I would love for you to join me!

"To: Dan.... Love, Rachel"

Background: My brother, Dan, just moved out of the house and into his own a few weeks ago. His new room just happens to be a very brilliant and altogether wretched shade of PINK. hehehehe So being the very sensitive and loving sister I am *ehem* I wrapped his Christmas present in pink tissue paper with a pink bow...

"To: Dan
Love, Rachel
grins I thought the PINK would compliment your room."



Sisters have to find SOME way of lovingly dishing back the jokes our brothers have so lovingly dished us. hehehe

Merry Christmas!! (literally!) ;-)

Worn Soles

Today (Saturday) I sat under a tarp, brown from dirt and use, with what seemed like millions of holes in it, some big, some small. And light shone through the holes. Light and blue sky. And it struck me that those holes seemed like millions of twinkling stars, and the background of the tarp the deep night sky. Under this sky of tarp and holes I sat behind an old man with splashes of white intertwined throughout the frizzy black strands. The collar of his suitcoat was frayed and threadbare at the neckline, a walking stick held loosely in his stiff crumpled strong black hand, the skin on his feet dry and cracked with age and caked with the dust of paths tread. On those feet were falling-apart sandals made of discarded tire fragments. And as he crossed his ankles underneath his white plastic armchair, I saw that the heels of his soles were worn on the outside edges... Just like mine.