Not long ago I met a dear lady named Dorothy, who worked in one of the local markets. We talked a bit about the Gospel as she knew I was here for the sole purpose of missions work and she herself was a believer. Amidst our conversation she revealed that she had no Bible. We parted ways that day and I made a mental note to acquire one for her and deliver it when time allowed. Yesterday was such a day and I dropped by her small shop to bring her a copy of the Word. She was elated and extremely grateful for such a valuable gift. We talked a bit more and I left her to her work as I headed back to our base.

On the way we passed the big crusade that has been going on since Thursday. The crusade started every day at 3:00 p.m. yet the main evangelist did not arrive on the scene until around 6:00 p.m. It just so happened, that he was up front as we were going by and seizing the opportunity, I stopped that I may listen in to what he had to say. His posters that have been around town for about three weeks boasted of salvation, healing and miracles at his crusade and I thought I would see if he preached a message of truth and conviction.

I stayed for about ten minutes, five of which were spent thanking the various groups that assisted with the crusade. He then entered ‘battle mode’ in which he attacked the NIV for being a poor translation and heralded the KJV as the only true Bible. He spoke of the inerrancies of the NIV and the overwhelming accuracies found in the KJV. His words were delivered with passion and a slight air of arrogance. It was clear the fellow had not been trained as an evangelist but knew he come get a large crowd there off of Kibera Drive.

As I listened I surveyed the crowd that was estimated as being 5,000 strong. We were all scattered across the hillside and my first thought was of Jesus feeding a number of such great proportions. Then I looked at the tremendous opportunity to preach the Gospel to many who were unsaved and needed the Lord’s touch. Instead the message was about the importance of the KJV when in reality scarcely anyone in the crowd had a Bible to begin with. After all, if he is so set on the precision of the original, he should honor the word by preaching in Greek and supporting the New Testament’s original Greek manuscript.

I mean not to criticize his ministry, as I am sure he was convinced in his own mind he was preaching the gospel truth, but I had just come from giving someone a Bible who had none. How can anyone preach a message of such seeming insignificance when compared to the masses that don’t even know the God of the Bible? Moreover, how can one so dogmatically claim superiority to ones who have never seen a copy of the Word? So I leave with that thought, frustrated when man gets in the way, yet hopeful because the ones here are still hungry for the Gospel!!

Just by way of note, I in no way support nor disregard any version nor suggest anyone do so. However, if we really keep the big picture in mind, I believe we will find that some issues of contention are rather irrelevant when juxtaposed with the overwhelming importance of salvation and God’s plan.

Yesterday was my day to be at the African Bible College teaching classes. I previously had spoken to Pastor Timothy, the one responsible for the college’s existence, and he passed along the material I was to teach. The classes I am now teacher for are going through the course of “Preaching Biblical Messages and Pastoral Ministry.” Ergo, the basic matter is that I am teaching a course that I myself have not been through. Haha but I hope you will not send a message to my superior revealing that fact.

Despite having ample classes on teaching, I have not had a single one on preparing a sermon or ‘biblical message.’ However, I have the course manual and I can teach myself; that shall have to suffice at this point. When this course is finished I will be teaching Biblical Doctrine followed by New Testament Survey. These should be a bit more complete as I have passed through this myself.

Regardless, I am teaching the same class back to back, now I realize how pastors and teachers must feel who have multiple services or classes. The first class I get good practice on and I believe I am sufficiently warmed up for the second. Alas, that is the rub, for the second class is some kind of class indeed.

The idea we were covering yesterday was finding the contextual subject of a Biblical passage and determining the ‘completers’ or points of support for the subject. The course material outlined several of these and then offered a section in which one would complete the assignment on his own. I am sorrowful to report that we never reached that section despite it being only three pages forward in the book.

