Flesh and Blood

Over two years ago, I moved to Tanzania with all the answers. People asked me what I would be doing, I replied with confidence. They asked my long-term vision, I told them the plan unabashed.


As I sit in my living room this afternoon, after time to reflect over all that the Lord’s done, not during my time in Tanzania, but the nearly five years since He first called me, I have to say that I have way more questions than answers. In fact, I daresay, that I don’t know a whole lot at all. 


I used to have a few regular readers for my weekly blogs on this site, but as I prepare to send this piece out to get lost in the vast inter-web, I have to ask myself what I’ve been doing the last four months that I couldn’t afford the time to write even one blog, one story, to share with folks back in the states. 


I suppose the best answer to that is that life has happened. In my attempts to be a good husband to Melissa and a good father and educator to the treasures, the whole being a good writer (or a writer at all, more accurately) has been pushed aside. Time spent on dirty dishes, teaching the preschoolers, balancing TOA’s books, feeding the dog, managing the home and just trying to be a good husband have each individually eclipsed, even dwarfed, my time spent writing for this blog.


In the midst of life happening, something profoundly significant and important has happened, a joyous event. Melissa and I got pregnant. Our lives are forever changed by this little one that we are anticipating seven months from now and already, the child’s arrival is changing our plans and we’re being forced to re-shape that which we call life.


Over the last couple weeks since we’ve told people, I’ve had a couple people congratulate us saying, “now, you’ll be parents to your own flesh and blood.” Rita said this herself as we met with her a couple days ago. Its an interesting point, one that we’re undoubtedly excited for, but there’s a reason that they say that.


If you were to go back to that time when I had all the answers a couple years ago and you asked my friends and family, “who is the one person that Brandon is excited to be with when he gets to Tanzania?” Ten out of ten people would say the same name, Awadhi. People without a second thought referred to him as my son, both American friends in the states and Tanzanian friends here.  His picture is up in my parents house in Wisconsin. When people talk about me, they talk about him. He has been indelibly placed in my story and my life. And yet, he’s the one that is more chalk full of questions in my life than anyone else.


When I first got here, I struggled with the new reality in his life that I stepped into. The reality of him being HIV+ and deaf was something that I was already aware of and walking through. I had prayed for him, fasted for his healing out of a deep love that was new and revolutionary to me. As I moved to Moshi, I was happy to be with him now and fully prepared to continue to battle for him and love him with all that I’ve got. I was and still am assured of his coming healing. But the new reality was that he was going to start out at a new school in Kiboroloni, a school for the deaf. I, and the rest of his family at TOA, would only see him on the weekends. I wasn’t as prepared for that. And that went on for a year, until I then left him for six months at the start of 2011. That time in the states was right in step with what God had for me as I did the best thing since I gave my heart to the Lord, I married my best friend. Nonetheless, I didn’t see Awadhi for a long time. On coming back in July, he had come off another poor performing semester at school and the school asked to keep him on the weekends, so he now only comes home to TOA once a month on the week he has to go to the hospital for his HIV appointment. 


And now, as Melissa and I joyfully look forward to the birth of our baby, I, now we, once again are forced to leave Awadhi for a time longer than the previous six months last year. 


Questions. Where to start? 


Why hasn’t he been healed yet? Why haven’t we adopted him? With the restrictive Tanzanian law in mind, is adoption even possible? Why is he performing so poorly in school? What does he think of when he’s with me? What does he think of me and Melissa when he’s at school? What did he think about the six months that he didn’t see me and I came back with Melissa? What will he think when we leave and come back a while later with a baby? How does he see us? What are we to him truly? What does he believe about God? 


I don’t know.


It’s a humbling confession to make. I can come up with something eloquent about how being born of the spirit is more important than being born in flesh and blood, which is true. I can say something about trusting God with Awadhi, which I do. I can talk about the bright side of being in the states for a while instead of being home in Tanzania. I could say a lot cheerful things. I, indeed, have so much to be thankful for and I am. I’m thankful for my wife, she’s amazing. I’m incredibly excited for the birth of our child and look forward to sharing that experience with friends and family in California. All of this is true and I’d be remiss to not mention it.


