tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22641694785210136012024-03-05T17:27:59.690-08:00Third World Viewpointmy life as an accidental missionaryAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05891160493711865442noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264169478521013601.post-21494182771772032142014-10-27T08:32:00.000-07:002014-11-17T11:24:25.835-08:00Update<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Life changes. And sometimes that means your blog title is no longer accurate. I am still adjusting to the reality that I am no longer "Lisette in Kenya", but God has been faithful and I am grateful for a fresh word and a new beginning.<br />
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There will be updates on <a href="http://lisettelewis.wordpress.com/">lisettelewis.wordpress.com</a> very soon. Check it out.<br />
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And thank you for being a part of my life, wherever I am.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05891160493711865442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264169478521013601.post-46566811096205363462014-06-06T12:37:00.000-07:002014-06-08T23:31:09.756-07:00History<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="s1">Over 75 years ago, a group of students from Asbury College (now University) were led by God to Kenya to share the story of the Gospel and the Hope of Christ. They arrived in Nairobi, then a small but growing railroad crossroads, and set out in search of a area that had not heard the story of the Gospel.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Their prayerful search let them west, into the land of the Kipsigis people. There they discovered a beautiful hillside that had been abandoned. Small caves on the hill overlooking a waterfall had been the site of a female circumcision camp and a number of the girls had contracted infections and died as a result. The Kipsigis considered the land cursed and in 1936 happily gave official permission for the missionaries, Robert and Catherine Smith, to build a mission station on this piece of prime property. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elah, a young girl who traveled to Tenwek with <br />
her mother from Ghana for heart surgery<br />
Photo credit: Hannah Veilling</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">As Robert began sharing the story of Christ with the people in the area, Catherine, a nurse, began ministering to their physical needs and very quickly saw the necessity for more help. The Smiths began asking World Gospel Mission to send a doctor. The next year another nurse arrived and then again the next year, another one. But it was not enough. They prayed for more help. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Ten years later, in 1947, Edna Boroff brought not only her midwifery skills to Tenwek, but also laboratory training, greatly enhancing the diagnostic capabilities of this little rural clinic. (Fun fact: In her 40 years of service at Tenwek, Edna Boroff delivered over 20,000 babies and it is not unusual to hear the name Edna or Boroff in the community.)</span></div>
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<span class="s1">But the still need was great and they prayed for more help. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">In 1959, Dr. Ernie Steury (also an Asbury graduate) arrived with his wife Sue and their young daughter Cindy. Twenty-two years after the Smiths first started praying and asking for a doctor, God answered their prayer. </span><br />
<span class="s1">The little one-nurse clinic had transformed into an actual hospital. The original two buildings are still there today. </span>They are so small that when Dr. Steury was operating on a patient and needed to work from the other side, he actually had to crawl <i>under</i> the table--there was no room to go around.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Faith, one of my Bible quizzers</td></tr>
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In time, other doctors joined him. Soon, Tenwek began training Kenyan nurses and building more buildings. They began clinics in outlying communities.</div>
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<span class="s1">In 1980, they began a community health outreach to teach about disease prevention. Today, Tenwek Community Health and Development is a model for programs around the world.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Through it all, they have held true to the motto “We Treat, Jesus Heals”. The Hope of the Gospel has always been at the forefront of all they do. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The current medical staff at Tenwek<br />
Photo Credit: Hannah Veilling</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">Today, Tenwek is one of the largest mission hospitals in Africa. </span><br />
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They treat 140,000 outpatients each year and admit another 14,000 for inpatient care. The nursing school is still here, and there is also a chaplaincy school.<br />
Tenwek is now a training hospital for medical students. In the past ten years, they have added residencies for family medicine and surgery and are exploring the addition of even more.</div>
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<span class="s1">Just a month ago, they broke ground for a new eye and dental building and plans are in the works for a women’s pavilion in the near future. (This one is particularly exciting, given the history of Tenwek's land.)</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The story of Tenwek Hospital involves more people than we can count this side of heaven. There have been hundreds, probably thousands, of doctors who have come over the years, some for a few weeks, some for decades. Nurses, residents, medical students, teachers, community health workers, pastors, physical therapists, pharmacists, lab technicians have all played a role in the history of this fascinating place. </span><br />
<span class="s1">And of course, there are the thousands of faithful who have never set foot in Africa, but have supported the work of Tenwek through prayer and finances from afar. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Last night, I attended a dinner sponsored by <a href="http://friendsoftenwek.org/">Friends of Tenwek</a> and listened to the list of exciting new projects and buildings in Tenwek’s future.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An aerial shot of the hospital, 2014<br />
Photo credit: Samaritan's Purse</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">There is so much happening here. Seventy-seven years after World Gospel Mission missionaries first arrived in these beautiful green hills, we are still growing and responding to the medical and spiritual needs of the Kenyan people. It is an exciting time. I cannot wait to see what God has planned in the next five and ten years for Tenwek Hospital. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">However, that future will not involve me. Yesterday, as I was walking into the Friends of Tenwek presentation, I received the phone call I had been praying against for months: my work permit has been finally denied and there is nothing we can do to change it. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">I love the history of Tenwek, because I love the Tenwek community. I love being a very tiny part of this grand story, of God’s grace and His hand of healing in this land. I loved and embraced this story because I thought this would be my home and my land, too. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">I am still trying to wrap my mind around the idea of leaving <i>permanently</i> in just 8 days. It does not seem real. I keep thinking that something will change, God will open this door for me. <i>Surely I will be back. </i>But it seems that will not happen. We have explored every option, pursued every lead and God has, for reasons I don’t understand, said “no”. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A particularly lovely spot on my morning hiking/running route</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">My heart is heavy. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">There is so much discussion about the future of Tenwek right now. New buildings, new missionaries, new training programs, all of which mean new MKs to teach. And I thought I would be here to see all that happen.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">However, as a very wise friend reminded me today, “The last place you want to be is somewhere God does not want you.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">I do not know why, but God is calling me somewhere else. I am looking at my options for next year and praying for clear direction for the road ahead (which is difficult when I can hardly bear to take my eyes off the rearview mirror). </span><br />
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<span class="s1">I would appreciate your prayers as well. </span>Thank you for our love and support as I look to the next chapter in my story.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05891160493711865442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264169478521013601.post-18146930507130366682014-03-01T03:01:00.000-08:002014-03-04T06:52:28.426-08:00Snapshots<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I have been incredibly lax about updating my website. There are several reasons. Internet here had been very spotty recently, busy classes, etc, etc, but mostly, I struggle to know what to to write on here.<br />
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It seems like I should have plenty to talk about. I live in rural Africa, right? My life is full wild adventures involving elephants and Masai warriors, right? Not really.<br />
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My daily life is incredibly mundane. I go to school every day and teach kids; how many of you get online to read about a typical teacher’s day in the classroom? No one, not even teachers, would do that.<br />
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However, much has happened since I last posted at Thanksgiving. (Thanksgiving!!) So here some snapshots of the past few months.<br />
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Here at Tenwek, we have many Christmas traditions. Caroling up at the hospital, decorating the children’s ward. But few are as sacred as the gingerbread building bonanza. It is a wild morning filled with candy, sticky icing fingers, and hyped-up kids, but it's a treasured, time honored tradition.<br />
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No, this is not Mt. Kilimanjaro. Those are the Alps. And, no, you aren't confused. The Alps are not in Africa. I had the chance right after Christmas to head up to Germany to spend a few days with my cousin and his family, who were there visiting his in-laws. It was beautiful and cold and completely different than any of my other European adventures. </div>
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This Noah, one of my second graders. I walked into math class one and he was sitting in my chair, grinning. I told him that if he was going to sit in the teacher’s chair, he would have to teach us something. So he did a quick (and impressive) demonstration of how to draw a crayfish. Not too shabby for a spur-of-the-moment art lesson, is it?</div>
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These are more of my second graders. We made rockets in science class and attempted to launch them (at least a foot or two) use little film containers filled with baking soda and vinegar. I have done it before and had it work. It did not work this time, but they loved making the rockets, complete with the loading docks (their idea, of course).</div>