We started off well but one of the examples listed was about the man in John 9 who was healed of blindness. The basic subject was that not all illness is caused by sin. Yet, we somehow drifted to the issue of divine healing and then the gift of healing and then the gift of prophecy and then the office of a prophet and then the issue of discernment and finally ended when our time expired. Wow, I am amazed at the diversions and side roads the conversation will take. I think it would be easier chasing a rabbit through a tall stand of grass in the plains. Haha so be it; it matters little as everyone is still learning and the Lord is still glorified!

I have nothing major to report except a new exotic smoothie I tried at a local restaurant. We the leaders escaped tonight for a few moments in order to get a delectable treat from a local shop just a few minutes drive from our place. These moments are usually few and far between and we cherish them when they present themselves. Therefore, it was a tremendous blessing to be able to go and grab something sweet.

My intention was to get some of the delightful Kenyan tea for which they are well-known for, but my mind was swayed when I gazed at the menu. I had never had a smoothie from this place but thought I may just give it a shot. The majority of the smoothies contained ginger and I, being a proponent of ginger, decided that would be the more proper route to take. Ginger has long been praised for its medicinal properties of well-being and has been used for years by way of remedies and support of proper health. With that in mind, I ordered a smoothie named ‘Immune Booster.’

Simple logic would say that something to boost one’s immune system is never a bad thing. As a matter of fact, being in a slum, it is a good idea to keep one’s immune system in peak performance. This immune boosting concoction contained various portions of the following: lemon sherbet, orange juice, sliced bananas, dates and the aforementioned ginger. The fellow placed all the ingredients together and went in the back for the ginger.

He emerged with two sizable chunks of ginger root asking me which I desired. The one large piece was comparable to an economy size glue stick. On the other hand, the smaller piece was more along the size of a large thumb. I would venture it to be about two inches long and fairly fat in the middle. I told him I would gladly take the smaller which he immediately placed in a juicer and extracted at least two tablespoons of pure ginger extract. Mind you, the smoothie itself was not any more than eight ounces and that ginger was overpowering just watching him juice it.

Well, the moment of truth had come, he had finished compiling all the contents; they were pureed and poured into a cup. The first swallow could only be compared to swallowing flaming diesel fuel and each subsequent swallow at least the same intensity. I have never swallowed flaming diesel fuel per say, but I can only imagine if I happened to do such a thing, there would be little difference between the two.

I was able to drink most of the immune boosting tonic, leaving only two swallows at the bottom where the really strong mix was. If the effects it has are based on taste alone, I shall not be sick for the next thirty three years. All ended well, but my once burning passion for ginger products has been quelled somewhat with tonight’s extreme overdose!

I delighted in reporting the demise of the mice that frequented our area; however, a new threat is on the horizon. Today for the first time in a month or so it really rained. We didn’t get a friendly little sprinkle as it has been doing off and on over the past week; instead it was, in the terminology of the South, “a frog strangler.” The rains came and did a fine job settling the dust and the ever present smog. However, the rains served as some sort of summons in which the water called to the hordes and the masses to emerge.

Rains here do not just fall with an end in mind; they bring the renewal of life in many various shapes. Tonight the rain called out the flying termites. I have heard that the short rains in November really lure these winged beasts out from their underground lairs and that tonight was naught but a preview. Whatever the case, we are going to have difficulty on our hands.

Shortly after the rains ceased I saw the first termite alight in the community house where we had gathered to eat. It naturally posed no harm as none of them do, but there are a few on the team who are petrified of flying insects, especially those with large wings. These termites appear to have two sets of wings, each wing about double the size of its little body. Once the creature stumbled into the house there was all manner of screaming and running about, even worse than at the onset of the mice.

I write knowing full well that there is no such avenue to dispense of the termites as was for the mice. However, I write also with the knowledge given to me, that come November they appear in droves of Biblical proportions. The times now we shall enjoy and celebrate because soon enough we will have half of our team in bunkers avoiding these flying devils.

