Sweetness Embodied

At recess yesterday, all the Class 2 and 3 were playing futbol.  James, Class 3, was goalie, and a very zealous Moses bulldozed him to get the ball through.  James fell and cried.  We picked him up and dusted him off.  I told him that was what the goalie was for!  Good job! 

And then.

Then, Andrew, a fellow Class 3 kid, put both is hands on James's face, looked him straight in the eyes, and said, "Stop a minute, and let me dry your tears," as he wiped them away with his thumbs.  In seconds, James was in the game again.

Just thought you would like to know that we teach some of the sweetest kids on earth.

Sunday

This is the sign we were looking for Sunday morning. Richard had gone ahead to church to help plan the service so I was bumming a ride with two friends who were relying on me for directions. 

We sludged through the mud and potholes, didn't go far enough, thought we were lost, turned around, came back and taa-daa! 

We made it.  Welcome to a very nice church in Kenya.  Many churches are just cinderblock, wooden beams and corrugated tin, but this church is well established and helping to plant others. I'll walk you through the service.

Each service starts with Praise and Worship.  There might be a choir or small group leading.  Typically there is a keyboard player who experiments until he finds the key the lead singer is already singing in and then joins in full force.  There might also be a drum machine involved.

During this time, people are arriving and packing the church.  Announcements are made well into the church service to make sure as many people as possible will actually be there to hear them.  After more singing, presentations, and a prayer for the children, the Scriptures are read.

The preacher then has the pulpit.  This was Richard's scheduled Sunday to preach in this church.  (He was listed as Bro. Brueck in the bulletin.)  I am always so blessed when he preaches, which is a great thing, because one day, he's going to be my pastor!

Two of our cottages of boys also came to hear Richard preach.  They were all gussied up in their Sunday best suits.  (OK, seriously, that flower-embossed, corduroy three-piece on Michael is killing me with cuteness.)

The church prepared tea and biscuits (cookies) for all of our kids in a separate room underneath the sanctuary.  Morris was double-fisting his tea time experience.

These two girls from the church shared tea with us and finally overcame their shyness to shake hands and smile.

At the end of almost every church service I've been to in Kenya, the congregation says the "grace" together (2 Corinthians 13:14):

May the grace of the Lord Jesus,

And the love of God,

And the fellowship of the Holy Spirit,

Be with you now and forevermore.  Amen.

I pray that these young ones, and all the rest, may truly live this beautiful benediction.

Lunch

I think I've mentioned before that every Tuesday I have lunch duty during the Class 1-3 lunch shift.  I always walk away smiling.  Here's how it goes:

Soap is dispensed and hands are washed.  I mean really.  How many little boys do you know that consistently wash their hands before they eat (or any time) without having to be reminded?

Next comes the best part: FOOD!  The kitchen staff serve the plates and then one of us puts a piece of fruit on it and hands it to the child.  Big smiles from Clinton on getting his plate of ugali and sukumawiki!

Once the food is in hand, the student grabs a mug with a fork and a serviette (napkin).

The teachers on duty help the students fill up the tables and know where to sit.  This is Mr. Onditi, Class 2 teacher extraordinaire.

The minimissionaries and other visitors usually eat lunch with the kids.  They pick a different table to sit at every day.  The students are so sweet about wanting guests to sit with them.  They will do just about anything to secure you at their table!

Once the table of students has said grace together, the kids dig in.

This is Christine, hamming for my camera.  One day, I will do a video post of her so you can meet her.  She's the student who named my elephant key chain "Susan Wanjiru."

Students are encouraged to drink water with their meal, even though this isn't always a cultural thing.  When you have PE in the afternoon in 90 degree weather, drinking water becomes important.

For our resident kids, eating in the dining hall is a way of life.  For our community kids (above), having toast and tea in the morning and lunch everyday might really be the only true nutritious meals they get.  I am so glad that these meals are provided free of charge to all of our students.  I'm also glad I get to share it with them every Tuesday!

Why Reading Is Bad For You

One thing about living overseas in a quiet, out-of-the-way village about 45 minutes from Town on the equator is that the sun always rises at 6:30ish and sets at 6:30ish.  You might have a few minutes on either side depending on the time of year, but really, by 7:00 every night, it's completely dark.  The overseas, out-of-the-way part comes in because driving at night is overrated and somewhat nerveracking.  So what's a missionary to do when the school day is done, the papers are graded, the lesson plans completed and the last piano lesson taught, and it's REALLY dark outside?  Among other things (like blogging), you read.

Let me refer back to the title of the post: Why Reading Is Bad For You.  I'll give you a helpful hint with the picture below:

So the deal is, Richard grew up as a missionary kid in Zambia, and his family experienced the same thing.  His mom chose to read Louis L'Amour books, and she passed the love of the Wild West down to Richard. I have been sucked in to the L'Amour vortex as of late. 

In the latest cowboy epic, one of the characters made "Bearsigns" throughout the book (until he was murdered!) and our curiosity was piqued.  How does one make cowboy donughts?  Never fear.

We found out. Then we coated them with cinnamon-sugar, melted chocolate and powdered sugar.  Delicious. 



My Weekend Away

I am now another year older, and hopefully wiser.  Richard very kindly took me gallivanting, and then to the Tea Farm to celebrate.  I don't have pictures of the gallivanting part, mostly because we went places like the Second-Hand Market where you don't really want to take your camera. But I do have highlights of our home away from home! 

The house.

The garden.

The monkeys.

The dog staring at the monkeys.

The monkey staring back.

Beautifully strange, fluffy flowers.

Long-tailed birds.

And my favourite.  Funky, beautiful, happy, fun.  Just like our weekend.

