I think of the trees and how simply they let go, let fall the riches of a season, how without grief (it seems) they can let go and go deep into their roots for renewal and sleep. Eliot's statement comes back to me these days:
"Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still."
Does anything in nature despair except man? Imitate the trees.
-may sarton
November 13, 2008
August 27, 2008
regarding Joska and her people
This is a unique account of my time in Joska. I sincerely know no other way to effectively communicate what I experienced, so I hope this does it well. This is my gift to you.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………..
I am keenly aware of the inability of my words to convey the magnitude and depth in which I wish to describe something. I think that is why I have delayed so long in writing anything that encapsulates (or attempts to do so) my thoughts and feelings in regards to our time in Joska. Even while in Kenya, when I wrote in my journal each day, I was often at a loss for words, not knowing how to describe the people, the land, or our experiences. As I wrote, I realized that the things I wanted to remember were the things that would not last beyond our time there; I wanted to remember what each of my senses were registering- not just what I saw, but also, and perhaps more so, what I smelled, what I touched, what I heard, and what I tasted.
As I wrote each day, I recounted the things that had most intrigued my senses. The objects my eyes kept drifting to, the smell that lingered in my nose, the feel of objects and people that met my hands, the sounds that echoed in my ears even after they vanished, and the tastes that danced in my mouth.
These are the things I do not want to forget…
I will not forget the feel of the children’s hands and the feel of their fuzzy little heads. I will not forget the feel of the soil, dry and dense from lack of rain. I will not forget the strength of the older boy’s hugs. I will not forget seeing some of the most brilliant smiles I have ever seen (Lazarus, Regina, Boaz, Ismail). I will not forget the rawness of Nairobi. I will not forget the kindness and graciousness of the Kenyan people. I will not forget the smell of the dust that long lingered in our nostrils. I will most certainly not forget the sharp smell of sweat, both from the children and from our own bodies. I will not forget the beautiful sound of the children laughing. I will not forget the long sweeps of time with no noise except the distant sound of cattle or children. I will not forget the sight of the vast landscapes that seemed to sprawl indefinitely. I will not forget the deep and rich smell of the soil. I will not forget Edgar and his kind eyes. I will not forget the feel of the breeze as it whirled over us and cooled our bodies as we worked. I will not forget the brilliant colors in the markets that lined the streets from Nairobi to Joska. I will not forget the feel of the giraffes and the sight of their absurdly long black tongues. I will not forget the patience and gratitude that the children displayed when receiving their shoes. I will not forget the sounds of the Kenyan people singing to us, with its robustness and beauty. I will not forget the sound of David’s prayer as he prayed for John, a 12-year-old boy who had never walked or spoken. I will not forget the sounds of my teammates as each one of us quietly mourned during that very prayer. I will not forget the sight of my sponsored kid (man), Ismail, as he worked with such strength and efficiency. I will not forget the sound of David’s voice as he drove us, rather propelled us, along the rocky roads of Kenya. I will not forget the joyful sounds of Bwana asi fewai, which means “Praise the Lord” in Swahili and is always followed by a rousing “Amen”. I will not forget Esther and her eyes that literally seemed to call out to us. I will not forget Boaz and his smile in which I was certain I could truly see Christ. I will not forget the sound and Spirit-breathed peace of Mercy’s prayer as we arrived in Kenya haggard and slightly defeated. I will not forget the sight of increasingly larger amounts of people from the community coming to join us in digging the trench. I will not forget the sounds of Ismail and I whistling together as we walked towards the trench to begin digging for the day. I will not forget the tiny face of Joyce, the first child I was able to hold (pictured above). I will not forget the sight of the beautiful children that we met during each of our house visits. I will not forget the Stephanie’s story about pelicans and God’s sovereignty. I will not forget the sounds of the prayers poured over us as we prepared to leave Joska. I will not forget the sounds as the children from Joska danced and sang with such vigor and joy.
