Made it Mine

Thanksgiving weekend this year originally looked like it wouldn’t shape up to be much of anything special.  Overwhelmed with schoolwork, I opted out of an option to join my three roommates on a trip to the coast and instead spent the weekend home alone.  When I told people about my plans, most seemed to feel a bit sorry for me- but I was actually looking forward to an opportunity to have the house to myself.  It had been a solid four months since I’d been left at the house for any longer than a couple of hours.  It’s interesting that the Lord keeps using Thanksgiving- a time usually reserved for spending time with people you love- as an opportunity for me to withdraw a bit and get some rest.  Thanksgiving 2007, during my time in Europe, I was so desperate for some time to myself away from my students and roommates that I used an extra day on my Eurail pass and spent Thanksgiving Day alone in Zurich before meeting up with people that Friday in Vienna.  It had felt a bit silly wandering around an unfamiliar city, replacing the traditional turkey and stuffing with a McChicken sandwich.  But I think the Lord knew I needed that time to quiet my heart and reboot. 

So with my roommates away for a few days, I did what I suspect most people home alone will do: stayed in my pajamas all day, replaced real meals with popcorn and Coke Light, took overly-long showers, and sang along nice and loud to my itunes playlists as I graded papers.  What still weighed heavily on my mind, though, was the December 1 decision that I had awaiting me upon our return to school that week.  I had been almost completely certain that I would be renewing my contract to return to WNS for at least another year early on in the semester, but some tension within our administration team and a few other concerning factors had dropped that certainty down several notches.  I felt like I had prayed, sought counsel, and thought myself in circles, and still had no direction.  So I picked up daily devotionals and my Bible each morning, looking for clarity.  But it was ultimately Nancy Pearcey and her book, Total Truth (which I mentioned in an earlier entry) that helped me find my answer.  I love this book.  

Now I’ve had those traditional spiritual highs, usually prompted by a retreat or other spiritual event filled with awesome worship, inspiring teaching, and ample moments for personal reflection.  Very emotional and heart-oriented.  But I’ll tell you what, I get most energized and excited about my faith when it isn’t my heart that’s touched, but my mind.  It’s the stirring of the intellect, and connections made between the spiritual and sacred and reason and Truth that make God real to me.  I’d take an intellectual “ah-ha” moment over an emotional high any day.  And so, as I read more of Pearcey’s book that weekend, I hit a few chapters where Pearcey discusses the history of the American church- particularly the growth of the evangelical movement.  Before that, I’d read her take on how social Darwinism and postmodernism has affected nearly every aspect of our American culture- even education.  There’s no need for me to go on and on about it here, but some of the revelations that I had as I read left me with an overwhelming sense of purpose in where God has me right now.  You probably remember that my original reasons for coming to Nairobi to teach at WNS were fairly underdeveloped and shallow.  That changed over the course of last year, and I developed a love for this little school, and particularly the students in my classroom.  I experimented with ways to fuse my teaching of my content (literature, written and oral communication, journalism, and theatre arts) and spiritual concepts together.  That was step one.  This Thanksgiving, some time alone reading a good book helped me to see what I suspect may be the bigger picture.  Oh- and according to Myers-Briggs, as an ENTJ, I am undoubtedly a visionary, “big picture” person.  You’re learning so much about me today.

So here’s the vision: I believe that American education is a stronghold for ideas, worldviews, and ideologies contrary to what’s true, right, and good.  I believe that the secularization of education has become a device of our enemy that cripples our minds, instead of freeing and equipping them (as is the very aim of education).  I believe that if we can reclaim education and bring it back to what it ought to be- to encourage students to see, encounter, and engage with what’s True- we might see a revolution in American and even Western culture in general.  If you’ve been through an undergraduate or graduate education program within the last fifty years, I imagine you might know what I’m talking about.  One huge philosophy of education that’s infiltrated our profession is the concept of Constructivism, which, according to a proponent of the method, Catherine Fosnot, “Does not assume the presence of an outside objective reality that is revealed to the learner, but rather that learners actively construct their own reality.”  Pearcey goes on to say that 

Teachers are not to tell students that their ideas are right or wrong, either, but merely to encourage them ‘to clarify and articulate their own understandings.’  Just as in values clarification, the teacher is left with no mechanism to adjucate between the answers students come up with.  Thirty different students may well offer thirty different answers, but each must be considered viable.

I’ve realized over the past year and a half, that in my exemplary preparation for the education field in a highly-acclaimed education program, these theories and ideas of student-centered learning and the absence of absolutes were presented to me as truth.  I remember sitting in my English methods courses and swallowing these ideas whole, elated at the idea that literature, free from the trite “rights and wrongs,” in my classroom could be used as an opportunity for exploration of meaning and truth.  The idea that it isn’t the author who creates meaning, nor the context or even the story itself, but the reader himself who constructs meaning from a text was initially exciting to me.  

Now I’ve realized that not only is this way of thinking dangerous, but that my unblinking conversion to the constructivist religion was so natural and easy, I hardly realized what I’d bought into.  Pearcey says that the goal of such educational methods is “to detach students from the moral teachings absorbed from outside, so that they will get in touch with their own personal, authentic values.”  Sound like America?  Everyone’s truth is self-generated- every man his own god.  I believe that this backwards way of thinking begins in the classroom, or at least is fed and nurtured there.  Tell a child that there’s no right and wrong- that whatever meaning and values he generates on his own are what’s best for him- and you’re bound to develop some incredibly ego-centric, backwards thinkers with no concept of universal truths.  We’re also reinforcing the Sacred/Secular divide in our culture without even knowing it.  My Bachelors of Science in Education indicates that my field of study is believed to be a “science”- a methods-based field taken over by philosophical naturalism.  Concrete.  Tangible.  Reasonable.  The arts and humanities within the American curricula (the English literature and fine arts part of what I do), in contrast, are held by philosophical idealism.  Romantic.  Idealistic.  Vague.  We begin the process of dividing our minds into two realms- the secular, naturalistic, and “provable” and the sacred, values-based, and “unprovable”- in the classroom.  So the maturing American thinker cannot help but build his very own wall separating the two, the foundational construct of his worldview.