A Guest Blog: The Celebration of Life

Note from Kate: Richard had the really unique experience of attending a Kenyan funeral in the upcountry a few weeks ago.  I hope you enjoy his story and photos!  I'm pretty much a fan.

There are certain things that are universal. No matter what country you're in, what economic status you're family happens to be, how old you are, if you're a Christian or Muslim, there are certain things that confront everyone; death is just one of the many.

But, how you celebrate and remember the life of the loved one you are laying to rest is definitely not universal as I quickly figured out at my first African funeral.

My adventure started when drove to a local church and my car was loaded with the family members of the deceased (surprise). With everyone loaded, we followed a bus full of church members heading upcountry to the funeral.

We drove and drove and drove. At first the road looked like this:

As the hours passed the scenery changed.

But so did the roads.

For a while there we received what missionaries refer to as the "African massage." About the time I thought my car was going to rattle into pieces we arrived at the church (30 minutes late).

But have no fear. We were some of the first people there and we had some of the family in the car with us (they couldn't start without us). So we waited another 30 minutes for the rest of the guests to show up.

Then we had the funeral, complete with processing the casket down the church aisle to a disco drum beat, a choir concert from several of the participating churches, and an hour sermon on Judas's betrayal of Jesus, followed by the offering.

After the service when I thought we couldn't go any further out into the country, we loaded up and sure enough, found a smaller dirt road with many more bumps.

I had a feeling I had not seen the end when the road stopped, we got out and started walking.

We walked past the family's house, past their cows and out into their shamba (their garden). In Africa, in the upcountry, people are buried on the family land.

Everyone gathered around the burial plot. The casket was lowered into the ground while everyone watched and then the pastor spoke and prayed. The families and elders of the church took handfuls of dirt and sprinkled it on the casket.

The next thing I knew shovels were being passed out. Ladies complete with high-heels and skirts, men with polished leather shoes and suits were filling in the grave. Everyone took two or three shovels full of dirt, put it in the hole and then someone else would take the shovel out of their hand and it would be their turn. This continued for 15 minutes. Everyone in the community took their turn and the community buried their loved one.

After the burial the community and family stuck roses in the lose dirt. They also stuck a cross on the grave labeled: R.I.P with the date.

After the funeral, the several hundred people who came walked up to the house and the family fed them an entire meal.

So, after experiencing another culture's ceremony, the thought that sticks with me is: death comes to us all.

However, the question that must be dealt with is, when death does come are we ready? When we stand before God will it be in shame and terror because we have rejected and sinned against God? Or will it be reverently with songs of praise, cleansed from our sins, and adopted as son's and daughters?

"For we know that if the earthly tent which is our house is torn down, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For indeed in this house we groan, longing to be clothed with our dwelling from heaven, inasmuch as we, having put it on, will not be found naked...Now He who prepared us for this very purpose is God, who gave to us the Spirit as a pledge" 2 Corinthians 5:1-3, 5.

Power of Suggestion

I have lunch duty every Tuesday with classes 1-3.  After making sure everyone is taken care of, the other lunch duty teacher and I pick different tables at which to sit.  It's always a really big deal for the kids if you choose to sit with them, and they treat you like royalty.

Anyway, this Tuesday I sat at a table with four Class 2 boys.  They all tried their best to hold their forks correctly and be little gentlemen.  Towards the end, one boy confessed, "Mrs. Brueck, I'm full."  He still had half a plate of food, so I replied, "I bet your stomach is full, but do you think your leg has any room in it?  Why don't you eat a bite and see."  Lunch was almost over, so I walked around directing traffic.

A few minutes later I came back to see if he had finished.  His plate was clean. "Your leg must have had lots of room in it!" I remarked.

"Yes," he replied very seriously, "lots."



Playing Hooky

Wednesday I played hooky from school (with permission of course) to visit a Widows' Group in the upcountry.  Originally, I was supposed to take the head of shipping from our Home Office only, but our group grew to include our President, two of her granddaughters and our Village Director.  It was really nice to have a larger group, especially for the women we visited.  They were so hospitable!

We drove over an hour into the upcountry, away from Nairobi.  We passed lots of coffee farms and many of these huge cactus trees.

We finally arrived in the tiny community.  This two room building, previously an elementary school, had just been renovated and is being used as a polytech school.  The leader, a local pastor, allows the widows to use the space during the day.

Helen, on the left, is the Widows' Program Coordinator for the PCEA, a large Kenyan denomination.  She set up this visit for us.

Inside, about 20 ladies of all ages were hard at work crafting beautiful baskets and jewelry.

The bead work was very intricate, and the ladies were just using the light from a window.

Some of the ladies were rolling the sisal used to make baskets and purses.  They go into the bush, chop off the leaves of a certain plant, dry the leaves, shred them for their fibres and then spin the fibers into sisal.  The best way to roll it is on your thigh according to these women.

Our President was instructed in the technique.

Here is a lady weaving a basket with the same material.

I think it's beautiful.

After a few speeches and introductions, the ladies sang and danced a praise song to God, thanking Him for providing everything they need.

Each of us was given a handcrafted Masai wall-hanging made of banana fibres and then we shared a cup of chai tea as a mark of hospitality and friendship.

This lady is not one of the group, but teaches in the polytech school.  She took a bracelet off her wrist and put it on mine, insisting she wanted me to have something to remember her by.

This gentlemen came and watched us through the fence the entire time.  He stood proudly for us to take his "snap" even though the rest of the community laughed at him.  It seemed the whole village came out to sit and watch us from across the street.  I pray that as the women's lives inside change, the rest of the community will see and accept God's love and change for the better as well.