According to the boys that live just down the street, the termites can be eaten and have the flavor of a lemon. Mind you, when they appear in their mighty numbers, we shall experiment to find out if in fact this is true. From what I understand, it is important to take off the wings so they do not get caught in the throat. Moreover, I wouldn’t mind frying them with a bit of seasoning so they would be a bit crunchy and more flavorful. It appears that our only ally in combating these will be our friendly gecko that had taken up residence in the corner of the house, but even he has a limit to how many he can eat.

The team up to this point has been above the norm as far as health is concerned. By the grace of our King of Kings we have been in good health as a whole, avoiding any life-threatening ailments. However, due to the foul air, smog, smoke and dust, several have experienced respiratory difficulties. These have sought remedies at the clinic just a three minute walk from our place of domicile. The small medical clinic is a quaint but sufficient place for treatment of the normal maladies of the area.

Nevertheless, I went with a fellow today to the clinic as he has been plagued with what, at best guess, would classify as a sinus infection. We entered the clinic and found no one before us, ensuring a speedy diagnosis. While we were there in the waiting area, the head ‘physician,’ Nancy, was preparing for the visit. For those who are waiting to be seen, a TV sits in the corner for their viewing pleasure. It is nothing more than a thirteen inch black and white TV residing in a rather large iron grate, padlocked and sealed, preventing it from being stolen.

I am unsure of the various television channels that are available here as we have no access to a TV. We waited for a few minutes prior to being summoned by Nancy, availing ourselves to the TV programming that was available. You will be surprised to discover that the channel which was selected was airing none other than Western wrestling. We watched in awe as professional wrestling, US style, was being pumped into that little office. The announcer was yelling and carrying on just as one is used to in passing by the channel back home. Mind you, we have only heard about that kind of wresting as we know good Christian people never watch wrestling or even converse on the matter.

However, I could tell the lady working the books over in the corner was greatly intrigued by the moving pictures she saw on the screen. I told her that not every American was like that, to which she posed a query, perhaps the defining question of the age: “Is professional wrestling real?” She desired to know whether American wrestling was real or fake or a mixture of both. I felt as if I had an opportunity to confirm her dreams or dash them in pieces on the ground. She could have asked no more difficult of a question as it was equivalent with our big questions in life: Is the tooth fairy real? Does chewing gum really stay in your stomach for seven years? Is a duck’s quack really the only sound that will not have an echo? Is the show Survivor rigged or more about playing the game?

Well, these questions and more flashed through my mind when she asked and I was torn; do I tell her the reality behind the wrestling match or just let her continue believing that all Americans enter the ring from time to time to throw each one around a bit. Going against my better judgment, I revealed to her that wrestling indeed was a farce and really it was nothing more than a male soap opera, masquerading in the form of athleticism. Perhaps I should recognize that in bringing truth to Kenya, this truth takes many forms. With this in mind, today the truth became one shade clearer for a dear lady, as one less person is convinced of our wrestling pastime.

Today was filled with teaching on Acts and the foundations on which the first century church began. As we have been learning what Acts has to say about God’s ministry through His human vessels, it has become clear that it is a ministry of power and not so much of human effort. John the Baptist made such a delightful claim in John 3:30 when he said, “He must increase, but I must decrease.” Is that not the ultimate goal, to decrease so much, to the point that those who witness the Lord working remember not the effort we humans put forth, but the overwhelming glory that the Lord manifested through our openness to Him.

Nevertheless, we are in the midst of a great study and each new time of meeting together brings more knowledge of the Word and God’s mighty work. After the time of teaching, we planned for family ministry that will be taking place on Friday, as well as we fellows planning for our trip that we will be taking a week from today. Doing ministry together as a team is just a blessing in coming together with all the gifts and the talents the Lord has brought under one canopy.