Alright, I realize I’m all over the place here, so here’s the bottom line: I don’t think that education today is doing what it’s supposed to do.  Instead, I believe that our current educational philosophies are numbing our American minds to the Truth and contributing to the remarkable ease with which we subscribe to the comfortable falsehoods that will ultimately damn us.  This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.  And I think that the Lord may be preparing me to be a small part of a revival in this secular field.  My time at West Nairobi School has allowed me to experiment in my classroom, outside of the U.S., working to discover in a safe place, free from most restrictions I would encounter in just about any other educational setting, filled with students from diverse backgrounds... what it is that education should be.  How do I teach literature, journalism, and theatre in a way that honors the Lord and what’s True?  What can I learn here and take back to the States when He eventually calls me back?

So there was my answer.  I can’t leave WNS just yet.  There’s still too much for me to learn and glean from my experience here.  And I feel that I have something to offer at this little international Christian school and I’m looking for revival.  There’s still so much work left to do.  I feel that the years that I spend here in Nairobi will ultimately serve as both a solid ministry to my students at WNS, as well as the first chapter of my professional life’s work.  

So thank you for your prayers, encouragement, and support, everyone.  I’m incredibly thankful for you and the part you play in what God’s doing here.  Merry [belated] Christmas, and may your new year bring blessings and vision for what’s next in your own lives as well.  Missing and praying for you all!

How Can I Stand Here ... and Not be Moved by You?

Forty nine kids stood up that day, walked to the front of a room, picked up a notecard, scribbled some secret sin and placed it on a card table “altar.”  As Mr. Dixon strummed Hillsong United’s “The Stand,” from a corner of the stage, a room filled with middle and high school students were invited to turn to the Lord and worship.  I’ll stand, with arms high and heart abandoned.  The words that had gripped some deep place in me this summer were filling the little chapel’s walls and spilling out through windows opened to a sun-washed yard.  In awe, of the one who gave it all.  A few tentative hands climbed into the air and one voice after another rose in offering.  I’ll stand, my soul, Lord, to you surrendered.  All I am is yours.

I’d felt anxious all day, shrugging off a dull pain in my stomach and pinching the bridge of my nose between my eyes in between classes.  I’m no stranger to public speaking, but leading our middle and high school chapel still seems to cause me some psychological stress.  My second-year theatre students had been working for weeks on a skit for me--the “Lifehouse” skit I’m sure many of you have seen at a youth conference or on youtube.  It’s all pantomimed (no spoken lines), and tells the story of Christ and a Girl set against the lyrics to Lifehouse’s song, “Everything.”  Christ creates the Girl, breathes life into her, and shows her the world He’s created for her to enjoy.  But they’re soon interrupted by the first of a series of “Worldly Influences,” Romance.  As the verses swell, Romance, Greed, Escape, Beauty, Self-Destruction and, ultimately, Death offer the Girl something to attempt to fill the void that’s been left inside of her.  Nothing satisfies.  Relationships, money, drugs and alcohol, bulimia, cutting herself...nothing works.  But when Death offers her a gun to end her suffering, the Girl looks back at Christ (who’s been calling out to her all along), throws the gun aside, and fights her way back through the Wall that has formed between her and the God who made, loves, and wants her back.  It’s a pretty powerful little drama.  

So after a video to the song “Sweetly Broken” by Jeremy Riddle, my theatre kids took the stage.  As students watched their friends walk across the stage drunk, tossing money around, and dipping one another with a rose between their teeth, I could tell that many didn’t really understand the significance at first.  Some serious giggle fits burst out at certain moments, and I worried that the impact of the message would be lost in their immaturity.  But when the actress playing the Girl chucked that gun offstage and rushed at the human barrier, falling to the ground, but immediately rushing back to fight her way furiously through that spiritual battle and the actor playing Christ pulled an invisible rope, drawing her closer and closer, the giggles evaporated.  At the most climactic moment of the song, the Girl collapses in exhaustion.  The Worldly Influences seem triumphant, pushing her down and hurtling imaginary stones.  It’s then that Christ pushes His way through and holds them off, protecting the Girl, His arms outstretched, pain etched on His face, braving the cross.  The Girl kneels, arms stretched high above her head, relieved and thankful.  Finally, the battle’s won.  Christ gives one last powerful gesture and the Worldly Influences fall to the ground.  Christ pulls the Girl to her feet, brushes her off gently, and pulls her into a warm embrace.

I spent the next half hour or so resurrecting a message I’d first given as a camp counselor years ago.  Using the breaking of a horse as a central image and metaphor for our brokenness in and surrender to Christ, I appealed to our middle and high school students to take stock of their lives, reminding them of the Gospel and encouraging them to see what more God’s offering to us.  It was Awareness Week at WNS, which meant that students arrived each day wearing a different color to promote the cause of the day--black on Monday for violence and corruption, green on Tuesday for environmental awareness (coincidentally the same day that our grounds staff dug up a huge island filled with bushes and flowers in the parking lot to make room for more parking spaces), white on Wednesday for substance abuse, and red on Thursday for Cancer/AIDS.  The audience was awash in white that afternoon.  I reminded them that mere “awareness” is worth very little.  Awareness, in and of itself, is simple acknowledgement of a fact.  No gutsy moves there.  Awareness means nothing unless it leads to change.  Our awareness of the environment or the negative effects of substance abuse or the dangers of self-destructive behaviors is worthless unless we allow that knowledge to change our hearts and actions.  True “brokenness” requires sacrifice.  And just as a wild, unbroken horse is good for little else than pleasing itself, once that horse has submitted to the breaking process and it develops trust in its Master, it can enjoy pleasure, peace, and purpose.