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In January, we launched our new season of Bible Quizzing at Bethesda Africa Gospel Church. Mike and Pam Chupp have organized it for years and now we have 250 kids studying the book of 1 Samuel. My team (whom I have yet to remember to photograph) chose to be called “King David’s Conquerors” and so far it has fit: we are undefeated! In addition to the 200-something kids from the Tenwek community who meet every Sunday afternoon, we have a satellite group based at Mosop School about twenty minutes from us. Mosop is a mission school that serves orphans and the children of Africa Gospel Church missionaries. They were interested in being a part of the Bible Quizzing competition, but were situated to far away to participate in the Tenwek quizzes. So they invited two other public schools nearby (Chebole and Kamerieto) to compete with them. Every Friday afternoon, another missionary and I travel out and visit Mosop, Chebole, and Kamereito and meet with the coaches and kids. It’s been fun and a great way to get involved with other schools. </div>
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Also, it's totally normal to have cows in the school yard here in Kenya. Occasionally, we even have them wander past the Tenwek MK School door. Here at Mosop School, they are a constant presence.</div>
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When I returned to Tenwek in September, I was disappointed to discover that one of my favorite spots down by the river, a nice rock overlooking the waterfall, had been plowed up to create a garden, thus destroying the lovely thick brush that shielded it from the nearby walking path. The rocks is still there, but my early morning retreats are not so quiet and peaceful when I am in full view of everyone walking up the hill to work. I have had to search out a new early morning location makes me less of an object of curiosity and have found a (relatively) uncrowded path behind my house. If I make it out early enough, I get views like this.</div>
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I love MKs for many, many reasons. Reason #237: They make their own tiki torches (splitting their own sticks and creating a light from--I think--an old sock, saw dust and lighter fluid). Then they knock on your door late at night to show it off.</div>
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Why I love MKs #238: Sometimes you have to settle arguments over who actually gets to take the chameleon home. (A strange conversation to have because these guys are all over the place. We are hardly running short on chameleons.) Also, they make faces like that. And this.</div>
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And this. (Made during chai time with their pretzels.)</div>
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A few weeks ago, I took a matatu (a taxi) into Bomet, the nearest town to get a few things and spend some time off the compound. Guess what I found in the tiny bookstore? Yep, that’s my dad’s book. </div>
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I also found a lady with this car. I never did understand if she was buying this many mangoes or selling. Either way, I was tempted to hijack the car.</div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">This is my new house (or, more accurately, apartment). Before Christmas, I had been living in a (real, non-apartment) house that actually belonged to a family on furlough. Once they got back, housing shifted around and I ended up back here, in my old place. It's a little more worn than when I left in 2008, but I still love it. </span></div>
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I am working on another post about a visit to a tea factory, but it may be a while--it took me three days of intermittent internet access to get all these pictures uploaded and formatted correctly. But it's coming soon!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05891160493711865442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264169478521013601.post-50208218614008810732013-11-28T06:22:00.002-08:002013-11-28T12:19:51.772-08:00Thankgiving<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="s1">Because it's Thanksgiving, here are nine things for which I am everlastingly thankful.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>1. My students. </b>They are not without challenges, to be sure, but they are funny, creative, enthusiastic, and incredibly sweet. They make it fun to go to work every day. </span></div>
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<b>2. My Family.</b> Without their love and support, I would not be the person I am today. Celebrating holidays without them is difficult, but somehow, knowing that they are still gathering, celebrating, laughing, and telling stories makes it easier. As I have interacted this week with a young girl whose mother wants to send her to an orphanage because she does not feel she can care for her any more, I am intensely grateful for parents and an extended family who have always loved me. </div>
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<b>3. Modern Technology. </b>I may be an ocean away from friends and family, but I love being able to see pictures of my cousin’s newborn baby girl, read the latest journal entries from my friend’s kindergarten-age daughter, download the latest sermon from my home church, check out the art exhibit my art teacher friend has posted, and chat with my brother about his paper on St. Augustine (which, by the way, he will be presenting at a conference in Athens, Greece in the spring. Not that I am bragging or anything.). Facebook may have it’s disadvantages, but I can only imagine what William Cary or David Livingstone would think of being able to read status updates from friends on four different continents, all in one place, instantly. For global nomads, that is nothing less then miraculous. I bet Mark Zuckerberg has no idea what a blessing he has been to missionaries who live thousands of miles away from family and friends. </div>
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<b>4. The Beauty of Africa. </b>I often catch myself humming “For the beauty of the earth, for the glory of the skies. . . “ as I hike in the mornings. There are no words to describe the landscape around here. </div>
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<b>5. My classroom. </b>It’s an eclectic mix of supplies and books that people have brought and/or left behind over the years and I love it all. We have more classics in this room than some libraries do.</div>
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<b>6. Music. </b>When people ask me what kind of music I like, I have a hard time answering. I like it all. I am especially grateful this week for the talent and beauty of the Kenyan choir who sang Tuesday night. Thanksgiving services don’t get much better than this.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzFhONxuMqQfSGxmVy6h3YPykJw5j7RUQ0Y99sFoB_ri4LGFONqr6vZ2yV-0gkDrdra9vMmhk-nIu7De_bLHA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />
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(I could not find a way to upload a simple audio file, so I--rather haphazardly--<br />
scanned through my iPhoto library and created a slideshow of things for<br />
which I am thankful to accompany the music. There are pictures of people, places,<br />
images, and experiences that I have loved over the past year.)</div>
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<b>7. My Supporters. </b>I have said it before and I will say it again: I am a missionary because they are, too. They just play a different role. I am here, teaching in Kenya, because they are faithful to the work God is doing here.<br />
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<b>8. Warmth. </b>As I look at friends’ pictures of snow in Michigan, Kentucky, and even flurries in Georgia, I am glad to be here. Early morning hikes may be a bit nippy (as in the low 60's) and the afternoons often rainy, but overall, I cannot imagine more beautiful weather.</div>
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<b>9. The Unpredictability of life. </b><a href="http://time100.time.com/2013/11/25/time-for-thanks/slide/charmaine-yoest/">As one very wise person pointed out</a>, we make lots of lists and goals detailing the things we want out of life. Thank goodness God did not give me the life I had planned out for myself. I could never have imagined here, in rural Africa, miles away from family on Thanksgiving Day. I could never have imagined the places I have visited and the people I have gotten to know over the past few years. I am unspeakably grateful the Lord has given me infinitely more than I could have asked for.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05891160493711865442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264169478521013601.post-47883154153984283422013-10-26T05:53:00.003-07:002013-10-26T05:53:52.256-07:00Turn! Turn! Turn!: Change is for the Byrds*<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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During my time at Tenwek back in 2006, a missionary mom made a passing comment (which she probably does not even remember) that I have pondered periodically for the last seven years.</div>
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<span class="s1">We were planning regular prayer/fellowship meetings for missionaries here on the compound and one younger mom proposed that each family take turns babysitting the kids. So every month or so, one family would be responsible for child care and thus miss the prayer meeting. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">One of the moms of older kids spoke up and declined to participate. Her kids were old enough to take care of themselves and she felt fine leaving them at home without adult supervision. “I missed a lot of meetings in the past to take my turn with the kids,” she explained. “But my kids are older now and that season of my life is over.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">I was young then and had not given much thought to the different seasons of life, but I do now. (Granted, I like to think I am not <i>that</i> much older, but do have a little more life experience than I did when I first moved overseas seven years ago.) </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz4bj4-Id5plxrty9jjcZ6ZrZG3IsSrPypjAq9z1fkMsDRXHCbnU7lWoZl1XyRwwfQR7kGv5z56s-uhDU_04jMoT6aDRU2owdQUrRrtf0KxNaEjt6P-hBj7G5v2IE1z_nCU8xYNz4Wo18/s1600/Photo+on+2012-05-22+at+16.49.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz4bj4-Id5plxrty9jjcZ6ZrZG3IsSrPypjAq9z1fkMsDRXHCbnU7lWoZl1XyRwwfQR7kGv5z56s-uhDU_04jMoT6aDRU2owdQUrRrtf0KxNaEjt6P-hBj7G5v2IE1z_nCU8xYNz4Wo18/s400/Photo+on+2012-05-22+at+16.49.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In case you cannot make out the words, it says: "Dear Miss Lewis, <br />
I'm sad that your leaving. I want you to stay at LCA to be the art techer. <br />
I will be heart broken when you Leave." And there are lots of pictures of<br />
broken hearts, as well as a picture of that student crying, and quite <br />