These are the things I will not forget.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………
Trinityjoska.blogspot.com
Flickr.com/photos/treeswillclap
July 21, 2007
visual memories from the north country
needles highway
montana sky
the badlands at sunset
holly and elizabeth, and one majestic buffalo
yellowstone hot springs
tree in yellowstone
i miss you and i miss home
i love it here and i'd love to be gone
when i return, make me be brave
make me be weak, and make me be grave
help me dance in Christ's joy and weep with creation's pain
until the return of Christ our redemption, who forever will reign
montana sky
the badlands at sunset
holly and elizabeth, and one majestic buffalo
yellowstone hot springs
tree in yellowstone
i miss you and i miss home
i love it here and i'd love to be gone
when i return, make me be brave
make me be weak, and make me be grave
help me dance in Christ's joy and weep with creation's pain
until the return of Christ our redemption, who forever will reign
June 26, 2007
corner of chicago and ashland
Pennies, face up, are good luck. Slight good luck in our economy, but luck itself is a precious commodity akin to hope. And hope, whether valued at a cent or constructed as a rainbow, is one of only three things that actually remain.
There was one such heads-up, hopeful penny on the corner of Chicago and Ashland where we met Robert. Within an acquaintance of two hours, our time with Robert would challenge some of our limited conceptions about urban homelessness.
Robert and I spotted the penny at the same time, but it was Robert, himself asking for pennies, who forbade me from picking this one up.
“It’s heads up. Good luck. Leave that for somebody else.”
We did, and Robert, Nikki, Casey, Elizabeth, and I walked the two blocks from Robert’s corner to the local coffee shop with WiFi access. We shared drinks, and he shared his sandwich with Casey and Nikki.
Mostly, though, we listened.
Listened to Robert, three months new to Chicago, speak on such varied subjects as the twelve tribes of Israel and the perils of excessive gold teeth. Not at all the type of conversation our preconceived notions would have envisioned.
In special ed since 4th grade, Robert’s ability to be just as conversant as us was humbling. Often, there is an arrogance among formally educated people where condescension colors even sincere kindness.
So four subtly shocked suburban girls sat speechless for a more proper education.
Robert panhandles because he is schizophrenic and hears voices and must deal with people on his own terms which themselves are highly dictated by his medication. Even accompanying four non-menacing white girls to a coffee shop on a sunny Sunday afternoon was unnerving for him. Paranoia and anxiety mark the mentally ill and to ask someone to “trust us and you’ll get dinner” suddenly seems very unfair.
And the alcohol on his breath is no more than what I have smelt on my own friends’ breaths, yet never critiqued their choices.
We figured Robert’s childhood contributed to his situation on the streets, but six years old and raped? A mom who bore him at 14? Best friends gunned down just hours after you saw them? Poor decisions borne of poor conditions.
Robert never made excuses, but retained a dignity that says one shouldn’t have to.
Mozart was one of our final topics and he exited unassumingly with his bags.
He wants a job, but needs an ID.
I have a strong desire to dissect here, and the questions are worthy of discussion…
Why should a stranger trust you enough to go anywhere with you? Where do people with mental or physical impairments go if they have no family? What else can you do if the streets are literally all you have ever known? Where are the second and third chances? Why are people in shelters when so many Christians have spare rooms?
…but internal reflection seemed more befitting our encounter.
Issues have faces, and statistics drink Iced Raspberry Mocha’s and sometimes you just feel as if Jesus would have handled things differently. So you just remain silent.
There is a penny, face up, on the corner of Chicago and Ashland. Robert left it there, and maybe, just maybe, hope remains.
(holly)
There was one such heads-up, hopeful penny on the corner of Chicago and Ashland where we met Robert. Within an acquaintance of two hours, our time with Robert would challenge some of our limited conceptions about urban homelessness.
Robert and I spotted the penny at the same time, but it was Robert, himself asking for pennies, who forbade me from picking this one up.
“It’s heads up. Good luck. Leave that for somebody else.”