In the last few minutes of the service, I offered an invitation.  In the center of our stage, I’d placed a card table.  The actors in the skit had laid down the symbols of their Influence- cigarettes and a beer bottle, wads of money, a measuring tape, a knife.  If they felt compelled to do so, students could come to the front of the room, take up a card and write down the behavior, preoccupation, issue, or relationship that’s kept them from knowing Christ and experiencing brokenness and offer it symbolically to the Lord by laying it on that “altar.”  I’d stood in the corner of the room, worshipping on my own- eyes closed, hands high.  I didn’t realize until after we’d dismissed the students just how many had responded to that invitation.  I probably completely breached their confidence in doing this, too, but I couldn’t help but lift a few of the folded and crumpled note cards from the pile and read their anonymous contents.  The words “boys” and “girls” appeared on many, and others had written “peer pressure,” “parties,” and “caring about what other people think.”  “Sports,” “Schoolwork,” “worrying about college” and other preoccupations littered the pile as well.  But the very first one I’d picked up had read, “I’m seriously struggling with every single thing in that skit in my life right now.”  

I’ve never fallen fully under the delusion that our students at this little international Christian school are little saints who never do anything wrong.  That notion was shot after my first week of teaching last year.  But this year, I’m finding out more about these students and their struggles and the lies they’re buying into.  I had no idea when I planned that chapel message in late October how relevant it would be, not necessarily to the students, but to how I go about my ministry of teaching and serving them.  I need to be keeping my students in prayer.  I need to be building into them every day- aware of my witness and ministry to them, even when I feel off my game.  I feel so aware right now of the considerable responsibility that's been given to me.  I don't want to fail them in that.

Turns out that these students even had an impact outside of our WNS community.  Last Tuesday, we were invited to perform the same skit at Africa Nazarene University during their chapel service.  One of the professors there has two daughters in my class and his wife had been present at our chapel service and had passed along to him the message of our skit.  We were to join Joelene, our WNS finance director's wife, who was to share her testimony.  Joelene has a powerful story, and the story my students told in their skit proved to be a beautiful complement to what she shared.  There were over 600 students and staff in attendance that morning (an opportunity I simply can't offer our students in our 120 seat music room, so that was a bonus) and after the service, all in attendance were asked to take the message of the morning to heart.  They were even invited to quietly raise their hands if they saw themselves in either the skit or Joelene's testimony- which many did. 

The next day, one of our office staff, Nancy, approached me in our copy room during my prep period.   She said that she'd heard great things about our trip to ANU and asked me, "Who do you think I heard that from?"  I smiled and asked, "Who?"  She replied that "Daniel the bus driver" had been talking her ear off earlier that day about the program.  He'd said that a whole bunch of people in the audience were emotional as they listened to your testimony, and that even though he could have cried, he didn't because he's "a man."  Nancy said he couldn't stop talking about how shocked he was at how much Joelene had been through, having thought (like many of our WNS staff, Nancy says) that all of us teachers have idyllic lives and no problems.  He told her he thought about raising his hand at the end of the service, but realized that she had been through so much more than he believes he has himself.  I asked Nancy if Daniel's a believer, and she said that "He's a Christian, but I don't think he knows the Lord."  She intimated that she felt that Daniel was changed by what he experienced that day.

Regardless of the stress and chaos in my life right now, I can't deny that big things are happening here in Nairobi and at our school and that the Lord seems to desire that I'm a part of them.  I honestly feel like so often, I'm not up to the challenge, and instead I find hundreds of things to complicate what I'm doing here and drag my attention away from where He wants me to be.  We just returned from our staff devotions where Linda, our music teacher, spoke about being "present."  Timely message in my life right now.  I'm constantly exhausted and discouraged when I insist upon planning ahead and working and working and finding no time for rest and no time to be here right now.   I fear that I'm missing out on things.  On people.  On what's right in front of me.  It's Thanksgiving this Thursday.  Makes sense that the Lord would want me to stand still, sit quietly, and thank Him for what's now.

Thankful for you,

Kate

A Quarter Through

We officially wrapped our first quarter of school this past Wednesday.  The weeks my crawl by, but wow, a whole quarter of the year over and done with makes it seem like it’s flying by pretty quickly.  I’ve been quite busy working on lesson plans, curriculum guides, my AP syllabus, and various accreditation responsibilities throughout the quarter.  And then I’ve noticed that there must be some sort of magical enchantment that’s befallen my stacks of grading.  It’s bizarre; I finish one pile of essays or creative writing pieces or “Snap” quizzes (“Simple, Non-threatening Assessments of Progress...not quite as scary as it’s sister the “Pop”), and, miraculously, it’s like my desk grows another pile on its own.  I really must look into the possibilities of this strange phenomenon.  Curse of the English teacher, I suppose.

It’s not all a drag, though.  A recent highlight from my classroom lately included my senior AP students portraying characters from Hamlet on our own class version of “Jerry Springer.”  I don’t even know if most of the kids know who the actual Jerry Springer is, but, holy cow, what a hilarious hour of class.  If you’ve read Hamlet, you probably remember the strange little company of suicidal, insane, adulterous, masochistic, and just downright dumb characters that make up the cast.  Perfect fodder for Springer.  I think that if we’d had another five minutes of class, we could have had a real hair-pulling, name-calling fight.  The kids were seriously into it.  Later on, we addressed feminist and psychological criticisms of Ophelia, connections between Renaissance Humanism and Hamlet and other more “academic” topics of study, but when a crazy idea like that hits, I suppose you’ve just got to indulge it, right?  Definitely worth it.

In another borderline-out-of-control classroom moment (I like to keep my class discussion right on the edge between scholarly/focused and creative/unrestrained), we opened up our “Crisis of Conscience” thematic unit of To Kill a Mockingbird with a look at the power of language, in particular, “taboo” topics and pejorative terms associated with gender, race, religion, etc.  To Kill a Mockingbird is a favorite of mine, but it’s been banned from quite a few schools for its focus on rape and racism and particularly the use of the “N” word.  So with about a week of our class time, I had my tenth grade students begin by working in groups to create pieces of graffiti art on “Taboo” topics in our culture.  Some great follow-up discussion involved discussion about tribalism, things “we don’t tell our parents,” sex and dating (and rape, and pornography, and sexual immorality), politics, religion, and what we know about these things from a Biblical worldview and Christ-centered moral focus.  Great stuff.  As long as they were young adults and not immature in their discussion, I reminded them, anything was fair game.  From there, we moved into our focus on pejorative terms targeted at groups and individuals.  The kids initially got a kick out of the fact that their teacher wasn’t afraid to use “cuss words” in front of them and that she didn’t discipline them when they used them, either.  But the class remained focused and was generally able to engage in some pretty mature dialogues.  Now that we’ve begun the novel itself, they’ve laid the foundation for understanding the nature of our human conscience and are prepared to have it come to crisis.  I’m excited for what’s to come.  A couple of students in the English 10 class last year even said that this particular book changed their life in some small way. 