insightfully, a picture of me smiling and crying.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">I am mulling over that thought as I settle into life back at Tenwek.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I have just left a particularly wonderful season behind me. I loved my job at Lexington Christian, my coworkers, my students, and my bosses. I even loved subbing this past year and the chance to see kids in different environments and interact (however briefly) with teachers I hadn’t really known well before. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">I loved my winsome and uninhibited roommates. I loved our little brick house with the massive backyard, sunny kitchen, and cheerful blue living room. I loved the unpredictable scenarios and accompanying laughter that became the hallmark of our lives in that home. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYXWEuisg_bnYW6YBm7Os_f9eEybucy6jt31L5bh8n_CIbVZpac_-wiHE8oYAJ8QEqoEXobq-9_UCLiykcmeWMi-4XzbPoCQkeu72L4wFXZI5eLmPUX8RMzI_56OowBVJZmDQ1o6287DM/s1600/IMG_9220.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYXWEuisg_bnYW6YBm7Os_f9eEybucy6jt31L5bh8n_CIbVZpac_-wiHE8oYAJ8QEqoEXobq-9_UCLiykcmeWMi-4XzbPoCQkeu72L4wFXZI5eLmPUX8RMzI_56OowBVJZmDQ1o6287DM/s400/IMG_9220.JPG" width="400" /></a><span class="s1">But, as hard as it is for my mind to grasp, that season of my life is over. My wonderful and winsome roommates have moved onto to other seasons of their own. One has moved to different part of town with another friend and the other two roommates will soon shift to a smaller apartment downtown. Before long, someone else’s family will sit in our sunny kitchen and (I hope) laugh in the cheerful blue living room. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Today, I sit in a different living room, on a different continent, having just bid a good day to a new roommate I didn’t know until after I moved in. In some ways, I feel at home here at Tenwek, but the truth is, this is not a return to a previous season of my life. It’s a whole new one. There are changes here at Tenwek, beyond the new paint jobs, updated wi-fi, and renovated buildings. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Ryk_DXJoBtj9LSDepMBujtJulefPl8s4zEVbtssafWxO_83U4veMaH7rBK67HXqmETTmNmfngOnQN2cps1vEKnUiUmDnmtUSMAIUe4_aqXsrQReepcD9G8LeUevQwvVmnwMftt1o-TY/s1600/IMG_9479.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Ryk_DXJoBtj9LSDepMBujtJulefPl8s4zEVbtssafWxO_83U4veMaH7rBK67HXqmETTmNmfngOnQN2cps1vEKnUiUmDnmtUSMAIUe4_aqXsrQReepcD9G8LeUevQwvVmnwMftt1o-TY/s320/IMG_9479.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My new porch (or more accurately, the porch of the house <br />where I am living until January when the family who actually<br />lives here returns from the U.S.)</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">There are so many new faces and new kids to learn. New challenges and new curriculum. (Guess what, guys? I am teaching Latin!) Friends from five years ago are no longer here to lend a listening ear and I have to fight the habit to take the sidewalk to my old apartment. (Someone else lives there now and might be a little startled if I were to walk in and toss my keys on the table.) With the plethora of new families comes an even greater number of expectations and relational dynamics and I have yet to get a grasp on how to understand all of them. (Notice I did not say <i>satisfy</i> all of them. And, yes, I am very aware some of the moms can and probably will read this blog post.) </span></div>
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<span class="s1">I am very aware that my move to Tenwek seven years ago came on the heels of a particularly difficult season. As much as I loved my friends in Virginia Beach, I never really settled in or harbored any notion of staying very long in that area. I hated my job and was never really attached to my apartment. Coming here was such a welcome change, and while there were certainly challenges, rebuilding my life in the middle of rural sub-Saharan Africa seemed down right relaxing compared to the job I had dragged myself through for the past ten months. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Left to Right: Ashley, Lydia, Wil and Luke in 2006</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">My season at Tenwek in 2006-2008 was a breath of fresh air. The season that began three weeks ago will be different. I am leaving behind a life that I could have happily lived for much longer, not escaping from one I was desperate to leave. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Thankfully, while I anticipated a particularly rough transition, things have been smoother than I thought. (However, I have to confess that during the first flight from Atlanta to London, I made the mistake of watching a TV show about four wacky roommates and, consequently, had a very tearful and probably poorly-concealed pity party as I thought about the roommates <i>I</i> was leaving behind. If the very nice and reserved British couple who sat next to me happen to read this--and wouldn’t that be the coincidence of the century!--I apologize if I made you uncomfortable. Sometimes a girl just needs to cry.)</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZBney2H-VEoPeQYsyZ3pAPQUh3eh097f8YLOyg1EuPTAgnur1tmYetxDhBmgPCGEsMrq0nHuAoxnTmHRuAhQNCWfuBN-rBIHkTpf5nnoQuDVY254PpHf6kxrTus4Rmx_dUWC8ocQjuE/s1600/IMG_9531.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZBney2H-VEoPeQYsyZ3pAPQUh3eh097f8YLOyg1EuPTAgnur1tmYetxDhBmgPCGEsMrq0nHuAoxnTmHRuAhQNCWfuBN-rBIHkTpf5nnoQuDVY254PpHf6kxrTus4Rmx_dUWC8ocQjuE/s400/IMG_9531.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Left to Right: Luke, Wil, Elizabeth, and Ashley</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">So, while I miss my roommates terribly, and am a little bummed when I come home from work and realize, once again, that they are on another continent and not hanging out in the living room or fixing dinner in the kitchen, I am adjusting. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">For good or ill, we were not created to dwell in one season forever. As I contemplate the blessings and challenges I have left behind and look at the ones I am currently facing, I realize I am not alone in my ponderings. As it turns out, people have been thinking about these kinds of things for centuries.</span></div>
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<i>There is a time for everything,</i></div>
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<i> and a season for every activity under the heavens:</i></div>
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<span class="s1"><i> a time to be born and a time to die,<br />
a time to plant and a time to uproot,<br />
a time to kill and a time to heal,<br />
a time to tear down and a time to build,<br />
a time to weep and a time to laugh,<br />
a time to mourn and a time to dance,<br /> a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,</i></span><br />
<span class="s1"><i> a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,<br />
a time to search and a time to give up,<br />
a time to keep and a time to throw away,<br />
a time to tear and a time to mend,<br />
a time to be silent and a time to speak,<br />
a time to love and a time to hate,<br />
a time for war and a time for peace.</i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i>What do workers gain from their toil? I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end. </i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><i>Ecclesiastes 3:1-11</i></b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirFjWmS_Xqmv1OBL54M39RpzpnmlJOqdHpJxuqHCpH0MQ6fFFwJWEL7tt6c58JFoF6N1ZNzyVXXlFJPGQa2qanpg_T0SV_vVRaf4LAGRp57MMNth6QPTa0EdTvk95YwKsRJjmDOaErI6A/s1600/IMG_0238.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirFjWmS_Xqmv1OBL54M39RpzpnmlJOqdHpJxuqHCpH0MQ6fFFwJWEL7tt6c58JFoF6N1ZNzyVXXlFJPGQa2qanpg_T0SV_vVRaf4LAGRp57MMNth6QPTa0EdTvk95YwKsRJjmDOaErI6A/s320/IMG_0238.jpg" width="240" /></a><span class="s1">“The fatal metaphor of progress,” G. K. Chesterton once said, “which means leaving things behind us, has utterly obscured the real idea of growth, which means leaving things inside us”. (I know have used that quote before, but it bears repeating.)</span></div>
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<span class="s1">As I think about all the changes in the world around me, it is easy to forget the most important changes are those that happen in our own hearts and minds. God gives us different seasons, not just for the sake of change, but because He always has a purpose and that purpose is always to draw us closer to Him.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">It seems God has given me a season to uproot from that little brick house in Kentucky and now is the time to replant myself here in Kenya. I know I cannot fathom all the reasons for the changes, but I am grateful for the assurance that He will make it all beautiful in His time. </span><br />
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<span class="s1"><i>*One hundred points will be awarded to the first person to correctly identify the inspiration for the blog post title. Please note that the points mean absolutely nothing.</i></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05891160493711865442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264169478521013601.post-36710171573590885362013-08-22T19:53:00.001-07:002013-08-22T19:53:11.584-07:00Big News<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Because it's <i>almost </i>my birthday and I am <i>almost</i> entering a new decade of life and I am <i>definitely </i>far too tired to find a creative new way to say what I have said to roughly 1,471 people in the past 10 days . . . <a href="https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B9x3JfMev9NBWVJHdS1BbF85alk/edit">I am simply posting the link to my latest newsletter so you can know what's going on in my life.</a>*</div>
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Big changes.</div>
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Big move.</div>
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Big decisions, and a million and four tiny ones that have left me brain dead (and mostly unable to compose an acceptable blog post) at the end of the day. </div>
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I am exceedingly thankful we serve a bigger God. Glory to God. </div>
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<i>*This newsletter was just sent out earlier this evening. If you would like to be added to the mailing list, let me know at <a href="mailto:Lisette.Lewis@wgm.org">Lisette.Lewis@wgm.org</a>. This is likely (I hope) the only time I will post my newsletter here. I strive to have different things to say in newsletters than I do on my blog, but the news of my impending departure needed to be told both places and I did not have the creative capacity to share it two different ways. </i></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05891160493711865442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264169478521013601.post-79191591819674610292013-08-09T09:36:00.001-07:002013-08-09T09:36:07.069-07:00Humility and Community<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="s1">I <i>hate</i> asking for help. It’s a character flaw and not something of which I am particularly proud, but a trait that has become more obvious as I have gotten older.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I suspect it stems, at least in part, from growing up as the only girl with four brothers, all of whom are taller and bigger than me. I was very aware of my general inferiority when it came to physical strength and, in the spirit of sibling rivalry, I was determined not to let anyone know I needed help with anything. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">(All together now: “<i>Anything you can do, I can do better, I can do anything better than you. . .”)</i></span></div>
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<span class="s1">But whatever the root reason, it’s a flaw that remains to this day. I love being independent. I love doing things on my own, finding my own way. I know it’s vanity and pride. I like to think I am being selfless, not to ask others for their time and resources. I don’t want to burden anyone else, I think. But the truth is, I just like the idea of being able to do something without help. Like a two year old determined to put on her own shoes, I enjoy the satisfaction of saying “<b><i>I</i></b> did it”. (Real life fact: Missionaries are not always super-mature.) </span></div>