But, I believe I have something to learn here in the midst of the questions. Not only about Awadhi, not only about the precious little one that’s going to show up in September, but about life and why things go the way things go. 


I recently read “Erasing Hell” by Francis Chan and the number one thing that I walked away with from that book is that God is higher. The way that He does things is higher than I can imagine, I can’t understand it. I’m the pot. Compare the knowledge of the pot to the knowledge of the Potter who made it. He does things in a way that I wouldn’t do them. This isn’t to demean our existence or the image in which He created us, but its rather to exalt Him as Creator.


“For My thoughts are not your thoughts, 
Nor are your ways My ways, says the Lord.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
So are My ways higher that your ways, 
And My thoughts than your thoughts.” Isaiah 55:8-9 


God is good. We thank Him for this coming season of life and for the gift of this little one, as well for the gift of having Awadhi in our life. 


At the same time, life is tough to make sense of sometimes, increasingly so I’m finding in my own life. There are questions, so many stinking questions. Questions that I don’t have the foggiest answer to, other than to say that God is God. His ways and His thoughts are higher, for this we give praise.

the letter m

So my beautiful wife is back on with her blogging and I highly suggest it to my readers. Whereas my blogs are long, difficult to read through and border on drudgery, her blogs are more concise with short anecdotal tales of life and lots of pictures, hence they are more enjoyable than my blogs. So if you are out in cyber land and want a good blog to follow or just another way to keep up with the Stivers, especially as we'll be returning to Tanzania soon, you should check out her blog: 
the letter m on tumblr.

A picture from her blog post yesterday

Verse of the Week: Philippians 1:20-21

So I'm struggling with this notion that for the most part, people don't really care about my blog and my mother has always told me that I'm too sensitive, so I take that probably harder than I ought to. That coupled with the craziness of planning the wedding and the inconsistent schedule that that entails has led me to not be as adamant in updating the blog and becoming more apathetic to do so. I have a couple ideas for a couple posts, but time is waning and I'm not sure it'd be worth the post. Welcome again to my love-hate relationship with blogging. Anyways, even posting the verse of the week was looked over last week, so I'm trying to make up a little by actually posting one on time this week.

I seem to be posting several verses that people "know" but they don't really know. Everybody has heard the last tag in this week's verse, but rarely know where in the Bible its found. Furthermore, memorization helps with meditation on scripture and this is certainly a verse worthwhile for both of those ventures. David Platt wrote in his recent book, Radical, about what a revolutionary concept it is to live for Christ when if you were to die that's actually a good thing. We walk around and are so afraid of death, but biblically that should be something that we look forward to. Beyond that, if we lived like the verse proposes, our lives would be inherently more risky and thus more effective and powerful. This is a challenge to me for sure and I hope that it is for you as well.

"According to my earnest expectation and hope that in nothing I shall be ashamed, but with all boldness, as always, so now also Christ will be magnified in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain." -Phillipians 1:20-21

Be

You know, we try to make our lives about a lot of things. For whatever reason, we often feel like we need to force things and make it work. We formulate these ideas in our heads about who we are, what we do and why our lives are significant. In so many ways, I’ve fallen into this over the last however long and it certainly hasn’t been the first time I’ve found myself in this useless striving. Lord, help me to stop doing this to myself.

Call it an identity crisis, call it image management, call it what you will, this is something that I’ve struggled with for as long as I can remember. This inclination probably picked up the most steam in high school. There is so much need for godly adults to be active in the lives of our youth, because I’ve seen this search in the states and I see it here in Tanzania as well. They are searching for identity and want to define themselves by what they do. I was the epitome of this. I wanted to be a skater. I wanted to be known as a skater. I sucked at skating. Even what little natural talent I had was severely overshadowed by my lack of gall (to keep it G-rated) due to fear of hurting myself. I would skate, but never progressed much. I instead grabbed the camera, stuck with my crew and wore the right threads. They have a word for what I was in the skating community, a poser. The truth hurts. I also went through this phase where I wanted to listen to the cool music, which to many “popular” kids (which in high school means “more valuable” kids) was punk music. I started to act as though that was what I liked. I listened to MxPx as a kid and that was my “in.” That was only one band though, I needed more. People needed to know that I liked the right bands. I had to convince people I do the right things. First I had to convince myself though. I actually remember writing in my personal journal (I don’t dare call it a diary, although it essentially was) that I was now into New Found Glory and Relient K. Ouch, there’s a confession for you. The truth is more pathetic than if it were actually true that I liked those bands. The truth is I had never listened to those bands, I just heard from a friend that they were cool. I have long since listened to them a little and I, in fact, strongly dislike their sound. So much of my high school was spent trying to convey an image surrounded by the things that I’m into and the things that I do.