The Challenges/Joys of Life on One Foot in Nairobi, Kenya

If you read my last blog entry, you’ll remember that about three weeks ago, I had a fateful encounter with my staircase which resulted in a broken bone in my foot, and, consequently, I’ve been poking around on crutches with my foot in a homemade cast.  I’ve never broken anything before, but I’m thinking that there are some situational differences between breaking something in Kenya versus the States.  Here are some “highlights” from the past few weeks:

• Dr. Joe: A pleasant, smiling Aussie, I’ve found that Dr. Joe has a generally bizarre bedside manner.  I’ve been unbelievably grateful to Joe and his family who took care of me after my incident, helping me get my x-ray and making my plaster cast in the backyard.  But Dr. Joe is also a bit of a jokester, and quite sarcastic.  I called him a couple of weeks ago after several people expressed grave concern about the dark, ashen-purple-colored toes that poked out of my cast.  Joe offered to make a house call to check my foot out.  When he arrived, with his daughter in tow, he assessed the problem as being merely a hygiene issue.  I insisted that Kenyan dirt is red, not purple.  This past week, he came to check again on the structural integrity of the disintegrating plaster, working to give me a guess on when we can take the cast off.  As he poked and prodded my foot and toes to see whether the break was healing, I swear he was trying to make me cry again.  Then I reminded him that it’s not the pain that’s unpleasant for me, but doctors in general, he had a good laugh.

• The many “Pole sana’s:” I must look either truly pathetic or else completely ridiculous, because, inevitably, when we’re out and about in Nairobi, I receive quite a few offerings of the Swahili phrase “Pole sana,” which means “So sorry.”  Sometimes the phrase is accompanied by a  sad furrow between peoples’ eyes and some fairly sincere concern.  Others, it comes with a bit of a chuckle and even a little pat on my shoulder or back.  Either way, I return their sympathetic message with my own “Asante” (thank you) and a smile and continue on my way.  Honestly, it’s got to be kind of funny for a Kenyan to see a little mzungu in my situation.  We already stand out around here, so it certainly doesn’t make me any more inconspicuous.  

• Signatures: The first day of school after my accident, the kids were all either very entertained by my condition or else very concerned for me.  Some of them immediately set about making their mark on my cast.  The first signature was from a student named Kate who wrote her name in huge block letters right above my toes.  I’ve since realized that Kenyans think that I’ve written my own name on my cast, and so complete strangers have approached me and said, “Pole sana, Kate.”  At least it wasn’t “Muthoni” or “Shiku” or another very Kenyan name in that spot, I suppose.  I’d be getting even stranger looks, I’d bet.  Among other favorite signatures: My Sudanese student wrote, “Get quick heal” alongside her name and a Korean senior wrote, “Get better soon” in Korean characters.  

• A Vertical Campus: Becca and I switched classrooms so that I wouldn’t have to make it up two flights of stairs to my usual classroom, which is really helpful, but our WNS campus is just about the hilliest, least handicapped-friendly campus I could imagine.  To come down from the parking lot in the morning, I have to carefully make my way down a fairly large concrete staircase (I’ve slipped twice), across a paved area, into the office.  Our office is a labyrinth of tiny rooms and hallways, each of them connected at a doorway where there is either a small step up or down into the next room.  Narrow doorways, spilled water in the kitchen, a coffee table, and a treacherous little rug all present particular challenges.  To get from the office to the high school side of campus, I make my way across concrete pavers that get pretty slick when wet, an unpaved gravel driveway, and a couple of drainage grates.  Poor Becca each day goes down to the bandas to get my lunch, because the only ways to get down there are either a steep staircase or a steep gravel driveway.  I’ve been missing our Tuesday morning staff devotions because it’s just too much work and, frankly, too dangerous, to get myself down there and then back up again.  And if that doesn’t present enough of a challenge already, here’s the kicker: rainy season has officially begun.  

...But then again, it’s raining in Kenya.  Praise the Lord, right?  He’s good.

God. Loves. Irony.

He’s pulling out all the stops.  I think the Lord must have something big He needs my attention for, because it’s just too ironic that everything could get this way without there being some cosmic plan involved.

In the midst of all the new stressors that have been introduced into my life this year, somehow there seems to always remain a little bit of room left for some new problem to pop up.  It’s like those silly teen slasher films.  You think it can’t possibly get any worse, and then, wait.. yes.. there’s always room for more ketchup wounds and screaming adolescents.  The nation-wide power and water outages, for instance, I’ve gotten used to.  But now, it seems like everything at our house is breaking: our instant shower heater, our washing machine, our break lights on the car, etc.  The power kept surging this morning in my room and downstairs, and I seriously thought to myself that something was going to explode.  Our house helper does everyone’s laundry except for mine, but I think that’s probably because she’s nervous to do mine anymore because on her first try, she ruined seven or eight items of clothing (they’re permanently dyed a splotchy purple/gray).  Everyone’s sick at school- this nasty cold/flu where everyone’s nose is runny and they’re coughing and sneezing and losing their voices.  I haven’t gotten it yet, but I’m sure it’s coming.  Like I’ve mentioned before, I’m teaching more courses than I had last year because one of the newly hired teachers and her family are still support-raising back in the States and the new word out is that she’s probably not going to make it at all.  I’ve roped myself into directing two plays second semester instead of one, we’ve increased the size of the yearbook by 30% from last year, and I’ve got a batch of smarties in my AP English class who really deserve to do well on their test in May.  

It’s been one doozy of a quarter.

