Some missionaries that I know feel a certain amount of drudgery in regards to the sending of newsletters or updates out to their supporters. For me, it was a chance to write and reach out to a small audience regularly with the words and thoughts I could cobble together and communicate our family's situation at that particular point in time. I did my best to balance story telling with personal reflection and ultimately attempted to provide something of value that each reader could carry into his or her own life. The example here is our family's very last update before moving back to the U.S. And it is perhaps the riskiest one in this presentation of my work as it carries with it the weight of very personal emotional content. Namely, the end of our life long dream, brought to an unforeseen close by circumstances we could not have anticipated.
August 2022 Several of the psalms bear the following description - “A Miktam of David.” There is apparently some generous amount of speculation as to what a “miktam” actually was. But the psalms to which it is applied have some striking similarities in their content. They all contain some version of this formula: (Life is hard right now, I might die) + (God is good, he saves me) = Praise God. This is spiritual math, y’all. And something to which we can all relate as the stories of our lives continue to be written by the holy and unflinching pen of our Creator. After living our lives in a seemingly never ending stream circumstances in which this formula of worship was applied time and again, Tracy and I felt it fitting to use one of these miktam psalms of David to frame this, our latest and last family update. Psalm 16 will provide the rungs of the ladder we will climb together. “Preserve me, O God, for in you I take refuge. I say to the Lord, 'You are my Lord, I have no good apart from you.'” Since our arrival to Kenya in 2020, before the world short circuited in a spasm of confusion and a thousand disparate worldview collisions, we have sputtered a great many prayers which matched this sentiment. All of our moves, restarts and transitions led us to strong feelings of futility and restlessness. David gives us here the only solid ground one can come to in these places, a confession that apart from God we have no good. We had found plenty of good in the work that we wanted to do and in our ability to do it. In the end, we had to realize that God is the greatest good in our lives. Ironically, the last several months of our time in Kenya was some of the most productive. Much water has flowed under the proverbial bridge since our last update and there have been many new bridges under which that river of time has been rushing. In April all four of us visited Texas, having conceded to the fact that returning to the U.S. long term was both the most difficult and most reasonable choice for our family. We checked out some schools and areas then parted ways. I returned to Illinois in order to work in my home ER for several months while Tracy, Ian and Elyse returned to Kijabe so that the last term of school could play out. This was the longest we had been apart and our reunion in July was sweet indeed. Tracy returned to what we thought would be a closed Covid dorm and this was one more assumption in a long line of decimated assumptions. Right away the school began seeing many ill students with Covid and Tracy became the point person to take care of them all. Throughout the entire term she could usually be found in the isolation dorm, clad in the ever stylish blue gown, N95 and goggles. Because I was in the US this meant she spent up to 14 hours a day in the dorm, running home when she had someone to cover for her in order to care for our own children. All of this was done with a smile and a cry of “Preserve me, O God.” It was difficult logistics but Tracy commented many times to me how her goal was to connect with the students there and give them as good an experience as possible while separated from their schoolmates and classes. In all, Tracy cared for 53 students over the course of third term. Which is about 50 more than we cared for together during first two terms combined. Ian and Elyse set about their last term at RVA grappling with the reality that it would be their last. Ian grappled with a bit more than that, literally, as he decided to play rugby for the term. While we are proud of him for trying something new we are not sad that the experience solidified soccer as his sport of choice. Elyse made full use of time with her friends both in and out of school. She also tried a new sport, volleyball, as a way of connecting with classmates. We were proud of them for engaging in new activities, knowing all along that it would be temporary. I returned to the ER in its post Covid state which means as crazy as when I left it. Returning to my old digs allowed me to get my clinical feet wet again. And while it only took two weeks before the hospital reduced our pay as travelers, this was still enough to provide us with a car and a little extra for future rent. God certainly was our refuge throughout the summer. “As for the saints in the land, they are the excellent ones, in whom is all my delight.” “They are the excellent