A dear friend by the name of Richard came for a visit this afternoon. I met him about a year and a half ago when I was here before. He works for a ministry, Diguna, that is based mainly on transportation of ministries and goods throughout Kenya and Tanzania. I just discovered that they also have a base in the Congo, Uganda and Sudan. That is neither here nor there because the true blessing was being able to visit with him for some time. He taught me a lot about ministry here in Kenya and in developing a heart for the nation. Richard is from the Maasai tribe, one of the most colorful and traditionally rich tribes in Kenya. He got saved and heard the Lord’s call to ministry loud and clear. As a result he has touched many lives, both African and American. The day was well spent in vast amounts of learning and ample times of catching up with a dear Kenyan friend.

Our house, although rather fancy due to the exquisite rug on the floor, lacks other amenities which would ease life here, currently running water being of those lacking niceties. Anyhow, the roof sits directly on the beams running parallel with the house and the beams are exposed underneath. Mind you, exposed beams are a tremendous fashion statement and who would not desire them in one’s own home. However, with the baking African sun, the roof heats up and transfers that heat in a microwave fashion into the rooms of the house.

Necessity certainly does breed invention and due to the no-ceiling problem, I thought I could remedy the heat transfer through a novel method in nailing up some bamboo mats. I found the mats at a roadside vendor for only about two dollars per four by eight foot mat. So I go drop a little under ten dollars and acquire several of these mats for use around the house, some of which were to find permanent residence as my ceiling. You will rest assured in knowing that I have made said ceiling and it has already helped in keeping the place cooler. It even gives the room a novel thatched roof appeal.

Regardless, as I was working yesterday to affix this bamboo on the ceiling, I was greeted by a young fellow just outside who wanted me to read a parchment he held in his hand. I took the page from him and noticed it was handwritten and bore a story that revealed the following: He was an orphan as his parents had passed away some twenty years previous; as a result of this loss he was forced to live with his aunt who was a terribly mean and bewitching lady; yet despite all these unfortunate circumstances he knew Jesus still loved us and He would provide for the young lad.

After reading the note I look over the lined, handwritten page at the mere babe of a fellow and asked how old he was. “Twelve” was his response. I look back at the note, marveling that his parents died twenty years earlier. So I inquired of the matter asking him about his parents and he related the same story to me that was there immortalized in text. I shook my head and said that I just didn’t understand it and handed the note back to him. I told him he had no needs that I could meet as he was a walking miracle and went back to my work.

Then just today, two people from the team approached me, both with stories of a young lad whose parents died prior to his birth. I told them they must have met the miracle child and they agreed, saying they too had laid eyes on his handwritten note.

It is sad, but here people make use of others. Some mothers or fathers will often send their children out begging and then take the money they get, never to be seen again by those children. Or vast stories will be fabricated to tug on the heartstrings of passing Americans in order to get some money from them. However, after you have been here for some time and here the same story related of the same disaster that occurs once a week, you begin to understand who is playing the game and who is not.

I hate being in a position where trust is such a huge factor in ministry, but then again this is why we work with the churches that we do. Many will get saved when coming to talk to an American for the sake and hope of getting something materially from the American. However, when it comes time for church, they are no where to be seen. Therefore, since we support the local ministries here, financially and by way of manpower, we have no qualms about sending them to the church for their relief. Unfortunately very few go, either unwilling to pay the price or just not that needy to have to deal with the invitations of the church.

The week has been a grand one, a little rain, a little sun and lots of ministry. Perhaps one of the greatest matters of the place we are staying is the gardening that our dear national fellow is doing on the grounds. The homestead we make our berth at is lackluster in comparison to anything at home, however, as of late; it is quickly becoming a floral palace. I would not doubt but what Solomon’s Gardens shall soon pale in comparison to this lush expanse. In reality it is not anywhere close but for what we dwell in, it is the world.

I had the privilege of addressing one of the classes at the African Bible College last night. It is amazing their incorporation of Western visitors into their midst. In talking with the one who runs the Bible College, he told me to come and be ready. I asked him what he would like me to speak on as I knew they were going through some manner of course material. He refused to tell me and just said to come ready to talk about anything.