But all of that came to a climax this past Friday night.  My roommate had had some of her senior French girls over to the house for a sleepover.  I’d stayed up in my room for a while reading a book, but joined them after an hour or so.  They’re great girls and it was fun to spend some time outside of the academic school environment.  We were talking about their post-graduation plans (turns out one of them is even looking at my alma mater, Miami University, which was a fun surprise) and how their senior year is going so far, just kind of catching up.  Each of the girls who had come was also on my yearbook staff, and our director had just given me a copy of the yearbook from the NICS school in Bangdung, Indonesia, and so I went back upstairs to bring it back for the girls to look at to get some inspiration for their section staff.  As I came back down, I missed the step before the landing and did this little human-accordion stunt as I rolled over the outside of my right foot.  I imagine it looked pretty funny to the girls down in the living room, and I popped right back up and was laughing, too.  

But a little later on, I realized that it hurt pretty badly, even with ice on it, so when the doctor dad of one of the girls came to pick her up, the girls asked that he come and check it out.  I’m a terrible wuss when it comes to doctors, and so even though the pain wasn’t too bad, I ended up in this crazy crying/laughing fit with a whole circle of students and a parent around to witness the tragedy.  He recommended that I get an x-ray in the morning and told me to lay low until the next day.  So at 9:30 am Saturday morning, Jennifer P drove me over to a clinic to get the x-ray with one of our sophomore students, sister to one of the senior girls and daughter to the doctor, as a tag-along.  She seemed really excited to find out whether her teacher had broken a bone and was making predictions that I’d need a cast and asked if she could sign it.  Silly girl.  Turns out, though, after an hour and a half at this junky little clinic, I got my x-ray and report that I had indeed broken my foot.  Spiral fracture to my 5th metatarsal.  Awesome.

So Dr. Joe had my other roomie, Becca, and his older daughter head out to the chemist to pick up the stuff to make a plaster cast and the whole family helped out in the process of plastering me up in our back yard.  It was pretty comical, really.  The senior daughter held an umbrella over me so that the plaster wouldn’t set too quickly in the sun while the dad was sarcastically teasing me the whole time and the sophomore daughter drew smiley faces on my toes with wet plaster and made a big ol’ mess, delighting that she was finally not the one who’d broken something and needed a cast.  

The crazy part was that the whole process ended up costing me 2000 ksh (1000 for the x-ray, 1000 for the cast supplies)- about $27.  And I never once even pulled out my insurance card.  Wild.  So the rest of the weekend, I pretty much sat around telling this same story, eating chocolate and working on school stuff.  The doctor’s wife, Sue, who coincidentally works at WNS as our middle school English teacher sent over a borrowed copy of some British made-for-TV film about a woman who loves the Austen novel Pride and Prejudice and finds Elizabeth Bennet in her bathroom one day and switches lives with her.  Wildly entertaining, but a little shocking as well.  My discipler, Kara, came over with soup and a Betty Crocker brownie box mix Sunday afternoon, too.  I guess there are some perks that come along with the whole being an invalid thing.

But I’ve got to admit that this whole thing has just got me mad right now.  I’m ticked.  I’ve never broken anything before in my life, I’ve never been all that sick, and I only just had my first cavity ever a year ago.  I kind of can’t believe that it’s now of all times and here of all places that I have to go and break my foot.  I feel so inconvenienced and helpless and pathetic.  I’ve got to hop around with this huge thing on my foot and hobble around on crutches for six weeks.  Our campus is really hilly, and there are stairs everywhere, so I know that’ll prove to be pretty challenging.  We’d planned on a trip to Mombasa in a month, but it would be just silly to try to go to the beach with a cast.  No more driving lessons, either.  I’m a lump.  So frustrating.

And yet, I can’t help thinking that this is just way too much happening at the same time for it to be purely accidental.  I mean.. seriously?  On top of everything else already making life complicated, I’ve got to gimp around for a month and a half just because I missed a step on a staircase I’ve run up and down in the dark before without hurting myself at all?  I think I must be one of God’s priority targets for training in patience without whining, because He’s giving me way too many opportunities for practice to have it be mere coincidence.  I’m either going to become the most annoying person on the planet for the poor people around me, or the next time you see me you’ll encounter a saint.  Boy, I hope it’s the latter.  

I’m hoping this is the last trial He’s got planned for me for a while, though.  Did you hear that, Jesus?  Hold off for a little while until I figure out how to take a shower with a plaster cast up to my knee without getting it wet.  Then you can throw me something else.  Promise.  In the meantime, I suppose there’s humor to be found in it all.  I’m trying my darndest not to get all cranky and sorry for myself, and I’m sure that a week of students gaping and giggling at their teacher poking around campus on crutches should help me not to take myself too seriously.  So here goes.  

Introspection

In all honesty, I never really considered myself a geek before I came to Kenya, but I think that it’s dawned on me that that’s exactly what I am. Maybe some of you had that figured out already, but this is a new thing for me. Sure, I remember my middle school days of people nerves and anxiety and my mild case of OCD in maintaining my perfect all A plus streak and how people in my classes strategically placed themselves around me so that they could copy off of my homework. It’s probably because of that season of my life that I find something lovable about those kids who desperately maneuver through their high school classes, fretting over every 97% that could have been a 100%. Granted, though, most of the time that’s just kind of annoying. That used to be me. But this is different. I have discovered this component of my personality that, while completely disconnected from intelligence and/or work ethic, I believe could and should place me in the geek realm.

I love learning. So much. I’m finding that I miss my college days less and less for the social memories (that still stings a bit, though) and more and more because I just miss the whole student thing. Those of you who know me well probably wouldn’t label me as the brainy one, or even as the deeply motivated and ambitious one. But I’ll tell you one thing I know I’m good at: when I learn something new.. something that’s wise and rich and deep and interesting.. it strikes a nerve in me. I can’t help but apply that new little bit of truth and see what it does.

So the other day, when I sat down with our director to map out a plan for how I can meet the ACSI requirement that all certified school teachers develop their Philosophy of Christian Education, I looked at the book list of required and optional reading and, even though I’ve got far too much on my plate already this year, I actually got a little excited about the project. We’ve got four required readings, and then there was this list of several titles to choose between. I quickly skimmed over the required reading list and moved on to the optional ones. At the very bottom was listed Nancy Pearcey’s Total Truth: Liberating Christianity from its Cultural Captivity. And I don’t know what it was about that title, but for some reason, I was sold. I went to our school library to check see if Bwana Joel had it on the shelves, and.. surprise, surprise.. it’s by far the thickest book in the bunch. But I’ll tell you what, I’ve taken this book home and I’ve had so many geeked-out moments in the past few days, it’s silly. I’ve written before about all of my efforts to introduce the concept of Worldview into my classroom, and my desire to implement Biblical truth as much as possible into every moment in my teaching. This book, I’ve got to say, has just become such an affirmation and encouragement in what I’m working to do here at WNS.

