These are rough days in Kenya.  Water is scarce.  Food supply is dropping with prices rising.  Last night I was up at 3 am pumping water from one tank into another just because that’s when the water came and we’re down to 12 hours a week rationing.  We’re not suffering though, and we know that we’re not suffering because we know those who are.
The Swanepoels, our dear friends and mentors here, mentioned to us that they were concerned about the starving they see endured by pastors and evangelists up in Northern Kenya.  Take for example this one evangelist and his family in a tiny desert town, not much more than some wooden shacks in the sand.  The Swanepoels pass by that town on their way home -to their own place in the desert.  They stop in when they can and try to support the evangelist.
Swanepoels described him as an enduring determined man, and his wife and small daughter as resourceful and caring.  But thin.  So thin, gathering wild berries and leaves for a meal.  Poverty is hard to ignore when it speaks through sunken cheeks and loose clothing.  Liisa listened to the Swanepoel’s story, not sure if we have met this evangelist or not, and felt the Chance.
A chance to taste giving, for those of us on a constant diet of receiving, can taste uniquely spicy. But giving only has this sort of flavor when it has been stirred up by Him -maybe because every good gift comes from Him as the Father in Heaven.  But simply giving wasn’t enough-  Liisa wanted the kids to do it.  She was burdened for the children to get a share in the joy that came with the Chance to help.  To care.  To pray.  To wait and be ready to see…
So Liisa told the kids the story and gave them just a little time to go through their toys and pick out ones to sell at the next missionary sale that was coming up.  They collected a few things and off they went.  Two of our four had in their instruments in tow -Jon a trumpet and Collin a trombone- and their music scores, and their friend Drew -another 6th grader with a trumpet.  Not for sale.
Liisa manned a cardtable with old toys for sale.  It was so little she couldn’t help remembering the boy with the 5 loaves and 2 fish.  It was so little she wondered if she’d end up with ten dollars to send to the evangelist.
Those three boys played all the songs they could think of behind a basket growing full with money and a sign saying that the proceeds would go to a starving pastor in the North.  Between being willing to let go of toys and offer up their music, the children collected half a months’ salary for that evangelist plus a whole lot of food.  We sent it up with the next airplane headed that direction. The kids, having taken that chance, are all the richer.
-Ted

Ted gave blood today, to help with a specific need.  The patient is in a coma, all her platelets being cut by some dread virus.  But there is still hope, God’s purpose for each of her days.  At least a dozen missionaries have donated for this sick girl.  Ted gave until the bag almost burst.
I tried but failed.  I filled one quarter of the bag from my right arm, but the left arm was more generous.  It donated its quarter more quickly.  The nurse saw no irony in saying tightfistedness would prompt better giving.  I squeezed my hands into fists in time to the music, trying so hard to relax, to help speed the slow flow of life into a bag.  But that next “quarter” I was actually pumping into my own arm as the needle had backed out of the vein.
Giving even a quarter bag leaves me emotional.  But emotions can be a good thing, deepening any experience, helping me to know more, appreciate more.  Jesus gave it all, ransoming sinners.  He was giving again today, giving Ted and me and the others the chance to be a real family, buying us back from the consumptive smallness of worry or self-absorption.  Letting us carry to varying degrees our sister’s burden and the Lord’s hope.

-Liisa

Our boys decided to join the band of West Nairobi School, a nearby American curriculum school where several missionary kids go.  They’ve taken to it quickly and Jonathan, on the trumpet, and Collin on the trombone can often be heard blasting musical melodies into the atmosphere around our house.  They are pictured here with their friend who is also in the band.

Unfortunately, I will miss their Christmas Band Recital as I will be off to an Islamic nation on a video project.  Liisa has promised to videotape it for me, though.  I’ll also miss the Christmas play at our local church where Collin has a speaking part and Teah is a little angel.

Tomorrow morning all six of us Rurups and Tim Lang, our short term OFM videographer, will pile into our trusty old Land Rover and drive up to Kapsowar.  The journey will take us down into the Great Rift Valley and up the Mau Escarpment on the other side and into North Western Kenya.  We’ll cross some thick rain forests on our way up into the Cherangani Hills, though with elevations well over 13,000 ft, some would call them mountains.

There is a hospital there, and a Doctor with five children.  This is our first family production and we’re looking forward to capturing the ministry of this rural mission hospital and of the ministry of Dr. Paul Larson and his family. Pray for our trip, we’ll be gone about a week.

-Ted

Home school Order Time is upon me. It is late to be ordering for this next year. Late maybe because this past year of home schooling consumed all the days so far? With difficulty I must recall my proactive, prudent, future planning side. I stay focused on the immediate moment. Worshiping Christ sets my mind and heart on over-arching transcendent Realities, thereby bringing some measure of balance. The more I get down on my knees by the old blue couch, or drag out the guitar to see if I can remember chords, or pull the scribbled note of a Bible verse off my bathroom mirror and kneel right there, the less I get lost in the right now.

I was serious about this next year being the year to try day school. God did not seem to agree. When I prayed about the day school option, this vague “no” would mist around me like a sea fog hovering over water. I argued with it a little but also felt excited again that the God of the universe could possibly have an opinion about such a decision. There was no money for the day school. There was an endless stream of dropped comments all pointing in one direction. Like tourists noticing Kilimanjaro just appearing, a whole mountain walking closer out from its own mysterious mists, many of my listenings in random conversations with others pointed suddenly at home schooling as yet lovely. So, as Ted would say, “decision’s made- the chase is on!” Now I need to pack for the climb, move closer to the mountain, and quickly hire a guide! I think I will start by getting down on my knees by the old blue couch.

-Liisa