Monkeys and mourning

You know you’re far from home when a monkey steals your toast.

Not mine, but a friend’s here at the retreat.  She decided to have her breakfast out on the deck because it was such a nice morning.  When she got up to refill her coffee, a monkey came up and walked off with her toast.  I don’t know what kind, a local told me they call them Blau, or Blue monkeys.  I’m not sure why, they’re not blue, but they are a good size, bigger than a beach ball.

Another one came up and started to come in the window right next to where we were eating and then someone shooed him off.  They are pests to the locals, but at least they’re cute pests.  The locals roll their eyes, but I was as thrilled as one of my little boys would have been.  On the outside, I’m saying, “Wow, how about that… how interesting.”  Inside I am gleefully jumping up and down and clapping my hands, saying “Yayy!  Monkeys!”  I wanted to put some fruit out to see if they would come back, but was dissuaded from doing so.  My adult brain understands, but my little boy inside said “Awwww, c’mon.  Pleeease?”

I taught this morning and it went well.  We did a “team teaching” kind of thing with Toni, Kirsten and I.  The session was about addiction, how we cope with our pain through our own methods instead of going to God.   We tried to incorporate a grieving process into it; a time of lament.  The South African team has gone through a very difficult time.  South Africa in general is going through a difficult time.  There are painful places in our own broken hearts that need to be mourned, and invite Jesus into those broken places to bring a deeper level of healing.  This is why this retreat is called “Dive Deeper.”  It went well and people really seemed to respond positively to it.

This is the lovely chapel where we meet.

Our first day

This retreat is called “Dive Deeper” and it is for all the Living Waters leaders in South Africa.  So the leaders from all the major cities are here, and the retreat centre is a beautiful place.  The flowers and birds are incredible.  There are also great big bugs, but let’s not talk about those.

Toni spoke this morning about how we, as leaders, can get caught up into ministry, and helping others get their needs met, that we neglect our own.

I am leading a small group of four other LW leaders, some of them are pastors, so it’s a little intimidating.  But I am really facilitating more than leading, and we all prayed for each other, so it was good.

Paul Stokes is our worship leader, and he is a lovely man.  He’s one of those guys who worships from his toes.  Where you feel like you are almost intruding on a private exchange, that he is not performing, but I would see the exact same Paul if he were playing and singing by himself in his college dorm stairwell.  I found myself being envious.  Here I am trying to worship, and I end up sinning, comparing myself to the worship leader, and wishing I could be more like him.  Isn’t that pathetic?  I even found myself praying, and asking God to help me to worship more like Paul.  But I felt like God responded, No, because he wanted me to worship like me.

This was taken just outside the town of George, South Africa, as we were coming in for the retreat.

Heading South... DEEP South

I leave tomorrow for South Africa.  Toni Dolfo-Smith, our director, also oversees Living Waters in several other countries, South Africa being one of them.  We are taking a team down to do some training for the Living Waters leaders in that country, and to minister to them as well.  LW South Africa has had a rough year.  Their national director was asked to step down by his board due to some issues in his personal life, and this has sent the various teams in that country through an awkward and painful year.

We are taking a team down to lead a retreat to help these guys re-center themselves in the heart of this ministry, to train them in some of the newer approaches, and to lead them through some times of personal healing.

What will I be doing personally?  Well, besides checking to see if the water drains out of the sink in the opposite direction down there (I am such a nerd,) I will be leading a workshop on addiction.  I will be team-teaching this with Kirsten, and we also see this session as a time for the team to lament, to really grieve the losses they've experienced.  (Addiction is often about coping, dealing with our losses and pain with our own pain-numbing activities.  So we want to facilitate a time for them to really sit in their grief, and then to invite Jesus into it, to allow him to minister to the deeper places that we often self-medicate.)

I will also be performing some pieces that I've written, to hopefully enlighten and encourage.  And I will also be doing, believe it or not, a theatre workshop, yes - at a Living Waters retreat.  (Toni requested it.)  I guess there's nothing like an afternoon of weird theatre exercises to help you shed some of your control issues.

So please pray for safe travel for me and the rest of the team.  Pray for our times of teaching and ministry, that we will be guided by the Holy Spirit.  And also please pray for Joanne and the kids as I am away.

A Hard Day

Two of our kids have a virus, diarrhea, vomiting, really fun stuff.  Joanne battled a milder case of it earlier, and now it's my turn.  Then Atticus, our only well child, was being a real handful.  He was frustrating us and we were frustrating him.  In time-out, he complained that I was not nice to him, and that he did not like this day.  Then, finally, at dinner time, we sit down at the dinner table.  I think I was thinking something really spiritual, like, "OK, fine, let's just eat."  Atticus said he wanted to say the blessing, I say "sure," or something equally exhorting, and he begins his prayer which is the same, most of the time.  "We thank you God for a good day and - "  And Joanne cuts him off.  "No, Atticus.  Don't say that.  It has NOT been a good day."  Then, with tears in her eyes, "It has been a hard day, but God is still here, and we are still grateful."

God, I thank you for my wife, who practices what I preach, even when I do not.