I wish that I could say that upon leaving my adolescence behind, I became secure in who I am. The truth is though, I just found new masks to put on and the façade became more subtle. I truly went to deeper levels with the Lord in college and as I settled into who He was shaping me into, I found new ways to perform in front of others. In a group, I’ll tune out while you’re praying so that I can plan my own prayer that will blow everyone away. At church, I’ll volunteer for a bunch of stuff so that everyone will see my servant’s heart. I’ll sing the right songs in worship and close my eyes so you all know that I’m being intimate with the Lord. I’ll speak up in conversations so that people realize how wise I am. You get the point. Now I don’t want to discredit the Lord, because the truth is that in all those things, He would put my heart in the right places at times and it was worship to Him. But I couldn’t pretend as though there wasn’t this desire to perform in front of others weaved through it as well.

A Farewell To Blogs... For Now

I am now entering the twelfth and final month of my first year as a full time missionary in Tanzania. This has been a wild year to say the least and you could catch that from reading the previous blogs on this page. The emotional highs and lows have left me a bit exhausted by this time of the year and the emotions and struggles of the last few weeks have possibly been the hardest yet. I'm living in this tension where I know that the Lord is using me and I see His will unfolding in my life, yet I’m perhaps more self-aware than I can ever remember being; that’s in regards to my position in life and my personal sin issues. I have been reflective lately to say the least.

To be honest, I’ve felt quite under attack lately. Its sometimes hard to put a finger on where a spiritual attack comes from because the forces are invisible and yet the Bible is clear that that is where the battle is (Ephesians 6:12). This has manifested itself in multiple areas of my life. There has been a growing discouragement coming against me that has been very disheartening. The feelings of frustration and restlessness that I’ve shared recently tie into this and I realize that these are not merely mental, but spiritual as well.  It has also manifested in the physical realm. I’m not the guy that finds a demon in every stubbed toe and hangnail, but it would be foolish to think that our adversary wouldn’t want to attack us through our health, when disease is such a prominent result of the fall. So this weekend, I got malaria for the first time. I almost made it through the year without it, but nope. Its worse than worms, I'll tell you that much. I was sick for all of Friday, complete with vomit, body aches, weakness, soreness and nausea. Lame. Furthermore, I've felt attacked mentally as some ungodly thoughts have made their way into my mind somehow and I recognize its not from me, but the enemy attacking me in my flesh. Yeah, its been rough. I could really use your prayers.

Of Storms and Reflections

Before I get going on this blog, I feel like I should have literary integrity and come clean with you. Writing this blog was my back-up plan for the evening. I was supposed to skype with my folks followed by Melissa. However, I live in Tanzania and simple things don’t always go according to plan. Instead of skyping with loved ones on this Thanksgiving weekend, its been one thing after another keeping that from happening. Thursday the internet was down all day, Friday the power was out altogether, today everything was good to go except that a power surge fried the network switch for the internet upstairs and I have no way of getting on to skype. However, the good news (aside from “talking” with all of you lovely people) is that it gave me time to run to the store to pick up a few essentials and in the process found that my most frequented store has begun carrying Mountain Dew. Thank you Lord. I’m not much of a soda drinker these days, but MD has a special place in my heart. During high school I hit that drink hard; I consistently had a Blood-Mountain Dew Content Level of .08 or higher. I was legally stoked/hyper. Good times, good times. Makes me think back on life, ah the memories.