ones.” Perhaps verse three encompasses one of the peaks in the mountains and valleys of our two and a half years of life on the field. The number of precious souls who have been woven into the fabric of our lives in that time are innumerable. Some of you have committed to partnering with our family through prayer and sacrificial giving. Others walked the red dirt roads along side us. We are ever encouraged by your generosity and support in the midst of the last five years. A most grateful nod goes to Drs Scott and Jennifer Myhre. Five years ago they welcomed us to East Africa during a brief yet impactful vision trip. The short amount of time that we spent together was instrumental in introducing us to the realities of life and work in Kenya. When things began going sideways for us they were available to listen and offer encouragement, even in the midst of their own trying times. Ironically, the way in which they shaped our up front expectations of life on the field also served us in managing ourselves as that life seemingly collapsed in on itself. There have been many families who saddled up beside us for stretches of time. From our original day of commission at Serge to missions training and the moto wa takaka that was our Swahili school experience, we laughed and cried with amazingly intrepid believers taking their families to the ends of the earth. (Moto = fire. Takaka = garbage. You get the idea.) We are ever grateful for the families in Litein and Kijabe who folded us into their lives as part of their respective teams. Moving to new places means meeting new people. Moving to many new places in a short period of time means that many more people to meet and get to know. God was truly very kind and gracious to us in the form of teammates, hospital staff and community members in every place we lived during our time in Kenya. These folks not only welcomed us but walked with us, sometimes through our miry clay, sometimes through theirs. Space and discretion disallow a full acknowledgement of these individuals. Suffice to say, from supporters to teammates, coworkers and members of the Kenyan communities where we've lived, these are the saints of the land, the excellent ones. And they are truly our delight. “The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup. The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places…” Now, the nitpicky part of my brain shudders at the association that I am about to make as it is not a strictly expositional thing to do. In our last update we told of exploring Texas as a future home for our family. God in his providence has led us elsewhere. One day this summer I was having coffee with a friend when he suggested talking to his buddy who moved east from Illinois with his family and was quite happy with the switch. A couple weeks and many virtual interviews later I had several job offers at hospitals in central and upstate South Carolina. We settled on Greenville, South Carolina for many reasons and from what we’ve seen so far, we are surrounded by pleasant places. Ian and Elyse have started at a new school and I begin working in the ER of a local hospital this week. (Night shift, yikes.) Tracy is going to take some time to serve our family in this transition, getting us settled, and then she too will look for work. I would be remiss if I failed to mention that our two cats survived the travel from Kenya to the U.S. We now tell people that our rescued kittens are African wild cats. It's a good conversation starter. Just as we never planned to move from Litein to Brackenhurst, nor from Brackenhurst to Kijabe, Greenville was not on our radar as we set out to return from the field. Yet here we are two and a half weeks into living in an airbnb, trying to find a permanent home, trying to trust and follow the Lord and confess that no matter where we find ourselves he is our portion, our chosen cup. “I bless the Lord who gives me counsel…because he is at my right hand I shall not be shaken…my flesh also dwells secure…For you will not abandon my soul to Sheol.” A true and full reflection on our time in Kenya has only just begun. We can say with all honesty that we began our journey in earnest with no illusions that a life in international missions would be a cake walk. We were given an honest picture of such a life, from various perspectives and embraced the idea of walking the rough road, even as we had high hopes for what we might accomplish for the glory of our king and the good of people. Not to mention there was a long standing hunger for experiencing and learning another culture together as a family. We did not ever imagine, however, that our life and ministry would implode as it did, as soon as it did and certainly not for the various reasons that have since presented themselves. As a result, our family is trying to make sense of what felt like one long Goonies level mudslide, dumping us out into small pools for periods of respite only to be sucked once again into a swirl of chaos and confusion. We’ve attempted to serve in whatever place that we found ourselves while grappling with feelings of futility, disappointment, disillusionment and seemingly continuous transition which simply equates to a cycle