I’ve got such a burden for the intellectual and spiritual vitality of my students. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard the statistics about Christian students who leave their Christian homes and Christian schools and go out into the world and get bush-whacked by the intellectual community and all of its misdirection and completely abandon their faith. Forget the wild parties and alcohol.. I’m more concerned about the numbing of these students’ minds. And while I continually have to remind myself that I am not responsible for the spiritual lives of my students - that I am merely responsible to my students in preparing them as best as I can - I’m pulling every trick I’ve got up my sleeve to try to get these kiddos ready for the “real world.” So that’s become my focus. The one thing I think I have to offer each of my students. Worldview 101. A.k.a. “How to think, not what to think.” A.k.a. “You-don’t-have-to-abandon-knowledge-and-reason-to-be-a-Christian-because-God-IS-knowledge-and-reason.”

It’s been pretty fun, too. I’m finishing up my “Utopia, Interrupted” unit with the tenth-graders on William Golding’s Lord of the Flies, and while they’ve apparently been talking about the “Beastie” on the bus and have successfully freaked out the elementary schoolers (can you say “life imitating art?”), I’ve been so pumped to see these kids embrace the ideas of human dignity and depravity, civilization and savagery, and good and evil. They’ve hunted down social, political, moral, and religious allegories successfully in the text and have engaged in several heated debates on the human condition and various philosopher’s views on civilization and mankind. Totally exciting.

My AP students were no doubt surprised, as well, when I brought up American feminist Kate Chopin’s short stories and had the students study, critique, and implement feminist criticism in their discussion and writing. Apparently, I did such a good job of remaining neutral and allowing the kids to make up their own minds about feminism that my students were left wondering amongst themselves which side of the fence their teacher was on. [For those of you wondering why I would think that’s a good thing, remember: “how to think, not what to think” is my mantra.] We’ve since explored Jean Paul Sartre and his “hell is other people” concept through the drama No Exit and the existential worldview popular during WWII.

My micro-class of American Literature students (five wonderful young ladies) has discussed reputation, ethics in law and the administration of punishment, Puritanism and legalism in religion, adultery, and sin at length as we’ve gone through Nathaniel Hawthorne’s romantic masterpiece The Scarlet Letter. We had one particularly interesting discussion in which I asked the girls to write down adjectives which other people in their lives had used to describe them, both good and bad. Some of the anonymous descriptors they handed in? “The ‘good’ one,” “Immodest,” “Goofy,” “Judgmental,” “Hypocritical,” “Racist,” “The ‘future doctor,’” and “Mean.” These have got to be five of the most beautiful, articulate, and dear young women I’ve ever met. And still, in their transparency and brokenness when afforded an opportunity to discuss freely, they amaze me.

Life in Kenya - Nairobi City Stars

I’ve found that getting a glimpse into other ministries here in Nairobi is building my understanding of missions, ministry, and the needs of Kenya in a big way. We’ve attended two of the Nairobi City Stars soccer games in the past month. A few weeks ago, we headed to Nyayo stadium in Nairobi to watch the Stars play the Leopards. The game ended in a scoreless tie, but with all of the stories we heard later, it was difficult to look back upon it as “uninteresting.” Josh and Steve, both American expats here with the U.S.-based ministry organization Ambassadors in Sport, came over to our place after the game with Amy P. and Kenyan friend of theirs. We heard all sorts of insider information about the trials that NCS is facing and the bizarre subculture of Kenyan football. First, Steve, who manages the team, told us how tough financial times have meant that none of the players have received salaries for the past several months. As a player for the team, Josh added that it’s been painful to watch his teammates get kicked out of their homes and run out of money to pay their children’s school fees. Steve said that the management staff is actually really excited about all of the incredible things that are happening through this challenging period, and Josh agreed that many of the players are making tremendous strides in their walks with the Lord. Pretty neat stuff.

And then later, we learned that at their last game against the Leopards, which took place at the NCS home stadium in Kawangware, Leopard fans had gotten out of control and pushed the entire fence down. Apparently, the Leopards also employ a witch doctor, who at the Nyayo game, was walking around the field the entire time, shaking a stick (think Rafiki from The Lion King). When one of the NCS players was injured, the Leopard staff told a doctor he couldn’t bring his medical bag on the field because it may contain magical elements that would contaminate the field. At one point, a man associated with the Stars was taken aside and beaten because the Leopard staff thought he was the Stars’ witch doctor. Crazy. Josh and Steve both said that this kind of stuff isn’t all that uncommon in football in Kenya - that other teams have washed their jerseys in some “magical” mixture that they also spread in certain places on the field. We all agreed that if you want to talk “spiritual warfare,” this is the real deal. The Stars aren’t a “Christian” team, but they’re sponsored by some religious organizations, and about half of the players are believers. NCS has been praised by the league for their service efforts in their community (Kawangware is a large slum in the city, second to Kibera, arguably the largest slum in Africa, which is also in Nairobi) and their sportsmanship and high character.