Speaking of reflecting on life (forgive my lame transition), this weekend offers me a unique opportunity to reminisce. I received an email on Thursday informing me that I’d be preaching this Sunday at ICC. Not uncommon to find that out only a few days before getting up there. I began preparing last night and I as I was asking the Lord what to speak on, he gave me the words “heartbreak” and “loneliness.” I didn’t really know what to do with those, but then He guided me to Mark 4:35-41. The first scripture that I ever preached on and haven‘t preached on against since.

My final semester of college was nuts. I did 21 units on top of working and only the Lord got me through it all. One of my classes was an upper division class on The Gospel of Mark. I loved that class and the culmination was my 14 page exegetical analysis paper on Mark 4:35-41. I was quite proud of the paper and while the Bible is enormous, I do fancy myself somewhat of an expert on those seven verses. I took all that info and crammed it into a sermon that I delivered in the Tanzanite capital of the world, Mererani, Tanzania two and a half years ago.

I’ve noticed that when I preach, and also when I write, I tend to speak out of what the Lord is teaching right then. That was certainly the case when the Lord opened my eyes to this passage that I subsequently preached on. I’ve written about what was going on in my life at that time, so I won’t bore you all with that rabbit trail. Needless to say, life was tough. I grew more in that season of my life than perhaps any other. It wasn’t pretty though; it truly was a storm like the one in this passage. The change towards righteousness took place not out of a joyous victory, but rather heartbreak. I was confused, sad and lost. The Lord spoke to me out of the storm and took me so radically in a new life direction that I stand on the other side of that storm and thank the Lord that He not only calmed the wind and waves, but used the storm to bring me to where I am today.

Lately, I find myself not only reflecting on that time of my life, but also the last year of ministry. Believe it or not, I’m wrapping up month eleven right now and I leave for my furlough in about five weeks. Nuts. Yesterday morning, as I was getting ready for work I was listening to the worship play list that I listen to every morning. I always put the play list on shuffle and as chance would have it, back to back Phil Wickham songs came on. The first was “Heaven Song” and it took me back to January when I landed in TZ and found out that Anjela had passed away while I was in transit. The second was “Divine Romance” and it took me back to my birthday in April when my Life Group sent me a affirmation video that had the song in the background. Both of those seem like so long ago now and that is because they are pretty long ago now. Its been a long year. Its been a hard year with more difficulty to come for sure. Its been a great year too though.

In a moment of unrest as I was unloading recent troubles on Melissa over skype, I could hardly continue to talk. At one point all I could muster up was “I’m not the same person that left Long Beach in December.” I don’t think I even realize how true that is. Perhaps I’ll have a better idea when I’m back in those similar situations in California. I can’t get my mind around all that’s taken place in my soul this year. I feel like I know the Lord so much better and yet am more mystified than ever. I feel like I’ve learned so much and yet know so little. I feel like I’m spending so much more time organizing my thoughts and yet have so much less clarity. It is a strange tension to be in and I can’t grasp it myself.  

This passage remains important to me and continues to teach me. In verse 38 it says that Jesus “was in the stern, asleep on a pillow.” The cool thing about exegesis is that you get more out of the little unnoticeable parts of scripture like “He was in the stern.” In boats of that time and place, the stern was the place where the helmsman sat to steer the ship. The pillow was heavy and was a normal accessory for shifting weight in the boat. So it wasn’t just that Jesus was sleeping, He was in fact asleep as opposed to steering the boat. He was asleep at the wheel. Meanwhile, the waves are crashing, the wind is blowing and the disciples are freaking out.

Remember how I said that the Lord typically leads me to preach/write on something He’s doing in me right now? Well, in reflecting on my recent feelings of frustration, anxiety and loneliness in addition to the physical changes to take place soon through taking a break from TOA, spending a longer furlough in CA and getting married in June, I realize that I am once again in a storm of sorts. The dialogue between Jesus and His disciples undoubtedly is reiterated countless times between Him and His disciples today: “Teacher, do You not care that we are perishing?” (v. 38) “Why are you so fearful? How is it that you have no faith?” (v. 40).