of gaining then losing. All of these feelings and the full impact of our experiences will take some time to untangle and we acknowledge that we may never have a conscious awareness of just what was happening over the last few years. Does this sound bleak? Remember our miktam formula. Life is hard right now. We might die. But God is good. He saves us. We did not set out eight years ago pursuing a life in missions with a plan to parachute Bear Grylls style out of what feels like the flaming wreckage of those hopeful and perhaps naive dreams. The breath expelled to utter this statement is sometimes a prayer and sometimes a curse. But with the very next one we must confess that God has not abandoned us. He gives us counsel. Shaken as we feel, he is at our right hand and we are secure in him. At this point there are and will be many things left unsaid. Thank you to all who have partnered with us, prayed for us, encouraged us, cried with us and walk even now with us. We leave behind us the realization of a life long dream. One which, for a moment, came true. Today our daughter opined about the apparent lack of diversity in our new home area. If the net positive effects of our time in Africa were all in service to our children, expanding their view of the world and its inhabitants, then so be it. We hope very much to return to Kenya one day and perhaps to a life of serving internationally. As for now, I will begin garnering a wage at the end of this month. Our family will no longer be officially associated with Serge as under their leadership and no longer relying on the generosity of our partners to financially support us in our endeavors. Many people did not know us from Adam when these partnerships began. In the same way that we were introduced together, by the quiet providence of God, we would like to make your acquaintance with two families who would likewise be pleased to partner with you in their work of kingdom building. If you are looking to continue giving to the furtherance of the gospel and service of people in East Africa, then please visit the websites provided here and here. Reach out to us if you would like a more personal introduction and we will make such arrangements. These are our friends, kindred spirits and we wish to see them fully supported in their work. Psalm 16 ends with a confession. One which can be uttered in all seasons of life, through every danger, toil and snare. One which is bedrock for the shaken, strength for the weary and vision for those blinded by the bright wildfires of life here on earth. This is the testimony of the miktam. And though we are not perfect in its application to our hearts it is presented to us as truth, leading the oft blinded soul through the smoke, out of the heat and into a settled confidence not in our own abilities but in the sovereignty and goodness of our God. Many roads have their end and many their beginning. But for the saints in the land, all roads lead to this one place. May our good father bless you, keep you and cause his face to shine upon you. For a reminder of where the twists and turns of your own journey are all ultimately leading, take with you now the confession of the psalmist: “You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.” Soli deo gloria, The Andersons Derek, Tracy, Ian & Elyse
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This exhibit is comprised of one lone blog post which I wrote shortly after arriving in Kenya and beginning work as a nurse in the hospital. It is a true story mixed with my response to it. And while I am a big fan of old school blues music, the title has nothing to do with the legendary guitarist and everything to do with a very green missionary nurse in a very green (and wet) East African village.
"White Coats and Muddy Water" I realize that this post will be sliding past a whole lot of back story and dropping any reader into a context which may be unfamiliar. In my world, it is enough sometimes just to tell a thing and, hopefully, the blurry edges will sharpen in the light of time and further words spilled in similar fashion. Perhaps a sentence to offset this hope. I am a registered nurse who spent the first ten years of his nursing career in a modern, resource laden American emergency department and who now finds himself in a hospital in rural Kenya, attempting to learn their routines and find a role in which to serve. "I wish I had a white coat" was never once uttered during my time as a healthcare provider in the states. My typical uniform in the ER was a black or grey scrub top and pocket heavy cargo pants. For me, white coats were never associated with nursing, save those in advanced practice. I was repulsed by the white uniform mandated by my nursing school, having spent multiple years in the dark blues and boots of the EMS world. But many things are different here in Kenya and the dress code is but one of them. I knew this going into my first day in Casualty (aka the ER). However, I did not regard it as such an important factor. I did resist the urge to dress as I would at home and donned a collared button up shirt, feeling like I was going for a job interview and not preparing to care for any number of calamities that