Ergo, I arrived in hopes of talking about the incarnation of Jesus Christ as the Word made flesh along with the anointing of the Holy Spirit on His life. We were going well until one of the members of the class said he thought I was referring to the Holy Spirit too much as “power” and not enough as a person. I assured him that I knew of both comprising the incarnation of Jesus Christ but he obviously thought otherwise. We spent the remainder of the class with him throwing out random verses referring to the Holy Spirit and ended with a comparison to a match in a box. I still don’t know what the match in the box referred to, nor did I ever determine what material the class was actually supposed to be going through.

The humorous time ended with me heading back through the post-fasting Muslim crowds amidst the latter evenings of Ramadan to the seeming lush gardens of Karanja Road. I am supposed to show up to the classes twice per week and intend on the matter but know little more than of my arrival.

Just by way of information, I shall have you know that no mice have plagued the premises since the last one that served as an example for the others. The mice threat has thus been downgraded from red to somewhat of a pastel rose color.

Two more mice fall in the line of duty…

I write once more with joy that two more of the rodent kind have been slain. This past weekend was full as we were involved in an area youth rally. Many youth were in attendance, all were blessed and several were saved and others rededicated their lives to the Lord’s will. The time was grand but quite consuming.

However, last Friday dawned and we were all gathering for our team time when a loud snap echoed from the kitchen. Immediately knowing that some foul beast was fooling around with the small peanut butter sandwich on the mouse trap, I jumped up to see what damage had been done. As I arrived upon the scene there was no mouse in the trap but it had been tripped.

Then I saw him, the small creature laying about a foot away from the trap. Apparently the force of the snap sent him reeling and left him lying nearby with a massive head wound. He expired and I carried him out, the last time he would be among the kitchen area. This was a delight to add one more notch to the fallen number of mice in the house.

Later on, after our session of teaching on Acts and after lunch had been consumed, we came together to plan for the afternoon’s ministry. Walking in the kitchen I noticed the opposite trap was out of place and there in its jaws was the corpse of the latest victim. Once more my heart leapt with joy as I knew there would be one less creature nibbling away at our food stash. With these events occurring, know that the homosapiens living at the end of Karanja are rodent free and are the dominant species once more.

People here are so clever and life is certainly more practical in some ways and extremely unpractical in others. However, currently in mind is a scene we witnessed while on the way to Kijabe. Since bicycles are wonderfully efficient and fairly affordable, many people ride them here. Some are so talented that they can ride the things with tremendous loads of wood, eggs, construction materials, chickens, rocks, etc etc…pretty much anything you may imagine.

Anyhow, based on their pervasive presence, it is not at all strange to see a bicycle heading down any of the highways here. The problem comes when going up a hill with a large load on the back of this two-wheeled mode of transportation. As we were driving to Kijabe, going up a hill of course, we looked to see a large bus truck with a new era of hitchhiker on the back. A fellow was on his bicycle and holding onto the back bumper of a bus. The bus was awfully smoky, no doubt causing unpleasant breathing and near asphyxiation, but he seemed to be enjoying his effortless ride up the long hills of the Great Rift Valley.

The cleverest notion of it all is the simple fact that people do whatever is necessary to get around. If that means holding onto the bumper of a bus, being pulled by a donkey or riding a top a load of pineapples, so be it. I fear that laws prevent this sort of novelty in the states but with any luck one day we will see the rise of bicycles in the US once again.

We arrived back from Kijabe yesterday. Our time there was very profitable as we had an ample mix of rest as well as ministry. The weather in Kijabe is quite pleasant and rather cool as it is nearly a thousand feet higher in elevation from here. Breathing is far easier as the air is quite pure and not nearly as smoggy as in the slums. Moreover, the water in Kijabe is the only place in Kenya where it can be safely consumed from the tap. We were very thankful for those simple niceties and recognize how terribly missed those things are.