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<span class="s1">This is a serious detriment when it comes to raising support. (Kind of like when the two- year old puts her shoes on the wrong feet.) Sometimes I think that God called me to be a missionary because I needed the exercise, every day, of depending on others for my most basic needs. It is nothing if not an exercise in humility--and I am woefully out of shape.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">However, several years ago, I had a major revelation in the middle putting my couch on a moving truck. I was carrying one end and my friend Jason was on the other, walking backwards up the loading ramp. Looking across those green cushions at Jason’s face, I realized <i>asking for help is not a sign of weakness; in fact, when you have others helping, it makes you stronger</i>. I could never have lifted that couch on my own. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">We all hit our limit somewhere; there are things I cannot do by myself. </span>That's why God created this beautiful thing called <i>community</i>. We need each other.<br />
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Trying to shove that couch up the ramp without anyone helping would hardly show off my strength--it would be a ridiculous and cringe-worthy display of obstinate stupidity that, in the end, would probably just damage the couch (and my back). When we are willing to let our friends and family pick up that other end, we are able to do things we could never even imagine on our own. Acknowledging our own weaknesses actually makes us stronger.</div>
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<span class="s1">So thank you for picking up your end of my ministry at the Tenwek MK School. I am truly grateful--and humbled--by your financial and prayer support. And that’s a good thing.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05891160493711865442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264169478521013601.post-55494868451511420192013-06-25T09:39:00.003-07:002013-06-25T12:38:37.594-07:00Home or Something Like It<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="s1">I have been away for almost a month, down in Georgia, where I grew up. I spoke at a few churches, met lots of wonderful people, reconnected with some old friends, sprayed weed killer on approximately 382 poison ivy plants in my parents woods, played games with my family, and helped with a six-family yard sale in my aunt’s front yard. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Last Wednesday night, for my last hurrah before I drove back to Kentucky Thursday, I spoke to a wonderful crowd of people at <a href="http://trinityumcrome.org/">Trinity United Methodist</a>, in the fellowship hall where I have eaten Wednesday night dinners for roughly twenty five years of my life. There is nothing quite like talking to people you love in a place you love about a ministry you love. It was good to be home. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Thursday, I left my home in Georgia and returned to my home in Kentucky. I don't quite understand this peculiar ability to have more then one "home", but I am making peace with that.</span><br />
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<span class="s1">By Friday morning, I was standing on our back deck in Kentucky, sipping coffee out of my favorite mug and watching the sunlight as it spread across the backyard. Our house faces east, so early in the morning, our backyard is shrouded in shadow. The sun starts on the back fence and slowly creeps toward the house, illuminating the still-wet grass and garden with shimmering sparkles. It’s a lovely thing to watch as my brain emerges from sleep-fog.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">A few hours later, I sat at our kitchen table, talking with my roommates. We covered topics ranging from mundane details of my trip to the complexities of human nature and the profound struggles involved in making major life choices that are outside the norm and perhaps not understood by everyone we love. We laughed, cried, and laughed until we cried, all within the span of about thirty minutes. It may sounds like an emotional reunion, but it’s actually just a normal day in this house full of women. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Then I headed out to a friend’s house to watch her two little girls for a few hours. I had not seen them in almost a month and was greeted with warm hugs and an effusively verbal five-year-old’s summary of life since I had left and questions about my trip, my family, and my hat. (In contrast, when I asked her two-year-old sister how she was doing, I got a thumbs up.)</span><span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Yesterday morning, as I was walking into the sanctuary at <a href="http://faclex.com/">my other church,</a> I felt a tug on my hair. I knew before I even turned around that an joyful, goofy Puerto Rican man was standing behind me, grinning. I was right. After the service, I hugged friends (including the goofy Puerto Rican man and his family), told them about my meetings in Georgia, and heard about all their summer adventures so far. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">It is good to be home.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXTraU4ESaXj8vHaYxOTamOVUDh4b8XAsojVcoJN9Cje4r1lDjqLvcmOKLCKvPFL3bq9yinB9LX4xqHPZC0MQMQ7054OnSYgnOzoLnNLcuSJLYsbScCd3k66iioln0IM__WF1vpiv72X0/s1600/IMG_6033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXTraU4ESaXj8vHaYxOTamOVUDh4b8XAsojVcoJN9Cje4r1lDjqLvcmOKLCKvPFL3bq9yinB9LX4xqHPZC0MQMQ7054OnSYgnOzoLnNLcuSJLYsbScCd3k66iioln0IM__WF1vpiv72X0/s320/IMG_6033.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mt. Hood, Oregon</td></tr>
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<a href="http://lisetteinkenya.blogspot.com/p/blog-page.html">I travel a lot.</a> In the past year, I have spent months on the road, all my essentials packed into the back of my trusty old Jeep, but, in the end, I come home to <i>this</i> life, full of familiar people, sticky-sweet hugs, predictable pranksters, peaceful decks, and perfectly sculpted coffee mugs. It’s comfortable, it’s wonderful, and, by the Grace of God, it’s mine. </div>
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<span class="s1">In a few months, all that will change. I will be on the road again--or more specifically, in the air. And I will not be coming back. As I settle once more into the rhythm of Wilmore life (at least for this week), that is hard to wrap my mind around. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i>For this world is not our permanent home; we are looking forward to a home yet to come. </i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i>Hebrew 13:14</i></span></div>
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<span class="s1">One day, I will move for the last time and I will truly be home. I am so grateful. Until then, I am packing that coffee mug. </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05891160493711865442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264169478521013601.post-21977589195861615982013-05-29T19:45:00.000-07:002013-06-01T12:34:01.738-07:00On Waiting<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="s1">Sometime late last fall, I gave up hope of any more warm weather, admitted the inevitable, and begrudgingly packed up the shorts and t-shirts and pulled out the suitcase that held my winter clothes. I was perplexed when I pulled out only a few sweaters. I dug through some more suitcases, checked some boxes under the bed. Where were the rest of my winter clothes? </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Suddenly, I remembered. Last spring, as we were shifting things around in our house--one roommate was getting married and leaving, I was moving into her old bedroom upstairs, and two new roommates were moving in--I had given most of my warmer clothes away. <b>I wasn’t going to need them anymore because I would be in Kenya before winter came, anyway. </b>(I consoled myself with the thought that, because I had kept mostly black/gray sweaters, at least my clothing would reflect my feelings about the cold weather.)</span></div>
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[Seriously, where would you rather go for a hike? In this freezing, colorless park or…</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Castlewood Park, across the street from my old house in Lexington, my first winter back in the U.S.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">In this gorgeous land full of warmth and sunshine? Is there really any question?]</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Near Sharkertown, KY</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">And yet here we are, another winter come and gone, and warm weather is here…and so am I.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">As most of you are aware, I have been in the process of raising money for almost two years. In April 2011, I was accepted into the Missionary Discipleship program with World Gospel Mission. That summer, I sent out my first newsletter.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">My goal was to teach one more year at LCA and work on finding ministry partners and be in Kenya by fall 2012. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">In September 2011, I attended a seminar at WGM’s headquarters in which they told us that raising the funds and working with ministry partners was a full-time job. It wasn’t just about Sundays and Wednesday nights. Being a missionary is full-time--it doesn’t matter if you are here in the U.S. or on the field.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I remember thinking, <i>“Well, I know that is true. . .but I already </i><b><i>have </i></b><i>a full-time job.” </i>In fact, in addition to teaching full-time, I ran an after-school art club several days a week and planned and taught a Wednesday night kid’s class at a church downtown. </span></div>
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I knew I needed to be talking to people, contacting churches, but when? When I came home dead-tired at 8 pm after an 11 hour work day? Or the day I got home early and really needed to work on the examples for art club the next day? Do I tell my cousin that I can’t help her with wedding stuff so I can call ministry partners? Or skip the chance to go out to dinner with friends I will miss terribly so I can catch up on emails? </div>