When the Lord first began speaking this passage to me in early 2008, it felt like I was perishing at times. To some extent, it felt like God didn’t care; like He was asleep at the wheel. I was fearful and based my charges against Him out of a lack of faith and understanding. Storms are common in our walk. There is so much in this fallen world that seeks to scare us, thus debilitating us from walking in the destinies that the Lord has put before us. When we come through these seasons of testing, He wants to know the answer to those same questions. Are you a fearful person? Do you have faith? My prayer, hope and resolution is that I will be a person that is based in faith, not fear.

Faith. The Lord has been faithful. He has increased my faith by so much over the last few years. He is using my current situations to continue to grow my faith. As we turn to Him through the storms in life, He will do that for all of us, for this we give praise.

A Blog About Blogging

So I felt that an interlude blog might be necessary. Not for the masses that read this blog, ahem, but rather for my own frame of mind. Something seems to be changing in regards to how I write, why I write and basically all that goes into being one of millions of voices expressed in the blogging culture. If its not a change, it could at least be described as a realization. I'll go backwards and then forwards and try to keep it brief (as to stay in line with the Facebook status update). I want to get these two orders of business out of the way now, because something happened today that I'm going to try to put it into words as I write tonight and post tomorrow. I think it'll be one of the more spiritually important blogs so I wouldn't want either of these two things to distract from that.

First, if you read it on Facebook or here on Blogger, you may realize that there has been a case of a vanishing post. I indeed wrote an entire blog and posted it on Friday. Basically I came to a realization of some pain that I had stuffed because of lack of contact with friends back home and I wrote from a place of insecurity. I am not an insecure person, so realizing that was not pleasant, but that didn't make it any less true. I literally woke up in the middle of the night on Friday, cringing from my own discomfort. I mixed that insecurity with my own vanity and attempted to take on the entirety of blogging culture with only my keyboard on my side. How counter-intuitive is that? And before I left the office that day, I felt the Lord telling me to strike the post. So I did. And I'm glad that I did. As far as I know the only ones that read it in that two or three hour window was a South African friend, a Peruvian friend (kind of) and I believe my soon-to-be mother-in-law. If you also drudged through that one, my apologies.

Second and last, if you haven't noticed, I'm trying to make my blog a little more legit. There are different reasons for that. First is because I do believe that putting out a blog is a good way, in this technological age, to testify and there is nothing wrong about making the website more winsome as you share testimonies of God's work. I am doing it now, because I'm going to be heading to the states in less than two months and this website is somewhere that I'll be pointing people to for follow-up and hearing more of what the Lord has called me to in Moshi. Because of that, I realize that its best for me to not only write those long weekly thoughts, but also have stuff going up more regularly (as well as shorter in length). Because of that I am going to be more regular on the blog sharing shorter bits about the kids, my thoughts or anything else that might catch my eye. I don't know if people care about that stuff, but I see other people doing that so I figure it won't be an entire waste of time. That's actually the main reason that I'm redoing the Treasure profiles, that way they are their own post and they are accessible there on the left hand side of the site. So... if you are reading this and you typically just catch the blog on Facebook, I suggest that you subscribe so you don't miss all the other stuff. I don't envision doing a status update for all the shorter blogs, even though I think they'll be worth the read.

So there you go. That's a long blog for some, but for me that's short. Thank you all for your prayers and for your interest in what the Lord is doing out here. I haven't used Swahili in most of my recent posts so I'll sign off with a good old Mungu akubariki.

Wind Brings Beauty

I feel beauty touch my skin, I close my eyes and sigh
My heart flutters within as the Wind blows by
Off to bless another soul in a far or near place
To dry the tears of a heart that have travailed down a face
Or to continue the furious onslaught of the waves once more
Pounding and pounding as they baptize the shore
The endless waves come from the infinite deep
The children leave the beach, but the beauty persists in their sleep
And when the children wake up and go outside to play
The Wind meets them at the door to welcome them to the day
And as they run in the field, the Wind gladly pushes their kite high
Just to see the beauty erupt with the shimmer in their eyes
The Wind can carry their laughter or any other sound
And there's not a place on the earth where the Wind can't be found
The Wind carries laughter but can also move in the silence
Bringing beauty to a land that is torn by violence
Rushes down into the valley of the shadow of death
And fills up the lungs of the oppressed with every breathed breath
The Wind brings beauty and blows away ashes
And is the strength which withstood those 39 lashes
So in the name of the Wind, I receive the same power
That was released from His body as He died the ninth hour
And like those saints of old which met in the upper room that day
I pray the Wind will blow me too in the beautiful way