may occur. Not too casual for casualty, in other words. I quickly found that this was not enough as no one seemed to question why exactly I was there, a complete stranger from a strange land, barely even able to communicate in English at times (our English(es) are somewhat different). They wanted to know, "Where is your white coat?" Though said in jest, it served to further highlight the fact that I am not from 'round here. Thankfully, the welcome I received from the staff overcame their perception of my uniform deficiencies. My second day in casualty I was expecting the fun that would be poked in this arena. I was not prepared to so readily adopt, even mentally the code of conduct in this arena. Every morning begins with the nursing report from night shift, a hymn sung and a devotional read. This particular reading was from the gospel of John, the scene in which Jesus stooped to wash his disciples' feet. The portion of this story that stood out to me this day was John's words about Jesus from verse 1. "...Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end." A couple of hours later found us at the bedside of a young woman who was hypotensive and semi conscious from ongoing vaginal bleeding. Though no one knew the story when I inquired, her clothes, legs and feet were caked in mud. As resuscitation was being initiated, the nurse with whom I was working said, "She must be cleaned." He exited the curtained area around the bed and returned with a bucket of water and cloth rags. (The same we had used to clean beds earlier, just with clean water.) Though contrary to my instinct for a person with low blood pressure, we sat her up and swung her legs out over the bedside, positioning them over the makeshift wash basin. As we knelt to scrub her feet free of the caked on mud I was immediately taken back to the story of Jesus with his disciples. The Lord of glory, found in human flesh stooped to wash sinful men's feet. He did it not out of duty or obligation but out of love. "He loved them to the end." I was reminded of the realization that I experienced towards the end of my time in the ER before departing to prepare for our move to Kenya. Over 17 years in emergency medicine my care for patients and interaction with staff had often become transactional, born of my job description and not of my love for serving people who are made in the image of God. This was not across the board, but frequent enough for me to take note. It was as if my heart had become as crusted as this woman's feet, in need of a thorough washing with the water of God's grace to remind me why I am in this profession. The eternal Son of God became a human (and remains human) forever sealing the worth of mankind in the Creator's eyes. In their suffering and sickness people are worth the work, worth the grace, worth getting dirty. As I knelt beside my new colleague, dress shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, flecks of dirt and drops of muddy water dotted the green fabric. And I found myself thinking, "I wish I had a white coat." The following is an excerpt from an essay that I wrote titled "How to Lose: Thoughts on Suffering as a Christian." Admittedly ambitious and imminently personal, I am including one portion as an example of my writing.
Part One Words from the Valley Recently, a friend of mine looked at me and said, “I’m trying to encourage you, man. Why won’t you let me do that?” Indeed, I don’t accept encouragement easily. This is perhaps some deep and persistent psychological or emotional flaw which I am observing in myself. Or maybe I’m not the only one whose disposition doesn’t swing quickly from fighting to laughing at the push of a button. For me, taking heart when needed is not at all like grabbing a rope lowered by a well meaning soul hovering in a rescue chopper overhead. It is more like climbing the Dolomites. It takes time, work and usually requires the theological “via ferrata” of sorts, left behind by generations of faithful believers. Nonetheless, one thing to which I do not typically respond well are pithy statements of Christianese victory speak shouted down from someone testifying to their spiritual mountain top experience and how I ought to be entering into the same glorious celebration. Now, this individual may very well be speaking the very truth of God in that moment. And though the truth does not change, our experience of it varies. This includes the timing and means by which the truth presents itself at a particular time. Ought the truth of God lift us from the morass of our struggles? Yes, and it does. But many times it’s not like clicking one’s heels and saying, “There’s no place like Rome.” The book of Philippians features one of these sayings which I hear and experience in different ways, depending on the day. It is one of the heaviest pieces of practical theology we encounter in scripture. “Rejoice in the Lord always. I say again, rejoice.” At first blush, I hear this and say to myself, “No way. Not possible.” Then I look around for the source of such a profound utterance so that I can scoff their way as well. “Who said that?” I say, looking inevitably toward the sky which houses the top of the tallest mountains, hidden to us