Thunder and Worship

The Dead Sea

I am listening to the rain and the thunder.The thunder here is spectacular. I don't watch horror movies but I think those who enjoy them feel the thrill I feel when I hear the thunder and my house is shaken. This place has some crazy storms. I wish it was just the scary thunder but there is this wind. Hei! The kind that topples trees like they are rootless and blows off mabati like they are nailless!  The roof of my colleague's house was blown off save for the part right over his bed. We were told that a tree fell on and killed four people. Isn't that terrible? Of course our storms here are like well, a storm in a tea cup when compared to tornadoes and hurricanes and tsunamis. You know the expression, 'feeling under the weather'? It takes a whole new meaning when you think of the people affected by the rage of nature.  I pray that the God who calms the storm is with the families of those who were affected. 

I am also watching/listening to Don Moen and Lenny LeBlanc. They are on stage TOGETHER! I am VERY happy. I'm sure you know them. I'm sure you know someone whose ringtone or ringback tone is, 'Above All'. Yesterday, Lenny LeBlanc (I can't write just Lenny or Don. Reminds me what my pal from Malawi told me. If he hears an East African speaking English and he doesn't know if said person is from Kenya or Uganda, he'll know that it is a Kenyan because we link our words. So it is not Don space Moen, it is DonMoen. No space. Do you get what I mean? We say it like it is one long word. Other examples, Chief Justice, Since he said that, I keep hearing it and yes we do that). So LennyLeBlanc ;) was singing, 'There is none like you' and after he sang the chorus, Don Moen said that worship is two-way. We speak to God and He speaks to us. Then he asked LennyLeBlanc to sing the chorus again and for everyone to imagine that God is singing those words to them. Please do that. Beautiful. It was like they had read my last post! Hehehe. But really, it reminded me that indeed God does sing over you and over me. 

As I listen to them, I'm reminded how far I have strayed from the basics. A lot of their songs are just no-strings -attached worship. Think of, 'If I was a rainbow', 'I just want to be where You are etc. Just worshipping God for who He is. It has been a while since I did that. They reminded me that God is God. He should be worshipped. He deserves it no?  I like the ocean. I like to stare at it and its endlessness. It makes me realise how  big God is and how small I am. How small my problems, yes, my giants, are. They are small when confronted by the bigness of God.   When I listen to these songs and I worship God just because He Is, it reminds me of His greatness. Of my smallness. Of the significance I have before Him and because of Him. They reminded me to go back to the heart of worship. 

When God Sings

Yesterday, I visited a small primary school. It has just two classrooms and the other classes have to learn under trees. As a matter of fact, the teachers had also established a little staffroom under a tree. I suppose it was cooler there than in their office. Many of them are volunteers but they seemed to be very willing volunteers who were all busy marking homework. It must have been break time because all the teachers were under the staffroom tree. As we left, one teacher stood up and walked towards the tree under which his pupils played. As soon as he stood up, faced them and started walking, the children stopped playing, and started singing. I couldn't hear the words clearly but it was a song of welcome. They kept on singing till he had reached his class tree. I turned to my colleague and told him that it must be so good to be a teacher. No one sings when I walk toward the office. No one, I say, no one!

I remember we had a teacher we sang to in high school. She was hilarious and when she walked in we would say, nay, sing, "Gooood morning Mrs X (not her real name, she is not the wife of  super villain Dr. X) how are you Mrs X, you look nice Mrs X, oooh Mrs X, aaah Mrs X". Yes, we said oooh and aaah. She taught Maths and we all know there was a Maths lesson every day so indeed, we did this every day. She seemed to enjoy it as she would strut to and fro at the front of the class waiting for us to finish acknowledging her glorious presence. Then she would teach, call us (really funny) names, teach some more and go. I wonder where Mrs. X is now. 

When we were kids we would sing a song to welcome our parents when they came home. They must have been quite happy to be received thusly. Sometimes we stood in a line near the door and sung lustily as they came in. We would have played all day and then remembered to complete our chores  in the late afternoon. So they only learnt many years later that we were standing against the wall on the puddles of water that had not dried after we washed the house at 6pm. But a lot of the time we were singing genuinely and not to cover up evidence of our sins. Some of the words in the song were in a made up language. Hmm... I have never really thought about those words. I shall call a family meeting and explore our language making abilities further. We can offer sell the language to the African Union as the language of Africa seeing as Kiswahili is not moving fast enough to take up this role. Then the next time you are outside Africa and someone asks if you speak African, you can say proudly, 'As a matter of fact, I do!'. 