We did, and Robert, Nikki, Casey, Elizabeth, and I walked the two blocks from Robert’s corner to the local coffee shop with WiFi access. We shared drinks, and he shared his sandwich with Casey and Nikki.
Mostly, though, we listened.
Listened to Robert, three months new to Chicago, speak on such varied subjects as the twelve tribes of Israel and the perils of excessive gold teeth. Not at all the type of conversation our preconceived notions would have envisioned.
In special ed since 4th grade, Robert’s ability to be just as conversant as us was humbling. Often, there is an arrogance among formally educated people where condescension colors even sincere kindness.
So four subtly shocked suburban girls sat speechless for a more proper education.
Robert panhandles because he is schizophrenic and hears voices and must deal with people on his own terms which themselves are highly dictated by his medication. Even accompanying four non-menacing white girls to a coffee shop on a sunny Sunday afternoon was unnerving for him. Paranoia and anxiety mark the mentally ill and to ask someone to “trust us and you’ll get dinner” suddenly seems very unfair.
And the alcohol on his breath is no more than what I have smelt on my own friends’ breaths, yet never critiqued their choices.
We figured Robert’s childhood contributed to his situation on the streets, but six years old and raped? A mom who bore him at 14? Best friends gunned down just hours after you saw them? Poor decisions borne of poor conditions.
Robert never made excuses, but retained a dignity that says one shouldn’t have to.
Mozart was one of our final topics and he exited unassumingly with his bags.
He wants a job, but needs an ID.
I have a strong desire to dissect here, and the questions are worthy of discussion…
Why should a stranger trust you enough to go anywhere with you? Where do people with mental or physical impairments go if they have no family? What else can you do if the streets are literally all you have ever known? Where are the second and third chances? Why are people in shelters when so many Christians have spare rooms?
…but internal reflection seemed more befitting our encounter.
Issues have faces, and statistics drink Iced Raspberry Mocha’s and sometimes you just feel as if Jesus would have handled things differently. So you just remain silent.
There is a penny, face up, on the corner of Chicago and Ashland. Robert left it there, and maybe, just maybe, hope remains.
(holly)
June 23, 2007
afterthoughts on the altar (i am not like my Jesus)
I am not at all like my Jesus.
My worship has been convenient, slight.
Ephemeral and immaterial--a good girl with a limited glory.
No--my Jesus is GLORY.
He stands at the threshold of time ushering it away--He will come. A sweeping return and the storms will cower at His majesty.
Beautiful and terrible to behold.
No--I am not at all like that.
Hiding under the bed, crying at the storm, my distrust weakens my vision and I no longer see that I was fashioned thunder, lightening, and rain.
Glorious, my Jesus WAS and IS and IS TO COME.
The very voice of God calling to one still deciding on her voice.
There are roads and maps and signs and I am too stupid to find the way.
No--I am not like my Jesus.
Opening doors, tipping well, hoping for greatness, yet my deeds condense into a small box labeled self.
Having never really died nor lived.
Lukewarm is the venomous adjective best describing my treachery.
My Jesus went to the people fixed on ripping and shattering and butchering His body and encouraged them “take, eat.”
I just take.
Eat.
Consume.
Devour.
Ravenous, there is good I will not do, but none I will not take.
No--my Jesus loves widely, wildly with hands stained by dirt, tears, blood, and hope.
If I were like my Jesus, I would cup the widow’s head in my hands and say--”tell me your story. Let my heart break with yours.”
And I would find the one every time and forget the rich, easy beauty of the ninety-nine.
My Jesus sees.
And He sees me.
I stand beloved despite my infidelity and adultery. He winks at me with stars and creates for me new colors.
My selfish hands meagerly offer leftovers and litter. Afterthoughts at the altar.
Flesh and divinity, I am too soon the harlot and too much ice to embrace either.
No--I am not like me Jesus.
But He loves me.
He calls this vagabond, princess.
His beloved, baby girl, daughter.
He loves me unfairly, extravagantly.
He sees more in me than my mirror-enslaved eyes can fathom.
He leads me to still waters even as I chase the waterfall.