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<span class="s1">The result? I made very little progress. But I turned in my resignation to LCA, determined that, come summer, I would make up for lost time and be ready to head to Kenya by fall 2012. I had every week booked. Kids camps, camp meetings, churches. And I had a wonderful time, meeting new friends, traveling to some really lovely places, and sharing my heart about Tenwek Hospital and the MKs I love so much. In the end, I wasn’t that much closer to my goal. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">So at the end of the summer, I let the school know I would be available to sub when I was in town, which, in the fall, wasn’t much. I spent most of September in Oregon, sharing with churches and groups out there. October was spent with a beautiful friend who was dying of cancer. After Mari’s death, I spent some time back home in Rome, GA in November. . .and then the holidays came. (Does anyone ever know where the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas go?)</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi82QzzniwG_32p484P0cKin0KCW_K3WDUZ1NG4CU7tZdS9S3exOig9rJ30t5IqczLfD_uycV0f3aujCJ7d-W92L7GaonOElbRrCa-lGBIzmOt2Wp0LReKoyn1CAhx7-fgMnmE9xQHrdW4/s1600/IMG_0133.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi82QzzniwG_32p484P0cKin0KCW_K3WDUZ1NG4CU7tZdS9S3exOig9rJ30t5IqczLfD_uycV0f3aujCJ7d-W92L7GaonOElbRrCa-lGBIzmOt2Wp0LReKoyn1CAhx7-fgMnmE9xQHrdW4/s400/IMG_0133.JPG" width="300" /></a><span class="s1">And here we are again, at the end of another school year. I am almost half way to my goal. Has it been a long road? Yes. Am I tired of talking to people about money? Yes? Do I just want to be in Kenya? Absolutely. But the truth is, if God still has me here, there must be a reason. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">About a year ago, in a sermon, I heard a quote from pastor and writer Mark Batterson: “"God wants you to get where God wants you to go more than you want to get where God wants you to go." I have thought about having that tattooed on my right arm. (Just kidding, Mom!) It has solved a great deal of anxiety over the past months. Because if I am praying, searching, and trying my best to obey what God is telling me, it must be that the place God wants me to go, for time being, is a little brick house in Wilmore, KY. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">I am called to the Tenwek MK School. </span>And I still hope, pray, and trust, that God will open the right doors and hearts so I can be there in the fall. (Is God opening your heart to be a part of this ministry? <a href="http://www.wgm.org/lisettelewis">Follow this link to partner with me financially</a>.) </div>
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<span class="s1">But until then, I can be content here, knowing that just because I have a calling to Kenya doesn’t mean I can’t have a purpose here in the U.S., too. My ministry isn’t confined to a little schoolroom in rural Africa. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">It’s right here, right now.</span><br />
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<span class="s1">Is God preparing your heart for something. . .but you are still waiting for it?</span><br />
<span class="s1"><a href="mailto:Lisette.Lewis@wgm.org">Send me an email</a> or leave a comment. I'd love to pray for you! </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05891160493711865442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264169478521013601.post-91847706596786492242013-05-13T20:09:00.001-07:002013-05-17T14:43:40.438-07:00Small talk, Small Worlds, and Mysterious Ways<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“So, what do you do?” </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1"><br /></span><span class="s1">It’s the basic small talk question in any group and most of the time, I dread it. I am often hesitant to tell people I have just met that I am a missionary because you can never be sure what kind of reaction you will get. </span><span class="s1"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">However, the question is usually inevitable and, and as a missionary, it seems particularly sinful to <i>lie </i>about being a missionary. </span><span class="s1"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">So my standard response goes something like this: “I’ve been art teaching at Lexington Christian for the past four years, but this school year, I am working there part-time as a sub [albeit this part is mildly misleading; I am there almost every day] because I am preparing to move back to Kenya, where I used to teach.” </span><span class="s1"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">The questions and comments after this vary a bit, but most ask what I teach in Kenya, how long I was there, if it’s safe, etc. etc. Often people will mention other missionaries they know and often ask if I know them. </span><span class="s1"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">(Once upon a time, I was tempted to laugh at this assumption that missionaries around the world all knew each other by name, until a gentleman I greatly respect asked if I knew some missionaries he had known decades ago who served in Indonesia--on the other side of the world from Kenya--and, as it turns out, I DID know them. Their daughter and her family were my upstairs neighbors in Kenya and their grandsons some of my favorite students. Since then, I’ve quit rolling my eyes.)</span><span class="s1"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">However, I think I cringe when telling people I am a missionary because I dislike what is all too often a sudden sense of awe and admiration. </span><span class="s1"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">“Africa?! Wow!”</span><span class="s1"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">“That’s incredible! Isn’t it dangerous?”</span><span class="s1"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">“I could never do that!”</span><span class="s1"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">The truth is, any admiration for me is hardly deserved. </span><span class="s1"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">I serve a great big God who has an amazing and mysterious plan far greater than anything I can begin to understand. And He lets me--little, flawed, absent-minded, stubborn, prideful, all-too-often impatient and critical <i>me</i>-- be a part of it. That’s all. And what’s more, I don’t do it alone. I couldn’t. Missionaries can be missionaries because people back home are part of the team. You guys are our prayer warriors, our encouragers, and our financial supporters. We are missionaries because you are, too. </span><span class="s1"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And for that, I am overwhelmingly humbled and grateful. Thank you.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">(This post was something I have been thinking about for a while, but<a href="http://www.lauraleighparker.com/2011/05/quiet-heroes/"> </a><a href="http://www.lauraleighparker.com/2011/05/quiet-heroes/">I read this article last week entitled "Quiet Heroes" </a>and it got the wheels in my head turning a little more about people in ministry. Thought I would share. )</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05891160493711865442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264169478521013601.post-21629258047311359072013-04-14T19:29:00.002-07:002013-04-14T20:00:05.924-07:00What's in a name? <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="s1">Why is the subtitle to this blog “My Life as an Accidental Missionary”? </span></div>
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<span class="s1">As a missionary, I talk to a lot of people about how I got where I am. I tell them about my call into teaching and about hearing all the missionaries speak at Asbury College when I was a student and the impact that had on me. But when it comes to exactly how I ended up here? I don’t know. This was not the life I had planned for myself. I never started out with the intention of being a missionary. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnGCCkxxx8RImGIX20C7J98hAMulhuKKQhyphenhyphenEQedbUhHQiegEwHuiC12yutQJ9b6NMvXhBhrRUUwHm2Mi_c7SwMErfBN3BvhVGVwRvzi9tWPaiCD8xu42BqwH15EMXHxW3CbuStoMG3k5U/s1600/471563978_16541cde92_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnGCCkxxx8RImGIX20C7J98hAMulhuKKQhyphenhyphenEQedbUhHQiegEwHuiC12yutQJ9b6NMvXhBhrRUUwHm2Mi_c7SwMErfBN3BvhVGVwRvzi9tWPaiCD8xu42BqwH15EMXHxW3CbuStoMG3k5U/s400/471563978_16541cde92_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The inspiration for the other part of the blog name.<br />
That's the Great Rift Valley in the background.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>My plan was to be a writer like my dad. I am an introvert at heart and after four years of shoving my way through the overcrowded hallways of high school, I liked the idea of working in solitude much of the time. It sounded so peaceful. However, when I was a senior in high school, God called me into teaching pretty clearly. It wasn’t quite what I had picked out for myself, but I rolled with it. I figured that, as a teacher, I could get a job pretty much anywhere. I envisioned myself teaching a year out in Colorado, Denver maybe, then a year in Chicago. I could move around for five or six years, get a taste of life across the U.S. Then I would settle down and have great stories to tell my future children about all the cool places I’d lived and the people I’d known.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>So when my college roommate asked me to move to Virginia Beach with her after graduation, everything was falling into place. First cool city, coming right up. Then I hit a bump in the road. I found I out hated teaching. Oops. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>In reality, I was just a first year teacher who had no idea what she was doing with colleagues and a principal who were spectacularly unhelpful and a class full of children who, more than anything else in the world, needed something I could not give them: stable homes. I realized that a fourth grader really does <i>not</i> care about multiplication tables or the parts of a plant the day after he has watched his older brother get hauled off for dealing</span> (again). And I realized I couldn’t really blame him. I had no idea what to do with that. </div>
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<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>So I left. To be perfectly honest, I was long gone before the school year was over. I planned to spend the next year working in a children’s home somewhere overseas and, soon, that first year of teaching would just be a distant nightmare. I would be there for a year or so and come back and find different work. Maybe I’d go back to school for a different degree. I certainly wouldn’t teach again, that was certain. I made it through to the end of that first school year--barely--and I didn’t look back. But, again, my plan was not working out. I had been accepted to World Gospel Mission, but none of the children’s home they worked with had a place for me. You know where they did have a place? A little school for missionary kids in Kenya. I took a deep breath and said yes. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>I thought I would be there for that school year, then come back and find other work in the U.S. It would be a good experience, nothing more. But then I hit another bump in the road. I loved that little school in Kenya. I felt like…I belonged there. I loved teaching those kids, talking to those parents. I didn’t want to come back to the US and I didn’t want to stop teaching. But after two years, I did move back and found that I could love teaching here in the US, too.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>Fast forward five years (holy cow! Surely not that long?) and I have left a job I adored here in Kentucky and am headed back to Kenya for good. Because the Kingdom of God is more important than my comfortable life.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>So right now, after a long series of decisions and baby steps I still don’t quite understand or believe, this introvert is traveling and speaking in churches, to camps, any group that will listen. When I am not speaking, I am calling people (most of whom I don’t know) to ask if I can speak. (Why is that so hard?! I sincerely dislike calling people I don’t know. There is something unsettling about not having any visual cues for their reactions.) Or I am talking to people I <i>do</i> know about money (a subject I have a pathological aversion to discussing).</span></div>