Brandon  Michael

October 31st, 2010

Trust

Basically at any moment after Sunday, my spirit (if not my “material”) seemed ready to sit down and write a post. Sunday, I’m resting it and its only been a few days since my last post. Monday, I skype with Melissa and goes a little long and there’s not enough time. Tuesday, I say tomorrow. Wednesday, I skype with Melissa again then come home and opt to clean instead. I plan on Thursday for sure until Lauren asks if I want to lead worship at their house, I go with that. Then today comes, Friday. Alright, now I’m at the computer and I’m more than ready. After all that’s happened today, I’m so ready.

You know I really like receiving feedback on my writing. Of course you know that, I complain about it constantly. My apologies, but let me explain myself further. It encourages me to hear from people, believe it or not I enjoy interaction with people in the states (go figure, I moved here nonetheless). At any rate, I received a good encouraging feedback message from a friend that I met at Vanguard. Rodrigo was certainly not a guy that I figured was reading any of my posts but nonetheless he hit me up with some encouraging words. Besides saying the normal courtesies like “you’re doing a good job,” “you write well,” and “you’re basically C.S. Lewis reincarnated” (okay, I’m fabricating a little), he gave a sound word that has certainly given me a mind frame for the last week. He shared a story about Mother Teresa and out of it encouraged me to just trust. Clarity and figuring out the how of things won’t get me close to where trust in God will. Obviously that’s a good word and after all that was on my mind last week, it was much needed.

A Story

How do you start a good story? How do you live a good story? Over the last few weeks, I have found myself in the midst of one of the best stories I’ve ever heard. Its one of the greatest stories I’ve ever heard, because I know who the Author is and I know that He does all things well. The real life story has all the suspense and great scenes that you would want in your favorite fiction book, but this is real. The Writer has chosen to use real people in real places in an effort to not only bless and write a good story, but so that people will observe and read the story and point to Him as the Giver of all good things. This is one of the many amazing stories that He’s planned since the dawn of time. It is impossible to fully capture the depth of the story in a finite world when its already been written by the eternal God. At any point in the story, any small thing, a newspaper thrown away, a rejected internship, a stolen identity could have upset the story, but it was in fact written masterfully. So how am I suppose to start this? Do I start it when I first came on the scene on April 8th, 1986? Do I start it at the age of four when I gave my heart to the Lord and His plan of redemption, blessing and purpose began in my life? Do I start it when I first got called to Tanzania? Or when I left California totally single and not knowing what God was going to do? My feeble words couldn’t match the masterful penmanship of the Lord and yet here’s my attempt to tell one of the best stories I’ve ever heard… or been a part of.

I was at the Hidden With Christ office in Tustin. As I was walking through our small office space and looking at the hangings in the hallway, I was pleased to see newspaper clippings of past and current Hidden With Christ missionaries. Lydia, Jodie and the first director Melissa Hermann were in an LA paper, Rita’s son Andy was in an OC paper and I thought that it was a cool way to witness and potentially fundraise. As I commented on them, Rita told me that it would be a good idea to contact local papers back on the central coast where I grew up and see if they would be interested in running my story about moving to Tanzania. I took on that idea and subsequently contacted a couple newspapers up in San Luis Obispo county. I was in a story that ran in the Paso Robles Press, Atascadero News, and Paso Robles Gazette. Also I was in a totally separate article in The Tribune which goes throughout the county. I was pleasantly surprised when it led to some support that came in as well as a donated laptop, on which I’m writing this story. While those things are good, the Lord had so much more planned.

Kingdom

There are a lot of people in this world. Furthermore there are a lot of people that don’t know Christ, a lot of Christians sitting on their hands, a lot of people who are open to listen, a lot who aren’t and each person is on some sort of journey that we hope ends with them in the eternal Kingdom of Heaven.