Unimportant, but nevertheless:

• I am completely bummed out about not being in Columbus for a third season of Buckeye football. Friday night, there was a big gathering of people at a WNS family’s home in Karen, and we sat around their big TV and watched a DVD of the Steeler v. Titans game. I can’t tell you how completely mesmerized we all were.. it was a bit pathetic, really, but all of us who miss fall football were appeased, at least for a little while. I heard from a USC fan about our loss the other day Sunday morning at church. Not the best way to hear bad news.
• I think I may be becoming lactose intolerant. One of my new roommates, Jennifer P., isn’t able to handle dairy, and while I’m fully aware that this isn’t something that can be contagious, I’m thinking it might explain a few things. If I’m right, this is terrible news, because it either takes away completely or at least negatively modifies some of the principle items in my diet here: coffee and chai, grilled sandwiches, yoghurt, omelets, and the really yummy gelato at Junction. Bummer.
• I had my first run-in with a dangerous African animal a few weeks ago. While my roommates and I were out enjoying the sun in our "backyard" (which is really just a slab of concrete and some tragic little plants), and out of nowhere, this black beetle with red antennae comes along and squirts acid on my hand. So there was this dime-sized spot on the back of my hand for about a week and a half - originally bright, burning orange, and then it turned into this ugly scab. Bizarre. Nobody can tell me what it was, but I've heard of a similar insect, the "Nairobi Eye" that burns blisters as it walks along your skin. Only in Africa.
• Driving in Nairobi is getting more and more insane. Every morning, on our drive to work, we are run completely off the road by buses, matatus, and other large vehicles at least twice. Saturday night, on our way out of Kawangware from the soccer game, we hit a terrible pile-up at an intersection and chose to try out a new direction. Basically, we discovered the entire city must have gone completely crazy, because everywhere we went, there was out-of-control traffic. We ended up using some questionable dirt roads through alleys and markets that, while they showed us a different and fascinating side of Nairobi, I’m not all that anxious to venture out on again. Kudos to Becca, though, our driver through the chaos, who nearly got hit several times, but only stalled once and ultimately got us home. My favorite moment: Jonathan putting down the camera he’d been using to document the ride and putting his hand on the front of a bus to remind the driver not to hit us. Sometimes, I forget I’m in Africa. It’s nice to have occasional reminders :)

Kenya: Remix

First Weeks in Review

It’s been a full couple of weeks, practicing driving stick on the crazy Kenyan streets, moving into my new room in the house (I’m no longer on the first floor in the middle of everything, which is great), getting to know my new roommates, “the Jennifers,” getting ready for school, and starting and finishing up our first week here.

There’ve been some hiccups so far: 1. Most of the textbooks and teacher resource materials I ordered back in January were never actually ordered, and so each of the new English courses, plus some of the old ones, are without texts at the moment; 2. I’m unofficially the head of our English department, which is out of control, and the new teachers, Kathy, Jen, and Michael, have all had so many questions, that it’s been difficult to get much done for myself; and 3. I’m teaching an extra class right now until a new teacher finally arrives to take it over. So, it’s been a challenge, and pretty exhausting so far, but I am finding myself happy to be back “home.”

It’s been so much fun catching up with the kids—I’d almost forgotten how great they are! My English 10 kids are little pills for the most part, but they’re a real riot when you get them going. I’ve got a tiny little section of American Literature—five girls—and they’re awesome. Perfect angels. That’s unfortunately the class that’ll get taken over by the new teacher later, so I’m taking advantage of my time with them while I’ve got them. My AP kids are brilliant, and I’ve decided that that just might be my favorite class of the year. They’re definitely going to make me a better teacher, that’s for sure. My yearbook class exploded from 16 to 25 students (and counting), and so I’m figuring out ways to improvise and make sure all the kids are busy and devoted to a section staff so that the book can be even bigger and better than last year’s. I pulled out the “crazy” early in the Theatre Arts class during our first meeting on Friday, introducing them to a partner observation activity. The freshmen looked like they didn’t know whether to laugh or run out of the room. I am that teacher.

I think the most exciting part about being back, though, has been really letting loose and taking full advantage of my platform and position as a teacher in this Christian school and being totally upfront about how my students can expect to approach literature from a Christian worldview, examining the historical and cultural context in which the text was written, the audience the work was originally intended for, the author’s personal worldview, and the world in which the characters live and operate. I left my walls fairly bare this year—just a few posters hung here and there. But I did take some time before the year began to fill a portion of the big bulletin board on my back wall. In my classes last year, I used the terms “dignity,” “depravity,” “redemption,” and “choice” pretty frequently as we went through literary texts. What I outlined on my board in words and images was the connection that each of these terms has with a part of the gospel message. Our Dignity is the product of the reality that God loves us and has a wonderful plan for our lives. But our common Depravity enters as the result of the fact that we’ve all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. The opportunity for Redemption and sanctification enters with the person of Jesus Christ, who sacrificially provided a way for us to become right with God again. But the Choice remains ours—Redemption is a free gift, but that truth is only ours when we submit to it and let it change us. Read any novel or play out there and you’re going to run into this stuff. Characters (people like us, even if they are fictional) have inherent value as human beings. But we know that most good stories involve some kind of conflict—in steps Depravity. Some stories stop here. You’ve got some screwball character who runs around making mistake after mistake, and never experiences any redemptive change. That kind of a story may satisfy some readers, but I think most of us prefer to see characters embrace Redemption by Choice.

I went through this Gospel/Literature parallel structure with each of my English classes this week and laid the foundation for future discussion of these issues. Basically, it’s going to be pretty difficult for any student in my class to leave on any given day without a clear understanding of the Gospel. But just like those characters, the ability to choose is still theirs. Ball’s in their court now. Just how I think it ought to be. I love teaching literature. Even better, I love reminders that the secular and the sacred can coexist. That faith and reason are partners. That God’s in it all.

Kenyan Moments

I can’t tell you how many times I was asked this summer while I was back in the States, “So, what do you miss about being in Kenya?” And I’ll admit, I had a tough time coming up with a reply a lot of the time. That sounds terrible, but really, I was just excited to come back to America and enjoy all that that involves. I love how easy it is there. At least in Ohio, people are so friendly and easy to know. Meet someone in line at the grocery store, and you can have an honest-to-goodness heart-to-heart conversation with a perfect stranger. Friends and family are either within driving distance, or else easily accessible over the phone. Target and Wal-Mart are the products of absolute brilliance. American radio is entertaining for at least two weeks, until all of the new songs become repetitive. People know how to cut Anglo hair. Free refills on drinks when you go out to eat. Electricity and water patterns are predictable. People follow traffic laws. Traffic laws exist. America is amazing. But I’ll tell you what—my return to Kenya hasn’t been without its joys. Here are some highlights from the past couple of weeks:

- - I got a whole bag full of veggies from the green grocer for 235 shillings. That’s like 3 bucks. And I remain convinced that Kenyan coffee is the purest form of what God intended.