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<span class="s1">When I get up in front of a group, I say many different things about the Tenwek MK School and the work of Tenwek Hospital, but sometimes, as I am talking, I am really thinking “Wait a minute! What’s happening? How did I get here?!”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">By the Grace of God, really. This was not my plan. This is not the life I picked out for myself. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05891160493711865442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264169478521013601.post-49772395785156663512013-01-04T10:38:00.000-08:002013-01-04T11:05:49.967-08:00Five Things<br />
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<span class="s1">Some days, change seems to be the only constant thing in my life. </span><br />
<span class="s1">I have not written on this blog in ages. . . six months to be more specific. Why? Lots of reasons, actually. </span>I have been busy. I have not had much to write about other than traveling. More than anything, though, I have had trouble coming up with a single, cohesive theme on which to write.<br />
As a result, I have decided to do a list of several loosely related ideas. </div>
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<span class="s1">So, without further ado, here are five things that have changed in my life since I have written last.</span></div>
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<li class="li1"><span class="s1">I have a new job. Well, sort of. I left my full-time position as the primary art teacher at Lexington Christian Academy and am now substitute teaching part time as my schedule allows. I have even subbed in my old job for the new art teacher. The kids were mildly confused and thought I had returned and Mrs. Wolfe was now gone. Oops. However, it is wonderful to be back with the kids I have known and loved for the past four years, even if it’s not every day. In the rest of my time, I am focusing more on working with partners for my ministry in Kenya and traveling to speak at churches. If you would like to know more about that, let me know!</span></li>
<li class="li1">I have new roommates! After my cousin Ivey ran off and got married (not really--she had a gorgeous and well-planned wedding), her sister and I found two more friends to share our house. Jayne and Audrey are amazing and, surprisingly for four kitchen-savvy, opinionated women, we all get along really well. I am incredibly blessed by their friendship and their laughter. There really is no place like our home.</li>
<li class="li1">I have new students! I have recently learned there will be at least three new young families coming to Tenwek through Samaritan’s Purse and they all have kids. I learned that when I ran into a guy from Samaritan’s Purse at the Global Health Missions conference in Louisville about a month ago. Through my conversation with him, as well as numerous other conversations with parents who are interested in missions, I have a renewed sense of the need for more educators for missionary kids. It is one of the top questions parents have when they start feeling God’s call into missions and it is one of the reasons many families never leave the U.S. It’s also one of the primary reasons (many agencies will say the #1 reason) families leave the mission field and return home. Many times, they just don’t think they have enough educational options for their kids. If you are interested in solving that problem in Kenya, follow <a href="http://wgm.org/lisettelewis">this link</a> and support my ministry. Or ask a question in the comments section below. If you are a teacher who is interested in serving overseas, let me know that, too! I’d love to help you connect with ministries that could use your teachin’ talents.</li>
<li class="li1">I have a newsletter! I am trying to improve my communication with the people who want to be a part of the ministry of Tenwek Hospital, so if you are interested in receiving my monthly newsletter, <a href="mailto:lisette.lewis@wgm.org">email me.</a> </li>
<li class="li1">We lost a roommate. Back in February, Mari, a family friend, came to live with us while she recovered from brain surgery to remove a tumor and started chemotherapy. In short, the cancer did not respond to the treatments and Mari passed away on October 28th. She was young, beautiful, and creative and we miss her terribly, but know she is finally out of pain and at peace. Thanks be to God. </li>
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<span class="s1">Thank you all for you partnership--in prayer and resources. You all are a blessing to me.</span></div>
Lisettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13999513438325008430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264169478521013601.post-91144323286635410802012-07-10T12:45:00.000-07:002012-07-11T13:05:55.225-07:00On the Road Again<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I left my home in Wilmore a week and half ago and spent a lovely week
with my parents, visiting with family and hiking around some favorite
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpnxa4w2ackzhy4N0etPXBk3T5s3laUHVhk4JQtoYxDZgXzDMASmkCpoC5NIaTCHHnUOUVy_GlNR3oSVYsjHbhNdxDYbMG_8elBkfiQF9IoKl7oHSVw68-lhRfQS8U95DYIrFdIAbU-68/s1600/taylorcountycamp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpnxa4w2ackzhy4N0etPXBk3T5s3laUHVhk4JQtoYxDZgXzDMASmkCpoC5NIaTCHHnUOUVy_GlNR3oSVYsjHbhNdxDYbMG_8elBkfiQF9IoKl7oHSVw68-lhRfQS8U95DYIrFdIAbU-68/s320/taylorcountycamp.jpg" width="320" /></a>Sunday morning, I left for Taylor County Camp Meeting and have had a lovely time
meeting new people (and future missionary colleagues!) and wandering the grounds. I am not the
speaker here, but have set up my display and met
some really wonderful people.<br />
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I leave Wednesday to head back to Rome for two days, then back to Wilmore. ( Three cheers for sleeping in your own bed!) Then it's up to Ohio, Michigan, then Indiana--and I will be speaking at all those places.<br />
I am still in need of $2500 in our own bed!) Then it's up to Ohio, Michigan, then Indiana--and I will be speaking at all those places.I am still in need of $2500 in monthly support, as well as about $6000 in one time gifts. I am trusting and praying that God will meet these financial needs. If you would like to contribute to God's work in Kenya, you can give onmonthly support, as well as about $6000 in one time gifts. I am trusting and praying that God will meet these financial needs. If you would like to contribute to God's work in Kenya, you can give online <a href="http://wgm.org/lisettelewis">here</a> or send in a check. (<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"> Send it to: World Gospel Mission, </span><span style="font-size: small;">PO Box 948, Marion, IN 46952-0948</span><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"> and designate it for account #</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span id="yui_3_2_0_1_13308103006691875" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">125-15732</span></span><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">).</span> If you have questions about giving and how it all works, <a href="http://lisetteinkenya.blogspot.com/p/faq-about-support.html">you can read more here</a> or (of course) ask a question in the comments sections. I'd love to hear from you!<br />
As always, I covet prayers not just for the financial needs, but also for safe travel and endurance for my car, as well as for myself.<br />
I am adding my schedule down below. If I am near you, let me know! I'd love to come see you.<br />
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July 7-11 Taylor County Camp Meeting (Butler, GA)<br />
July 15-21 Mt. Hope Bible Camp (Otway, OH)<br />
July 21-27 Eaton Rapids Camp Meeting (Eaton Rapids, MI)<br />
August 6 Chandler Holiness Camp Meeting (Newburg, IN) <br />
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<br />Lisettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13999513438325008430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264169478521013601.post-89800009775959434462012-05-04T17:49:00.002-07:002012-05-04T17:50:15.357-07:00Interested in more?We are making great strides around here in our technological know-how (or at least pretending we are) and you can now subscribe to my monthly email updates <a href="http://eepurl.com/lyptD">by clicking on this link.</a> If you would like to receive the updates through snail-mail, feel free to add your street address and I'll mail 'em to ya. <br />
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Please note that the email updates will be different than the blog posts, although you can subscribe to those, too, if you really like me. (See the link down on the right side.) There will be some overlap in info, but I will try to share new stories, pictures, and information with you each month in the newsletters.<br />
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I am also trying to come up with a pithy little title for my newsletters, so if you have any ideas, shout them out in the comments section. (My aunt and uncle have called their newsletter the "Lewis Ledger". I like the alliteration, but, so far, haven't come up with anything creative.)<br />
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On another side note, I had a root canal yesterday. (Oh, fun!) I share that with you not because I think everyone likes to hear the words "root canal", but because of the poster my dentist (endodontist?) had tacked up on the ceiling above the chair so that the patients could see it as he worked on their teeth. Underneath the picture of a purple-pink sunset reflected in a lake, it's said "What appears to be the end is really just a new beginning." It is certainly applicable to my life as I come to the end of my last school year here at Lexington Christian and start focusing more on Kenya. But I am not sure what how it would apply to other people laying in that chair. Does everyone having a root canal think it's the end of something?<br />
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On the upside, I have not had much pain--either during or since the root canal and am<i> very</i> thankful.Lisettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13999513438325008430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264169478521013601.post-19288083235986276922012-03-23T16:24:00.001-07:002012-03-23T16:48:04.383-07:00Meet the FamilyIf you are interested in learning more about the families and kids I will be working with next year, check out some of the blogs and pages below.<br />
There's a lot going on around Tenwek!<br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_2027335143"><br /></a><br />
<a href="http://bemmfamily.blogspot.com/">The Bemm Family</a><br />
<a href="http://kenyachupps.blogspot.com/">The Chupp Family</a><br />
<a href="http://www.wgm.org/page.aspx?pid=3952">The Crognale
Family</a><br />
<a href="http://dangalatkenya.blogspot.com/">The Galat Family</a><br />
<a href="http://www.wgm.org/page.aspx?pid=3347">The Manchester Family</a><br />
<a href="http://www.wgm.org/roberts">The Roberts Family</a><br />
<a href="http://www.wgm.org/white">The White Family</a><br />
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And there are more on the way!Lisettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13999513438325008430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264169478521013601.post-80769067737936997942012-02-13T16:19:00.000-08:002013-05-13T20:13:24.637-07:00All That I Can't Leave Behind<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><span style="color: #a2c4c9;"><span style="font-family: verdana,arial,helvetica;">The fatal
metaphor of progress, which means leaving things behind us, has utterly
obscured the real idea of growth, which means leaving things inside us.</span>
<span style="font-family: verdana,arial,helvetica;">-G. K.