The Bible says that God rejoices over us with singing. I find that so interesting. God rejoicing over me with singing. I wonder what it is like and I suppose it must be like the kids singing for that teacher, or the scenes you see on TV when a candidate passes their exams with the oft quoted flying colours. Of course political leaders also have people sing to them all the time. Sycophants mainly. I'm not sure they are rejoicing but well, they sing. Actually, I am not a politician but one of the women's groups I work with thought it fit to sing a song about me. Our interpreter was listening to them as they prepared the songs and she told me that they were singing about me. I was quite surprised and rather embarrassed. Thankfully, she also told me that my name in the song was pronounced 'Jos' so when they presented the song I dutifully rose and danced and smiled really wide when they said 'Jos'. 

God sings for me too and He certainly knows my name! 

Zephaniah 3:17 says: The Lord your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He will take great delight in you; in his love he will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing. Isaiah 62:5 says For as a young man married a young woman, so shall your sons marry you, and as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride, so shall your God rejoice over you. You may read the whole chapters to get the context. Isn't it beautiful to imagine God rejoicing over you with singing? Sometimes, well, a lot of the time, I am really hard on myself and I feel like I have failed God and/or myself and all. When you look at the context of these verses, you realise that God is actually rejoicing over Israel after they have disobeyed Him and been sent to exile. He is rejoicing at their repentance and just because He loves them.. It really is beautiful to think of God rejoicing over me. I just wanted to remind you that He does rejoice over you. He is pleased with you and He loves you. You make Him so happy that He breaks into song. So, pause, give yourself a break, and imagine that!

The Grey Suit of Trials

That is Joycita now after the rain came. Beautiful no? 

I thought you'd want to know that Joycita is quite happy. It has been raining and she is all leafed and chlorophylled! Yes, I like to create words. Also, I like to put in a picture and I had none of the suit in question. 

Onwards onwards! One or two of you may have realised that this post concerns a grey suit ;). You are right! My mother has this skirt suit. It is, well, grey, and is quite nice on her. She calls it the 'Suit of Trials'. Yes, that is an unabridged translation. I have tried to think of the proper English translation, but I have failed. Anyway, let us focus on the story rather than the language. That reminds me of the people who would go to present a song in church and begin with the disclaimer, "listen to the words not the voice." Well, why not read out the song as a poem then? Where were we? The grey suit. This story has so many twists and turns that I am not sure that I can tell it without missing some detail or the other. 

So my mom bought this grey fabric and took it to this tailor. As we all do when we buy fabric, she pictured just how it would look and she described the design to the obliging tailor and left. When she went back to the tailor, she discovered that the tailor was a member of the IWillListenToYouAndDoWhatIwantToDoAnyway Club. My sister and I had previously seen this in the tailor but she had been nice to my mother's clothes till now. My mom told her to redo it. She redid it but with terrible results. My mom was obviously getting quite annoyed. They discussed ways to remedy the various wrongs done to the poor suit. When she went to get it, it was worse and the tailor had even gone ahead to burn a hole through the coat's lining and fabric. She could not take it any more and she took her ruined suit home.  She presented it to another tailor who we've known for years.  Apparently that does not count for much. Well, the dress' trials were far from over. This other tailor deserves her own paragraph (book?) so do walk with me to her paragraph.

This tailor, received the suit and its accompanying tale sympathetically enough and promised to deliver a satisfactory result. I suppose you have guessed that this was not to be. She redid the lining admirably and that was it. She did nothing more for months! Then she is the sort of person who opens her business late and leaves early so it was really hard to find her. My mom sent everyone, from me to my dad, to go see if her shop was open and to get the suit back. By month  four or five, my dad was as involved in the tale of the grey suit as my mother. He decided that the only solution was for them to go to the tailor's home and have her produce the suit. Habeas Suitus. The tailor's assistant saved her some embarrassment by producing and handing over the suit to my mother. The suit was there for almost six months! Long enough to plant, weed and harvest maize of the slow growing, high yielding variety. 

Here was a suit, rescued from the tailor's shop. I know I digress a lot but what is the name of that place where the tailor works? We usually say 'kwa fundi' or 'the tailor's' but what is it? A shop? A workshop? Tailory? . But let us go back to the rescued garment. It was taken to yet another tailor. I'm sure the poor grey thing had had quite enough of tailors' erm... workplaces. These tailors however patched it up then created loops and a belt to cover the offending patch and the dress was FINALLY done. AND the belt actually makes the suit look better! The Suit  of Trials is therefore also a nice suit. 

Well, I leave you to draw the moral yourself but here are helpful hints - being disappointed, not getting what you want, not getting it when you want it, waiting, despairing, beauty at the end of it etc etc. I'm sure you are well guided ;).