- - A new restaurant opened at the Prestige Plaza food court. It’s called “Buddha Bar,” but all of the decorations are Hindi. I ordered pad thai and, with the exception of thinly shaven pieces of baby corn, it was pretty tasty.

- - The Chandaranda market now carries Hunt’s canned tomatoes with garlic, basil, and oregano (one of the main things I was going to miss about grocery shopping in the States). They’re also carrying Kraft Mac and Cheese, but at 375 shillings a box (about $4), I’m not certain that that’s such a deal.

- - A man was walking through the Junction parking lot carrying a telephone. Not a cell phone. A plug-in-the-wall telephone.

- - Working in my classroom before the school opened, my old friend Shadrach brought a new worker, Abraham, up to help me move heavy furniture. I almost expected Hosea, Malachi, and Nebuchadnezzar to arrive to help out, too.

- - Our friends, Joel and Jonathan, recently moved into a new apartment. I’d heard that it was really nice, but when we pulled into their compound, their gate guards were in orange jump suits and stared us down until we told them we were there to see the wazungu on the third floor who just moved in. Their apartment truly was pretty nice, and their landlord had boasted about how everything was recently imported from Dubai (which basically translates into incredibly ornate and deliciously tacky lighting fixtures with dimmer switches). The best part? The last tenant had installed a black light. Can you say "party pad?"

Prayer

For those of you who faithfully go before the Lord for me, West Nairobi School, and Kenya, here’s a few fire starters:

- - The famine in Kenya is getting worse. Failed rains have caused crops to fall miserably short of what Kenya needs to grow to survive, much less export for a profit. 11 million Kenyans are starving—that’s 33% of the total population. I’ll admit that this just hasn’t hit close to home for me yet, and so it still feels like I’m pretty far removed from the reality. But the other day, a teacher friend told me he’d read in the papers that 20 people in the Great Rift Valley (about a 40 minute drive from Nairobi) have died recently from starvation. Please pray for the basic physical needs of these precious people.*

- - Kenya’s failed rainy season has also led to some pretty drastic measures when it comes to powering the nation. Because most of the electricity in Kenya is hydroelectric, the government recently made the decision to implement a rationing program for water and power for the whole nation of Kenya. So for three days a week, for the whole nation, the power completely shuts off. Our part of town is on the Monday, Wednesday, Friday rotation, while other parts of town shut things off on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. The school has a diesel-powered generator that we turn on each day to power the school, so we’re alright out in Karen, but I’m sure that the cuts will have negative consequences here and there. But for right now, it’s mostly an inconvenience (getting ready for school in the dark, no hot water for showers, etc.).

- - A couple of weeks ago, an AIM (Africa Inland Mission) plane carrying a team of American photo journalists crashed into a building near the Nairobi Airport. The pilot, a man named Frank, died shortly after the crash, and the copilot, Ryan Williams, were both members of my church here in Nairobi. Ryan had been in critical, but stable, condition after the accident, with his major injuries being some broken bones, lacerations, and burns. He was flown to South Africa a few days after the accident for better burn treatment (the hospital in Nairobi had been trying to stabilize him enough to fly him back to the States), but he developed some serious infections and passed away a few days ago. It’s been devastating to watch this incredibly close missionary and expat community in Nairobi deal with this tragic event. So many of the people we know here are connected to AIM and this incident. It’s been difficult to find someone who hasn’t been affected. Both Frank and Ryan were husbands and fathers of four. And they’re both with their Savior right now. If you think of their families, please pray that they’ll recover and see God’s plan in the midst of the tragedy. Ryan’s wife, Dawn, is particularly in need of prayer, as their family has been in the midst of an adoption process for their daughter, Chloe, a Kenyan little girl. With both parents’ names on Chloe’s adoption paperwork, Dawn is concerned that, so close to the completion of the process, the adoption agency and officials will deny the adoption.

It’s never easy, but it’s such an important reminder now and then to be faced with the reality of our lives’ temporal, fleeting nature. Isn’t it incredible to remember, though, that through it all, God is sovereign? He makes us no guarantees, but He also makes no mistakes. You’re here by no accident. We’re here on mission until our purpose is fulfilled. What a sobering reality. What an incredible challenge. I hope and pray that you and I are honoring the Lord with the time that’s ours to steward over. You all are so important and dear to me. Love you all.

* If you've got a burden for the starving people in Kenya during this time of famine and you'd like to give to the relief effort, please shoot me an email (kateweiant@gmail.com). My home church here in Nairobi has been raising funds over the past year to provide food and seed for those suffering most from the famine. There's no middle man in the operation, and so every dollar of a financial gift that you would like to give to this effort would go directly from me to the people of Kenya. Pray about it and let me know if you'd like to be involved in meeting someone's physical needs.

Homecoming

After over 24 hours of travel, including two international flights, three delays on the tarmac, a British adolescent suffering from "influenza" as a seat mate, meeting and swapping stories with several members of the armed forces, and four disappointing airplane meals, I arrived in the Jomo Kenyatta airport Saturday night. My re-entry took less than half an hour, all three of my bags were waiting in the carousel, and two WNS buddies were there to greet me and take me home.

All in all, a successful trip back. But I can't pretend that the transition hasn't been without its challenges. There were some tearful goodbyes back in Columbus (thanks again, Sam, for being a calming, albeit humorously apathetic, presence at the airport), and I'm grieving letting go of a wonderfully blessed and full summer. I'll miss all of you from my "other" life while I'm here, but I'm grateful for your encouragement and prayer as I return for another year of ministry here at WNS.

How incredible, too, to be back in a familiar place that I've already figured out and know how to function and thrive. Praise the Lord I'm no longer green at all of this. What a blessing. So now I suppose it's my turn to try to be as helpful, encouraging, and supportive of the new folks here in Nairobi with all of my wisdom and experience ;) The new staff members already seem to be adjusting and getting excited about the quickly-approaching start to school. My new roommates, Jennifer and Jennifer (who replaced Jen...), are great, too. It's such a wonderful thing living with folks who share the same passion for Christ and vision for their life work. I'm looking forward to new adventures with these guys.

Thanks for the prayers, all! Miss you already.

Kate