No.
I am not like my Jesus.
My words do not drip life.
My fragrance does not heal.
My touch is more sandpaper than velvet.
I am so marred.
He is so clean.
But I have been bought at a great price and my limitedness is redeemed.
He is, so I can be.
All my wretchedness enveloped in a new inexplicable beauty.
“When Christ, who is your life, appears,
then you also will appear with Him in glory.”
Colossians 3:4
(holly)
My worship has been convenient, slight.
Ephemeral and immaterial--a good girl with a limited glory.
No--my Jesus is GLORY.
He stands at the threshold of time ushering it away--He will come. A sweeping return and the storms will cower at His majesty.
Beautiful and terrible to behold.
No--I am not at all like that.
Hiding under the bed, crying at the storm, my distrust weakens my vision and I no longer see that I was fashioned thunder, lightening, and rain.
Glorious, my Jesus WAS and IS and IS TO COME.
The very voice of God calling to one still deciding on her voice.
There are roads and maps and signs and I am too stupid to find the way.
No--I am not like my Jesus.
Opening doors, tipping well, hoping for greatness, yet my deeds condense into a small box labeled self.
Having never really died nor lived.
Lukewarm is the venomous adjective best describing my treachery.
My Jesus went to the people fixed on ripping and shattering and butchering His body and encouraged them “take, eat.”
I just take.
Eat.
Consume.
Devour.
Ravenous, there is good I will not do, but none I will not take.
No--my Jesus loves widely, wildly with hands stained by dirt, tears, blood, and hope.
If I were like my Jesus, I would cup the widow’s head in my hands and say--”tell me your story. Let my heart break with yours.”
And I would find the one every time and forget the rich, easy beauty of the ninety-nine.
My Jesus sees.
And He sees me.
I stand beloved despite my infidelity and adultery. He winks at me with stars and creates for me new colors.
My selfish hands meagerly offer leftovers and litter. Afterthoughts at the altar.
Flesh and divinity, I am too soon the harlot and too much ice to embrace either.
No--I am not like me Jesus.
But He loves me.
He calls this vagabond, princess.
His beloved, baby girl, daughter.
He loves me unfairly, extravagantly.
He sees more in me than my mirror-enslaved eyes can fathom.
He leads me to still waters even as I chase the waterfall.
No.
I am not like my Jesus.
My words do not drip life.
My fragrance does not heal.
My touch is more sandpaper than velvet.
I am so marred.
He is so clean.
But I have been bought at a great price and my limitedness is redeemed.
He is, so I can be.
All my wretchedness enveloped in a new inexplicable beauty.
“When Christ, who is your life, appears,
then you also will appear with Him in glory.”
Colossians 3:4
(holly)
June 20, 2007
pictures from milwaukee and a quick word
church at holy hill
steeple of church at holy hill
we're leaving again tomorrow for the rest of our trip. we're focusing on the cities of chicago, seattle, and portland so that we can glean and serve with communities and people for longer periods of time, instead of moving quickly from city to city. the others and i don't do well with writing in here, and i think the majority of our communication about the trip will be done in the emails, so this most likely will remain more of a personal notepad and sketchpad of sorts.
i look forward to seeing you all in august.
June 9, 2007
snapshots
just a few pictures from our trip so far.
for more go to http://flickr.com/photos/treeswillclap
enjoy!
our faithful ride
reba place fellowship
view from a place in evanston
the bean in chicago
view from millenium park
view from the navy pier
the metra
building by the river
for more go to http://flickr.com/photos/treeswillclap
enjoy!
our faithful ride
reba place fellowship
view from a place in evanston
the bean in chicago
view from millenium park
view from the navy pier
the metra
building by the river
June 7, 2007
we have only just begun
i apologize that we have not yet posted a blog about what we have been experiencing. we still have much to process and discuss, and this blog will surely provide little of what we wish to share.
