Our bathroom, the one with the shower, is having problems.  We quickly noticed the hairy mold blistering the paint, revealing the concrete beneath last week when we arrived back at the house.  The shoulder height tiles in the narrow shower are coming off in sheets, and some quick strips of duct tape have temporarily halted their collapse.  There’s no cover for the toilet, directly above which lies our medicine cabinet.  So don’t drop the Nyquil.

But the most disturbing problem is the single bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling.  It blew last week, the second bulb to do so, immediately after being replaced.  It was then I noticed the black soot streaks on the base fixture, indicating something bad.

“I’ll have to see about that.” I thought, as I mentally placed it somewhere in the medium range of priorities, which means it might be weeks before I dig into it.  There are more pressing issues of the house I’ll need to address first.  More pressing issues of the family, life, work, friends, etc.  So in the mean time we’ve taken to showering by candlelight. It’s not bad, really.  A single candle can light up the small Somewhat White painted room fairly nicely, once your eyes adjust, and a second candle can be on the way to dazzling.

These candles aren’t the scented kind.  They aren’t used for mood or atmosphere here in Africa, they’re actually used for lighting.  You can find piles of them at every supermarket for about 10 cents apiece.  A surprising amount of Kenyan kids grow up doing their homework by them, and for the most part, it works.

In time, the bathroom will be fixed up.  But it seems upside down for a bathroom to have a higher priority than something involving people.  Many of the truly gifted missionaries I’ve spent time with in my life share a common neglect of their houses.  Yet the relationships in their life are well cared for, nurtured and tended to in detail with a completeness that only large amounts of time can bring.  They tend to the physical when the relational is more in order.  They’re trying to do what they see their heavenly Father doing.

Frankly, I think our house is too nice.  Well, maybe not the bathroom, but the rest of it is nice, and I wonder about the balance of priorities in our own life.
-Ted

Female cardinal outside our window.

Cardinals are Nesting

Eagles soaring in the sky

Robins flying not so high

Oh, oh, cardinals are nesting.

Bumblebees are perched on flowers

That have bloomed from April showers

Oh, oh, cardinals are nesting.

The creek is gurgling

While hawks are circling

Oh, oh, cardinals are nesting.

-Teah, age 7

Creeknoll Cottage, Minnesota

We’re sleeping in my parents garage, Liisa and I, and little Timmy in a small bed beside us.  It’s really quite comfortable, a mostly finished garage with a kerosene heater and a large, bouncy bed.  Timmy was just bouncing on it a few minutes ago and I told him to stop jumping up and down on the bed.  He slumped down in disappointment, then folded his hands, closed his eyes, and said, “Please God, I wanna bounce on the bed….YES!” Then he opened his eyes and looked at me expectantly.

~Ted

Teah Rurup

Do willows sleep on pillows?

Do ants have Aunts and Uncles?

Do butterflies have long straight eyes?

Does a crown frown?

Do bees eat peas that grow trees?

I don’t suppose you could tell me all those!

-A poem by Teah Rurup, age 7

Homecoming.  Landing a month ago in Minneapolis, the place of my birth, I was the one coming home.  Sweet reunions, I hugged my mom, aunts, uncles, cousins, and dear friends.  It reminded me of when Ted travels, and I welcome him back to our beloved home in Nairobi, Kenya.

Homecoming Day, I drive to Nairobi’s big international airport on the edge of a gamepark.  For thirty minutes or an hour, traffic tries (successfully) to scare me on the wrong side of the road.   Sometimes I furiously scold in Swahili a crazy bus or “matatu.”  My children crane to look out minivan windows, blue eyes peeled on the sunny blue Kenya skies.  Is the jet just in view the one holding Daddy?  The kids never let me make that trip alone, even though it usually entails a long wait in a long room with no chairs anywhere, looking through long windows at customs and baggage.  The children compete for the first glimpse.  Then we all get our hugs in. The older boys wait for the stories as much as I do; they usually have a few of their own.  Teah’s first question can be counted on, “Did you bring me a present?”  Timmy just gets wider-eyed.

Ted comes home changed from each On Field Media trip, like he caught a deep breath and a more muscled grip on the mission’s vision:  Christ-centered churches among all African peoples.  The story of Jesus in each new context into which the team has taken a camera invigorates the pouring of his heart into the pictures, words, and story.   It pours out like prayers.  For me, the OFM team puts a face on Luke 10:1 & 2, a prayer to the Lord of the Harvest to send more workers.

When the men came home from Rwanda, another wife on the team volunteered the view from her house.  It matched what I was seeing in mine.  She said her husband’s spirit was heavy for 2-3 weeks after returning from Rwanda.  That country’s baggage came home in our husbands’ suitcases and hearts.  But later I met the missionary with whom OFM had worked on that trip to Rwanda.  He surprised me with something shocking like, “I hadn’t laughed that much in 2 years.  Your guys really encouraged us.”  God opened His unique swapmeet -the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.  Wow.  How awesome to be with Him in that.  We ourselves are encouraged and grateful for the supporters God has linked with us.  We gain happiness and fortitude from our support team’s sacrifice.

When Ted comes home, I brace myself for stories sure to break my heart, for the fresh need to care and pray.  The happy stories, the successes, the smiles and courage on African or missionary faces in video and photographs-  these press my senses almost as hard as sadness and terrific need.

It all reminds me so much of heaven:  reunions, embracing, the ultimate in stories, purpose, gladness, and being utterly shocked at how real it all is and what a gift.  August 1st an AIM Air crash took 2 of our mission family, Frank Toews and Ryan Williams.  A sudden departure and painful leaving.  But for Ryan and Frank, it was Homecoming.  Their move to Heaven, right in the middle of their work for the King, welcomes me again to know where Home really is.      Welcome HOME.

~Liisa