mere Christians by clouds, looming dark and impenetrable. Then, still straining to see high above, I hear it again, this time from behind and below. “Rejoice in the Lord always.” Incredibly, it sounds almost like a song. Second verse same as the first. “I say again, rejoice.” It’s drifting up from the valley, sometimes a whisper, sometimes a shout. From a valley so wide that one cannot even perceive the walls that mark its border, like the boundaries of East Africa’s Great Rift Valley. The voice belongs to the apostle Paul. And he’s in a Roman prison. Not the prison he was afforded at the end of his life when he was basically under house arrest. He was in a dark, dirty hole in the ground. Arms and legs shackled and perhaps surrounded by the moans and cries of other prisoners in despair, the apostle Paul gives us heavy theology for heavy times. “Rejoice in the Lord, always,” is the refrain and this time I have to take it seriously. It is one thing to talk of rejoicing during the best of times. But when the worst of times are upon a person and still their exhortation and experience is one of rejoicing in the Lord, my curiosity is more than piqued. I am forced to consider the fact that if Paul could pen these words, live these words, in the dungeon, then they hold truth for every circumstance, including mine. Indeed, this is the man who said he and his companions regularly experienced “fighting without and fears within.” (2Cor) It may be twisted. But I am simply more apt to listen to him. There is a level of trouble and distress through which his statement pierces that causes me to take note. Statements like these (or any) do not come out of a vacuum. They are loaded with presuppositions, prior assumptions and truths layered one on another and forming the ground out of which they spring. Such words are like the fruit of a great vine. To understand the fruit, one must study the vine, down to its roots. Rejoice in the Lord always? At all times? Paul, my friend, not sure if you noticed where you are. Maybe the isolation is getting to you. “No,” says Paul. “Look at my feet. They may appear to be in stocks. But they are standing on the word of the living God. The Word which does not change. It tells us of the character, purposes and plan of God for his church. This is the root and it has gone down deep into my mind and my heart. No experience that I may have on this earth, negative or otherwise, will change the truth. The word ‘always’ that I placed at the end of my statement is for emphasis. Jesus, the truth, does not change. So rejoice in the Lord always. I’m not flashing you a plastic smile and telling you to just have more faith. I’m saying we have fighting without and fears within. But this fact is in concert with the Word of God. It does not cut across the grain and burn up the carpenter’s saw. The building goes on and it will be a glorious structure. So rejoice in the Lord…always.” Every person carries with them a certain set of presuppositions. Whether they are cognizant of this fact or not, these assumptions form the basis of what we would call a worldview. It is within the framework of this worldview that we are constantly interpreting the world around us and our place within it. They can be either truthful or false. We can live consistently with them or not. Whether or not we are aware of our presuppositions and which ones actually comport with reality is a different discussion. Either way, we experience them almost like voices of a choir, sharp and flat notes in a cluster of harmony or dissonance which accompanies us every where and at all times. Paul David Tripp proposes that we have an ongoing stream of dialogue constantly running in our hearts. The question is, whose voice are you listening to? Which presuppositions drive how you interpret your experiences in this world? Are they true to God’s Word? “Rejoice in the Lord, always. I say again, rejoice.” Without the multiple truths undergirding and grounding the sentiment, it floats around in the air, taken just out of our reach like the string of a helium balloon taunting a small child who is left further despondent for it having sipped through her fingers. Thankfully, these were not the only words that Paul and, ultimately God, gave us. We can explore other areas of scripture in order to suss out what ideas gave rise to such a weighty utterance. This is what we will do in subsequent chapters. Looking at one of Paul’s most famous passages, I would like to pull out certain ideas which we can use to build the framework of rejoicing in the Lord at all times. The concrete has not even dried after setting them in the foundation of my own heart. And while there are multiple tacts one could take in this endeavor, this the path down which the Lord has led us during the last two years. First, there’s an old joke that asks, “How do you make God laugh?” The next chapter will give us the answer along with a picture of our recent journey which has precipitated this extended exercise in existential musing. |
PurposeA newsletter, a blog post and an essay walked into a bar. They are here to answer the question "What do you have to say for yourself?" |
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