our first few days in chicago were spent with reba place community in evanston, illinois. we were humbled by their hospitality and humility. while we were there, we were welcomed many times to share meals with the Clearing, one of the most organized and diverse homes within the community. we also shared meals with several different homes within the community, enjoying the knowledge and encouragement of many different reba people. we worshiped at reba place church with the entire fellowship, we conversed with many members of the community about the function of each home and the role of the community within the surrounding neighborhood, we worked in gardens, visited the recyclery, and witnessed and heard of their work to generate social change by actively seeking change and by serving and loving their neighbors. but most importantly, we experienced the incarnate body of Christ.
we left reba place on tuesday and have been staying with a friend of a friend in arlington heights, outside of chicago (thank you, brad). here, we are still experiencing hospitality and the kindness of the body. we will be here until friday. we spent all day in downtown chicago yesterday. i can't even begin to tell you how much we walked. we enjoyed the busyness and vastness of the city, and also the city's quaint familiarity. we all love chicago.
as i said before, holly, casey, and i have a lot to continue to pray about, discuss, and process. our hope is to be able to share that with you as we are able. thank you for your continued prayers, encouragement, and concern.
Nikki
p.s. i had every intention of posting pictures today, but my camera cord is back at jimmy's house, so i'll post them later.
our first few days in chicago were spent with reba place community in evanston, illinois. we were humbled by their hospitality and humility. while we were there, we were welcomed many times to share meals with the Clearing, one of the most organized and diverse homes within the community. we also shared meals with several different homes within the community, enjoying the knowledge and encouragement of many different reba people. we worshiped at reba place church with the entire fellowship, we conversed with many members of the community about the function of each home and the role of the community within the surrounding neighborhood, we worked in gardens, visited the recyclery, and witnessed and heard of their work to generate social change by actively seeking change and by serving and loving their neighbors. but most importantly, we experienced the incarnate body of Christ.
we left reba place on tuesday and have been staying with a friend of a friend in arlington heights, outside of chicago (thank you, brad). here, we are still experiencing hospitality and the kindness of the body. we will be here until friday. we spent all day in downtown chicago yesterday. i can't even begin to tell you how much we walked. we enjoyed the busyness and vastness of the city, and also the city's quaint familiarity. we all love chicago.
as i said before, holly, casey, and i have a lot to continue to pray about, discuss, and process. our hope is to be able to share that with you as we are able. thank you for your continued prayers, encouragement, and concern.
Nikki
p.s. i had every intention of posting pictures today, but my camera cord is back at jimmy's house, so i'll post them later.
June 3, 2007
we're in chicago! (evanston, actually)
hello all! i just wanted you guys to know that we arrived in chicago safely on friday night at 2 am.
we have been interacting, working, eating, and speaking with members of the reba place community in chicago. they are wonderfully kind and hospitable people. tomorrow we will be given the official tour and talk, so we will surely have much to ponder and discuss tomorrow. already the trip has given us much to think about and pray about.
we love chicago and we love the city of evanston. it's fantastic. right now we're sitting at a coffee shop in downtown evanston, not far from the lake. the shins, radiohead,and regina spektor were playing earlier. gooooooood.
we hope you all are doing well. we will be posting more soon. we thank you for your prayers.
be the light, be the hands, and be the grace of Christ.
nikki
personal note- i seriously miss you all. i would love if you guys texted or called to say hello, and i will do the same.
we have been interacting, working, eating, and speaking with members of the reba place community in chicago. they are wonderfully kind and hospitable people. tomorrow we will be given the official tour and talk, so we will surely have much to ponder and discuss tomorrow. already the trip has given us much to think about and pray about.
we love chicago and we love the city of evanston. it's fantastic. right now we're sitting at a coffee shop in downtown evanston, not far from the lake. the shins, radiohead,and regina spektor were playing earlier. gooooooood.
we hope you all are doing well. we will be posting more soon. we thank you for your prayers.
be the light, be the hands, and be the grace of Christ.
nikki
personal note- i seriously miss you all. i would love if you guys texted or called to say hello, and i will do the same.
May 31, 2007
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