Chesterton</span></span></i> <br />
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Last weekend, when it was sunny and bright and warm, I headed out to the Kentucky River to hike and enjoy the weather. Wandering through the lovely fields in Shakertown, I realized how much I love that place and how much I will miss it when I move back to Kenya. And then I started thinking about all the other things I would miss, but the things that would replace them in my life once I was back at Tenwek. So here we are, in no particular order.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Ten Things I Will Miss</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyCHi954kQ3ARDEe0BjUVSzaHd9qCtbyS5SUUnPdFkK4U0hW_uRop7IxjRq7mRgulYrc561m-uQ_98HuCk5lGe0iTBHv1zMxxtkWIEdEFmwc53it2qkX6o3pCZqWDJEdOPC87fzAC7SfY/s1600/Fun+Desktops+Pics+-+27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyCHi954kQ3ARDEe0BjUVSzaHd9qCtbyS5SUUnPdFkK4U0hW_uRop7IxjRq7mRgulYrc561m-uQ_98HuCk5lGe0iTBHv1zMxxtkWIEdEFmwc53it2qkX6o3pCZqWDJEdOPC87fzAC7SfY/s400/Fun+Desktops+Pics+-+27.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<b>1. My family</b><br />
<b> </b>Need I say more?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIvXhNHkExZHLwifao9epDnfaFnHrv7oVjG94J2OriGD7jQDJvnapyRvlLeDcg5zjVWAzndIEKL6FxH6-0nTB0fnO1-PA2TsBySht0qkyOBP-UxBGq5NAR60RIbc7IB0ZOiAuq5JWkAfQ/s1600/KY+River+Emma.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIvXhNHkExZHLwifao9epDnfaFnHrv7oVjG94J2OriGD7jQDJvnapyRvlLeDcg5zjVWAzndIEKL6FxH6-0nTB0fnO1-PA2TsBySht0qkyOBP-UxBGq5NAR60RIbc7IB0ZOiAuq5JWkAfQ/s320/KY+River+Emma.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My cousin Emma, carrying a picnic blanket. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>2. <a href="http://www.shakervillageky.org/">Shakertown</a></b><br />
I cannot count the Saturdays I have spent wandering around that place. My favorite place to hike is not actually around the "town" itself, but the land across the road, down by the river.<br />
I've tried a few other hiking locations around here, but I always end up going back to Shakertown. <br />
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<b>3. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XN-gAQi6pkE">Contra Dancing at ArtsPlace </a></b><br />
You can laugh if you want, but it's one of the best things to do on a Friday night. <br />
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<b>4. My Church </b><br />
I visited <a href="http://faclex.com/">First Alliance</a> after a suggestion by a friend in Kenya, of all places. I cannot begin to tell you how much I have learned and been challenged over the past three and a half years.<br />
<b><br />5. Embrace United Methodist Kids </b><br />
Three years ago, my roommate invited me to come hang out on Wednesday nights at The Rock United Methodist on Wednesday nights with the kids. Wednesday nights have evolved a number of times over those three years--Miss Melissa, the former children's pastor, is gone and now the leaders who followed her have, too, and the church has changed names. We have different leaders and different activities, but the kids are still there. A little older and often a little mouthier. Or maybe that's me. Either way, it's always an adventure. I love those kids, even when they drive me crazy, and I will cry like a baby the day I say goodbye. <br />
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<b>6. <a href="http://lexingtonchristian.org/">My Job</a> and My Coworkers</b><br />
I stumbled into Lexington Christian Academy because I couldn't fathom going back to public schools and no other private school paid enough for a single girl to survive. By the grace of God, they had a job--and a great one. I have finally gotten the chance to teach art full time and I love it. I play with paint and kids all day and get paid for it.<br />
My transition back to the US was not pretty, but Lexington Christian gave me a wonderful place to go every day and helped me find my place in this country. It's hard to feel too sad when 15 first graders actually clap and cheer (yes, they really do) over painting. <br />
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<b>7. Autumn</b><br />
I can grumble and whine with the best of 'em when it comes to cold weather (high of 22? Is that even legal?!), but I love fall. The colors, the slight chill in the air. The apples and pumpkins and squash. The country festivals. It's wonderful and cheerful and bright. <br />
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<b>8. My Car</b><br />
In Kenya, I don't have a car. I was offered the chance to raise money for a car, but that would have doubled the amount of money I would have to raise, so I opted not to. It was a hard choice--I LOVE to drive and at one point declared vehemently that I would not live at Tenwek again unless I could get myself around. I was tired to depending on other people to get me back and forth to Nairobi and I wanted the freedom of having my own transportation. But we all have to face reality at some point.<br />
I can always take a matatu. <br />
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<b>9. Plenty of Hot Water</b><br />
I will most likely not live in the same place when I move back to Tenwek, but in my old apartment, my hot water heater held between 10-12 minutes worth of hot water, depending on the water pressure. And hair did not come clean in the water from the faucet (tap water made it worse), so I would haul a big bucket of water from the rain tank into the house, warmed it on the stove, poured it into two large pitchers and carried them into the bathroom before I could shower. <br />
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<b>10. Understanding language and culture around me. </b><br />
I don't claim to be to the most socially astute person in any room, but in general, I can pick up on most social cues here in America. It took me the longest time<b> </b>to realize that Kenyans laugh when they are embarrassed. So when tried out my Swahili with the kids in the neighborhood and they ran off laughing hysterically, it didn't necessarily mean I had accidentally said along the lines of <b>"</b>I like to eat cow poop for breakfast." They were just shy and embarrassed when spoke to them. I hope, anyway.<br />
But there are many, many more differences in customs and culture--and that means many, many more opportunities for me to misread and misunderstand the situation.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Ten Things I Look Forward To</span></b><br />
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<b>1. My students</b><br />
They are sweet and fun and energetic and goofy and enthusiastic. I love teaching them. I'll have mostly different students this time around, but a few of the same ones. They are a joy to teach.<br />
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<b>2. The Tenwek community</b><br />
It really is like a giant family. You live with 'em, go to church with 'em, eat pizza and play games on Friday with 'em. And go on vacation with 'em. Good thing I like 'em.<br />
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<b>3. Mandazis</b><br />
This would be the Kenyan answer to doughtnuts--minus the icing. They are triangles of fried dough, barely sweet. Once upon a time, I had a Friday afternoon tradition of walking up to the shops by the hospital right after my last class in the afternoon and spending 50 cents on a mandazi and a bottle of Coke. Why not start your weekend on a high note?<br />
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<b>4. Kenyan Sunrises</b><br />
We are only about 100 miles from the equator, with translates into straight 12 hours days, all year round. Sun comes up around 6:15 in the morning, goes down at 6:15 in the evening. That means it's dark by 6:45. And really, other than grading papers and lesson planning (most of which I did in the school room right after classes), there is not much to do other than visiting people and talking to family on Skype. So I often went to bed around 9. That meant I got up e-a-r-l-y in the morning--much earlier than my teenage self ever thought possible.<br />
And, contrary to what I imagined, I loved it. My kitchen window faces due east and I would get up in the mornings and fix a cup of chai and watch the sun rise over the Kenyan hills. It was a lovely way to wake up.<br />
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<b>5. Teaching a variety of subjects</b><br />
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I love teaching art--it's interesting to focus on one thing and one thing only. It's fun and has a different set of challenges, but I miss teaching all those other things. I love listening to kids sound out words and talking about science. I even miss those middle school science experiments. It will be fun to teach those things again.<br />
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<b> 6. Bargaining in the Markets</b><br />
I grew up shopping at yard sales and flea markets in the South, so bargaining was not a new thing to me. I loved it. In fact, the first time I bargained at a Kenyan market, the young man finally asked if I was from Kenya. I was proud. I did find out that you can't bargain in the Nairobi airport over baggage fees. And the lady behind the desk does <i>not</i> think it's funny if you try.<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>(Note about the picture: This is my favorite market picture, but technically, food prices are pretty fixed.)</i></span><br />
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<b>7. Mangoes</b><br />
I know you can buy them here in the US, too, but they don't taste the same. I would eat them with every meal. If my stomach would let me. <br />
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<b>8. Warm Weather</b><br />