The Work of Christmas

"When the song of the angels is stilled,

when the star in the sky is gone,

when the kings and princes are home,

when the shepherds are back with the flocks,

then the work of Christmas begins:

to find the lost,

to heal those broken in spirit,

to feed the hungry,

to release the oppressed,

to rebuild the nations,

to bring peace among all peoples,

to make a little music with the heart…

And to radiate the Light of Christ,

every day, in every way,

in all that we do and in all that we say.

Then the work of Christmas begins."

-- Howard Thurman

 

(Thanks to Jeff Kuhn for sharing this with me.)

Thoughts from the cribside

Joanne bought a little notebook a while back that had two Panda bears on the front and said, "Romantic and with my small wishes" on it.  It made her laugh because it was one of those things that comes over from China with whacked out English.  Under the bears, it also said, "I feel the importance of human contacts by the skin."  Which I told Joanne is, I guess, the writer's best shot at saying, "I need a hug."

So we're still trying to get Beatrice to sleep through the night.  This means that I (Andrew) have spent much time lying on the ground next to her crib during the nights.  I lie there when she cries and tell her it's OK, that it's time for sleep, that I'm not going to pick her up, but that I'm here and that she's not alone.  Sometimes I reach my hand through the bars to pat her or hold her hand.  It's funny.  Sometimes, she'll just grab hold of my hand with both of her hands, and then lay her head down on my hand, like it's a pillow but she's got an iron grip on my fingers.

While I was lying on the floor, in the middle of the night, with my hand stuck between the bars of a crib, with my 12 month old Beatrice holding on to my fingers for dear life while smashing her face against the back of my hand, I thought of that silly little book that said, "I feel the importance of human contacts by the skin."  And that was what she needed and she knew it.

I think we all need that more than we let on.  We need a hug, a touch, someone to reach through the bars of our gruff exterior, or whatever way we've chosen to isolate ourselves, and offer us something to hold on to and let us know that we're not alone with more than just words.

A Street in Bethlehem

We forgot our camera, but fortunately I was able to find some pictures online.  We went to this sort of living nativity across the border in Washington.  We all loved it.  The Roman soldiers scared the boys at first, but then they got into it.  So here's how it went... First the greeters gave us our "gold coins" and told us how to get past the Roman guards is to make sure you have the right information for the census, that you are from the tribe of Judea and the house of David.  So once the boys were no longer hiding behind our legs with the Roman guard, and we answered his questions correctly, we were allowed in the city gates.  The ground was all hay, the only lights were torches everywhere.  Flickering torchlight in the night can do miracles in transforming rows of stalls into a Bethlehem street.



The stalls were all filled with market-type vendors.  Vegetables, bread, dyed wool, candles, sweets.  There were also tradesmen, a wood worker building something, fishnets draped for mending, and a basket weaver.  We were immediately approached by someone wanting to know if we'd like to "rent" a basket for our journey through town.  Atticus, after another explanation, reluctantly parts with one of his coins.  Then he got the hang of it and was into this buying thing.  He bought some unleavened bread and twisted bread (pita and pretzels) from the baker.  Then he bought a lavender sachet for his Mama, (and the lady let him pick out the things to put into the sachet!)

Then we were stopped by another Roman soldier who sent us to the census taker, we had to again tell our tribe and house, and then I had to sign our family name into a scroll, and pay our taxes.  There were beggers, chickens, goats, children having too much fun being "urchins," and a couple of inns, that were of course, full.  Then a priest was calling people into a temple for a reading of the prophecies.  We went in and sat on little benches in the stall that had candles and white Christmas lights and lots of billowy fabric transform it into a temple.  He stood and read from a large scroll several prophecies about the coming of the Messiah. 



Then we came out in time to see Mary and Joseph coming in with their donkey.  We missed the expected dialogue with the Inkeeper because we wanted what appeared to be hot cider or cocoa from a vendor.  The boys were thouroughly disappointed to find out it was lentlil soup, but Joanne and I enjoyed the soup. 



Then an angel appeared.  (The only tech element, a 500w worklight and a microphone and a pair of wings transformed a tall blonde surfer dude into a commanding angelic presence.)  The angel told us all of the Messiah's birth, and where we could find him.

Then we went and stood at the stable, where a young Joseph and Mary held a plastic baby Jesus.  (It was cold and rainy, so I wouldn't have let them borrow our baby either.)

Then a narrator told a bit of the story from scripture, including the three kings, who did not appear, but we were encouraged to give gifts for the baby Jesus as they did.  So the boys each went up and put some of their gold coins in the manger.  I thought this was a nice touch, because in our journey through the market, the boys had come to ascribe worth to their plastic coins, so it actually meant something to them to do it, and they wanted to.

During part of the narration, the speaker mentioned the "City of David," and Phinehas turned to Joanne and said, "David?  Mama, I don't want to see Goliath."  I guess he figured all the Bible stories were going to just keep rolling in!

After this, we went into a gymnasium (it was hosted by a Christian high school) for free hot cider and cookies.  It was a lovely experience and the boys are already asking when they can go back.  I read online about a massively huge version of this in California, but I think I would prefer this one small street, as it was just right for us.  I also kept thinking of my brother Brian, and how much he would enjoy something like this.  We also thought of many other family members, especially Grandparents, that we wished we had with us.  We miss you all very much.