kenya: flesh/spirit

But You, O LORD, be not far off;iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

O my Strength, come quickly to help me.

Psalms 22:19

∞

There are ways our culture and society feed into our beings in ways we are not aware of. At least, not that I was aware of. I am going to be frank and tell you how my church upbringing and life in first world America built up a false sense of self for me. I have grown up surrounded by Sunday School teachers, youth group counselors, and spiritual mentors who have always lauded me for how "strong I am in God." I say this not as a point of vanity but merely as a point: being constantly told such things--it seeps into you. It does. And I have always felt close to God in a way that I thought I was strong in Him, too. You see, I never realized how much Western comforts had permeated their way into my security and need until they were rudely jerked out of my hands. I didn't realize how much I held onto my car and the ability to go wherever I wanted at anytime; how much I held fast to my own pristine toilet; how much I clung to planner and my propensity to pen in and finalize my own plans. These were markers of my notions of independence, strength, and self. I didn't know how much of my self I had poured into Western luxuries until they were swept away from under my feet. These things--they were coiled around my foundation of self, and when they were gone--I broke inside.

My flesh had overtaken so much of who I was, and in Kenya, somewhere in between walking through a field of maize in Sigowet and trembling tears, I realized that I was not weak in Kenya. No, I had already been weak, for so long. I thought God had made me weak and low in Kenya--but I had already been weak and low. When I said I needed Help, I meant it. There is a truly beautiful Hebrew word, ezer kenegdo, that perfectly encapsulates the Help I needed. In Genesis, when God sees Adam all alone, He decides Adam needs a helper. I know that word--"helper"--sounds offensively anti-feminist and grossly misogynistic. But the word helper, hopelessly lost in translation, is not the insipid-sounding "help" we think of. Ezer means strength and power, and is often used to describe God is Psalms. Kenegdois is a Hebrew proposition meaning "corresponding to" or "face-to-face." That was my greatest need--for strength, and to see Him face-to-face. It is a simple truth, but when you live in the Western realm, where you are more than capable of fending for yourself with smartphones, cars, and running water, you don't think you need God. You really don't.

The last time I wrote about Kenya, I talked about my flesh and spirit tearing at each other, and the former was putting up a terrifyingly good fight. It had had nearly 21 years of the spoiled existence of Western comforts. But bwana asifiwe (Swahili for "Praise God"), He is much stronger. Strong enough to save me, as cheesy as that sounds. These pictures are from are last full day in Sigowet--the next day we were to reunite with the rest of our team in Nairobi. The smiles on my face? All Duchenne. In those three weeks, God was full of grace and love for me, weak, inconsequential Denise. I was truly at my lowest point those first days in Sigowet, but of course He would not leave me so.