On Friday we were able to visit the wards, praying for people who were injured and healing. Many were believers and we were able to encourage them in the Lord. The hospital, although one of the best in East Africa, was rugged by our standards. Many beds were crammed into large rooms and the patients all lay there together. There was a certain sense of hopelessness for those who were wounded beyond a quick recovery. However, their faces did brighten when we walked in with the love of Jesus Christ. We rejoiced as one gave his life to the Lord and was left with assurance of his salvation.

Friday night we had a little campfire outside and roasted marshmallows, a real American treat. The local Kenyans had never heard of marshmallows, let alone see them roasted and consumed. Due to their lack of exposure, we thought it necessary that they participated and they truly enjoyed it, even if they did have difficulty in pronouncing and understanding the “S’Mores.”

It would be unfair if they found a new cultural ideal and we did not, therefore, I was pleased to find a bag of roasted rocks in a small store there. I asked the fellow what roasted rocks were all about, for they really were just a couple of stones in this small bag. He said it was used mostly by pregnant women who had cravings to eat rocks. For those who had such cravings, they would be glad to find that they could enjoy roasted rocks. When asked about the roasting process, the fellow said it involved putting the rocks in an oven and roasting them…naturally. Why didn’t I think of that? Why have I not roasted rocks in the past? I shall never know, but rest assured, we have them in abundance. Just one more Kenyan delight for the culturally savvy.

Things are progressing well here in Kenya. Today wraps up our ‘official’ time of Kenyan ministry training for the students. Although learning and training never really stops, we will be in full swing regarding the regular schedule come Monday. Even as I type this, the team is out participating in door-to-door visitation.

Tomorrow we depart and journey to Kijabe, somewhat of an oasis here in Kenya, for a bit of a break and re-commissioning. We are excited to make it there as the water can be consumed straight from the tap and the air is not quite as foul, lacking the dense smog and dust found here in the slums.

I am sorely losing the fight with the mice at this point as so many triggerings has rendered it only moderately accurate. However, at some point I am assuming the mice will be too large to move around quickly from the tremendous amounts of peanut butter they have assimilated.

Tonight will be spent with the students from the orphanage just down the road. Our team has adopted a student each from the orphanage and will be spending time with them weekly. This particular evening allows a meal to be shared with them as well as the Kenyan tradition of opening our home and fellowshipping with dear friends. We look forward to this time bringing a suitable influence and touch of mentorship to the students who are otherwise lacking such a friendship.

We continue to see small divine appointments as we go about our days here. To God be the glory. The community has been wonderfully welcoming to our presence and equally so with the Gospel. Many have been touched and this is even without us officially going out with that purpose. I long for our time to begin actively pursuing the needy this coming week and beyond. May our King be praised as we carry His light high upon the hills here in the slums!

The area that we live in is not dangerous, per say, but the occasional rogue will pass through in attempt to stir up trouble. On the same token, local drunkards may meander by, unconscious of the folly they engage in. Regardless, as a result, the mission houses have a guard that is posted twenty-four hours a day. Such is the case for many similar establishments nearby for the well-being of all considered.

We have a guard who looks after matters during the daylight hours, by the name of Ben, and one who does the same at night, named Moses. Both are delightful men, strong in the Lord and kind in spirit. Moses I see often and when asked what he is doing as I pass, he responds, “Just studying the Bible.” I doubt I have seen many in my lifetime who has been so dedicated or so hungry for the Lord as he.

Most nights I will hear him singing in the Spirit or covering the place, as well as all of us, in prayer. He will walk around the compound praying for the majority of the night as we are awake and then fall into our slumber. I haven’t a doubt that the safety we experience here is brought about by the divine hand of God. Moreover, I haven’t a doubt that Moses sings and prays down the very angels of heaven to take their posts around our dwelling. Glory to God for men and women interceding for the kingdom as they go about their daily tasks. Be blessed!!