My Sabbath was begun on a Saturday evening, when I slipped. I slid past positive parental correcting and into the murk of plain old complaining, murmuring my malcontent like the ancient mothers of Israel. “You must be the only child in the world who does not like tacos.”
But his answer was complete, “You always said I was special,” defying all irritation with a grin and a hug, melting my murmurings and making my day!

Now in church Sunday morning, standing to sing as a congregation, we were squeezed against the row of chairs in front of us. Those chairs pressed the front of the thigh while our own seats behind lightly bruised back of the knee. Perhaps not actual bruising, but it was close. The chairs practiced an expectancy that if not at the start of service, surely by the end, the church would be packed. The young Kenyan leading the worship read Romans 8:38-39 with a careful exuberance and a shining but quiet smile. He hoped we would hear him with our hearts,
“For I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
The 20-something worship leader added, “nor famine, nor corruption, nor politics” to bring it home. The singing was different after that Scripture reading. It sounded like waterfall, roaring and glad about God. Glad He is faithful and unchanging. The young man in front said it for all, “Nothing is better than this, worshipping God with each other.” Yes, we are pressed by responsibilities and worry, we don’t understand pain and trouble, we resist even the revelation in Holy Scriptures, but He is faithful; He is wisdom and cannot lie; and He is full of grace. Scripture says all things were made by him and for him. (John 1:3, Colossians 1:16) For Him. I was made for him.

Morning church prayers were moved by a weight, the weight of knowing that people are literally starving to death in this country right now. This morning the leader in church prayed that we would each be able to give something, do something! I had only recently learned of a committed pastor and his dear wife and little girl who are all three of them alarmingly thin, trying to survive on small wild fruits and leaves in a difficult drought-ridden area of northern Kenya. I had wanted to help them, but struggled with the budget, cutting the amount in every “envelope” this month. But now I had an idea for our family. I saw, in my heart, evening family prayers lit only by candles, and all of us praying about a garage sale!

Funny to pray for garage sales? and by candle light? But actually there will be a sale end of this month in which we could participate. So in my idea, we had decided that we could find some “worldly possessions” to sell and proceeds could go to that pastor’s family! I am so excited and cannot wait to light those candles and pray about it with the children. Giving is exciting. I shiver with amazement at how real the connection is in Christ’s body, the church.

Home again, post-church service, time for lunch. “Myyy” it sounded like. “Maahir” was the next try. He wanted his fourth helping of broccoli!
I said, “Say ‘more’ with an ‘o’. More.”
Timothy was willing, “O. Mah-oh.” I affirmed, “Good.” With every broccoli he ate, there was ceremony. He held it up for close inspection and said, “Tee!” triumphantly like the baby giant showing his mother giantess what he had unearthed and would now eat.
“Trrreee,” I corrected, “Say ‘tree’ with an ‘r’.”
“R, Tee!” ” he agreed, careful to pronounce it rightly and with authority, as one who had eaten many trees in his young gianthood.

Well, my life as the mother giantess sometimes feels pressed to the point of distraction. My candle light prayers got lost in the shuffle. It just did not happen for tonight, but they are already lit in my heart! So probably tomorrow night. Meanwhile, my deepest and excited thanks to those praying and giving to help us be here and make these connections.

-Liisa