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As I have mentioned, I don't like cold weather. At all. I loved the warm weather all year round. Rainy season cools things off a little, but not too much. Certainly not like this. This was taken a few years ago in front of my old house in Lexington. I will gladly trade all the sledding and snow days to never have a storm like this again.<br />
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<b>9. My Spot on the river</b><br />
It took me a while to find it, but I found rock, a little ways off a walking trail by the river. Just enough to conceal me from people on path. Directly across the river from my spot is a little waterfall, tucked back in a crevice of the opposite river bank. The river, the hills behind it, and the little waterfall are a lovely view. On mornings when my friend Julie and I didn't go walking, I would take my Bible and walk down there. <br />
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<b>10. Learning Swahili</b><br />
My first two years in Kenya, I picked up a little Swahili, but this time around, I will actually go to language school. I will have to work at retaining what I learn. I teach American kids and talk to their American parents. Most of the Kenyans I know are MUCH better at communicating in English than I am at communicating in Swahili, so I will have to seek out places to speak in Swahili. I can't wait.<b><br /></b><br />
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This is by no means a comprehensive list nor are the items in any particular order. As I was writing and choosing pictures, I kept thinking of<b> </b>new things to add to each list, but I stopped at ten. I am sure tomorrow when I read over this, I will wish I had left some off and added something new.<b> </b><br />
As always, I am searching for new places to speak and share about Tenwek MK School! If you have a church, small group, Sunday school, Bible study, or simply a group of friends who would like to know more about what God is doing in Kenya, leave a comment. I'd love to hear from you!</div>
Lisettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13999513438325008430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264169478521013601.post-57466443010880025482012-01-08T18:04:00.000-08:002012-01-24T18:21:55.463-08:00The BeginningMonths after setting up this blog, I have finally been stationary long enough to compose my first post. <br />
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So why does my life merit a blog? What I do isn't that interesting. And, come on, it is not 2003 anymore. It's 2012 and you actually need a <i>reason</i> to have a blog.<br />
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All of that it true. I am a teacher and, really, the only people really interested in the inner workings of your average classroom are your principal and, of course, your mother. But <i>where</i> I teach is worth writing about it. And if I say so myself, it's worth reading about.<br />
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My classroom may not look that much different than your average American classroom (although it's smaller than most), but it's in a different place than <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Tenwek MK </td></tr>
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any other American classroom. It's not in America. I live and teach in Bomet, Kenya. The Tenwek Missionary Kids (MK) School is a school for the kids of American missionaries living and working at <a href="http://tenwekhospital.org/">Tenwek Hospital</a> and I am the teacher. Well, I was. And I will be again.<br />
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After graduating from Asbury College, I spent one unhappy year teaching 4th grade in public schools. And one was enough. I had never envisioned myself as a missionary in Africa. I had always thought God was calling me to serve in the American public school system, but God used that experience to pry me loose from the life I thought I wanted and plant me firmly in the fertile soil of East Africa. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZIRNsJ3ZZGUNruRv7Q-U-SHHtFP40fMHOueM23vLTGsRdISg2aj6uPJlyeedDAOEPbYFJ92kfQyNYYPA7_UP5YzfnextETEJyZubDdlXFWgz8Hs1nC-D7-4-SenhWadr8Fj1WQ-_YZlY/s1600/IMG_1197.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZIRNsJ3ZZGUNruRv7Q-U-SHHtFP40fMHOueM23vLTGsRdISg2aj6uPJlyeedDAOEPbYFJ92kfQyNYYPA7_UP5YzfnextETEJyZubDdlXFWgz8Hs1nC-D7-4-SenhWadr8Fj1WQ-_YZlY/s200/IMG_1197.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://tenwekhospital.org/">Tenwek Hospital</a> is a 300-bed hospital in the rural highlands of Kenya--one of the largest Protestant mission hospitals in all of Africa. Many of the parents work at the hospital--as surgeons, pediatricians, nurses, etc, their spouses have ministries outside of the hospital walls--leading womens' Bible studies, coordinating resources for local orphanages, hosting visiting doctors.<br />
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When there is not a an MK teacher, those ministries fit around the task of homeschooling their kids. That's where I come in. I moved to Tenwek in September of 2006 to meet that need. There was no way to do all the schooling for all the kids--20 kids from preschool to upper middle school-- so I focused on the elementary students and taught a few classes a week for the middle school and preschoolers to supplement what they did at home with their moms. Was it a lot of work? Yes. Was it mentally (and when it came to middle PE, physically) exhausting? Absolutely. Did I love it? You bet.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Kenyan Highlands</td></tr>
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It didn't take long to realize that I didn't feel satisfied in the US because that was not what God had wanted for my life. While there were certainly ups and downs, I loved Kenya. I loved the school. I loved the kids and families I worked with. I loved Kenyan culture. I loved the beautiful land. I loved my life. By December, I knew I was where I belonged. By March, I had agreed to come back for another school year.<br />
I could tell you plenty of stories about those two years--the creatures we found in the classroom, the creatures we killed in the classroom (that one was mostly me), the rockets we fired, gingerbread houses, the angry chameleon. But that would take far too long. In fact, it took an entirely different blog (now long gone) to chronicle those adventures. (Although, if you ask, I'd certainly love to share!)<br />
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So we fast-forward to June 2008. Many of the families I had worked with were headed back to the US for a year of furlough--technically called "homeland ministry assignment" because anyone who has been on "missionary furlough" knows it's anything but a vacation.<br />
After many tears, prayers, and more tears, I decided to head back to the US, too. I needed to work on paying off student loans before I took on any longer term commitments and the timing just seemed right. So I closed out the school year, pack up my house and boarded the plane. In tears. Did I mention that already? I did not want to leave, even though it was obviously the right choice.<br />
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My intention was to work for a few years, pay off student loans, and then head back to Kenya for good. After loving Kenya so much and the difficult transition back to the US, I never expected to enjoy living here in the US again. But, somewhere in the past few years, I have started to. Despite all my expectations, I love my house, my church, my friends, living near my family (well, that one I expected to love), and last, but not least, my job. I teach primary art at a wonderful school in Lexington, Kentucky and have loved every single minute of it. <br />
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But God does not call us to an easy life. Thankfully. And it would be far to easy to tuck in, settle down here in the Bluegrass, and buy that house down on the Kentucky river with a big yard for a garden. And just stay. Near my family. Near a grocery store and movie theatres. A teacher supply store. Little Caesar's Pizza. An auto mechanic. Paved roads. Need I go on? <br />
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But, again, that's not what God calls us to. He calls us to spread his Name all to all tongues, tribes, nations, and people. And my part of that task does not involve a lovely little cottage on the Kentucky River or living near my family. It involves moving (a lot), public speaking, strange foods, confusing customs, lots of bugs, living four hours from a grocery store, and an ocean away from my family. It involves seeing people in poverty every day and deciding how to understand that. It involves changing thought patterns and cooking routines. It means seeing so many needs all around and having no clue how to help--or even if I can. It means being an outsider and never truly fitting in.<br />
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So I am following God's plans and I am headed back to Kenya. If all goes as planned, I will be back in Kenya by fall of 2012. In the coming weeks, I hope to post updates on my progress and where I will be speaking. (I am currently raising my support.) I am also hoping to write about some of the ministries the families at Tenwek are involved in. Feel free to ask any questions or leave comments. If you want more info on Tenwek Hospital, what I do, or how to get involved please contact me. I'd love to hear from you.<br />
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LisetteLisettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13999513438325008430noreply@blogger.com1