I moved here because I wanted to advance the Kingdom and I wanted to obey the Lord’s voice that Tanzania is where I’m supposed to be. He has been gracious to bestow upon me the position of teacher, elder, leader and above all father. I didn’t come here on a whim and I’m certainly not leaving on one, much less anytime soon. Tanzania is where the Lord has planted me for a while to advance His Kingdom. First and foremost, with the Treasures, but His Kingdom isn’t confined to TOA. It may advance at ICC, any other church I speak at or attend, it could advance through our worship nights, through my conversations with my friends, or with George, the old guy that hangs out by the bread shop that I’ve gotten to pray with before. Nor is my work in His Kingdom confined to Tanzania.

I’ve been so blessed by some wonderful encouragements from people back in the states that have said that the blogs and other things I’m putting out are encouraging them in their own faith. For all my complaining about close friends that don’t read my blogs (my apologies), I’m truly humbled by those of you that have told me how the Lord has used the writings in your life. It is a blessing to me to know that He is still using me in any small way back in my home country, because Americans are still close to my heart and my desire is to see Americans, especially those of my generation, completely sell out for the Lord and His business. And yet, that’s not really the country I’m getting at in this particular post…

Something to Say

From time to time, I fancy myself as a writer. Call it pride if you will, but its probably mere delusion. Here’s another attempt at something meaningful…

When I was back in California, I taught kids at church. I was in a groove and whether it was Rock Harbor, Pacific Pointe or The Garden I could step in and teach the kids something about Jesus and their lives. It was fairly easy. I would have a curriculum and I would fill it out with my own ideas. Even if I was making my own curriculum like I did for the junior highers at PPC, it was more of a give and take discussion so the teaching just came naturally. I’m no longer a children’s pastor, junior high pastor or Sunday school teacher and trying to impart anything to anyone seems to have gotten harder.

Last Saturday, I preached at Pastor Unity’s Youth Conference. Sunday I preached at ICC. When did this start happening? In the states, I’m not a preacher. Culturally I realize that Tanzanian Christians want to honor Americans and feel like they could get something from us spiritually. That is true, but its far from automatic. An American is just as likely to get up there and blow a bunch of hot air as a Tanzanian, conversely a Tanzanian is just as likely to stand up and deliver a moving sermon. And yet I’m an American, although I’m young and don’t have seminary experience, I’m now a default preacher (and elder apparently).

Gaze

A transcendent truth exists over my head...

I wake up with a faint thought of the word that was said

Find myself in a field where the fog always rolls

Rise to my feet and feel pain in my soles

I stand to take in this land enveloped in a cloud

Prepare for the task before me, I gather my shroud

Then I see two cubs before me, playing in the brush

One cries out loud and the other's at a hush

They play for a moment then the silent one spots me

There's a power in his eyes that he can't even see

I'm overcome with emotion as I look in his face

And anticipate the event, ordained to take place

And for that quiet moment with our eyes locked

The fog escapes our line and the sight is unblocked

And that gaze is the evidence of things unseen

And remember the reality of the word in the dream

In that I take courage and on this path I begin

Knowing the fog is subject too as I go to talk with the Wind

Brandon Michael

June 15th, 2010

Emotion

I emailed a little with Darren (my pastor back in Long Beach) this week and he was asking about my time here. A specific question he asked was “how are the emotional ups and downs?” I’ve learned a few rote answers for people when they often ask me the same question. My typical answer regarding my emotions is that they are drastic, when they’re up, they’re sky high, when they’re down, they’re in the dirt. To be honest I don’t understand them and its entirely frustrating when I can’t shake a feeling.

Yesterday, I played soccer out on the pitch with some Tanzanians and followed it directly with playing my normal Sunday night basketball. When I got home last night, I was exhausted. Not after long, I was in my bed having my devotional and found myself too tired to pray. I rarely only pray in my head, there’s too much going on in there. But speaking out loud just seemed like too much effort. As I laid there, a feeling set in on me and I can’t put words to it. It didn’t feel good. I managed to start praying and went through my Sunday list of people to pray for and any other things that came to my mind. I went to sleep and hoped that I would feel refreshed in the morning and feel good to start another week.

Unfortunately, its pretty much stuck with me to this point. It almost feels like an exhausted longing. I don’t know what or who I’m longing for, but that’s what it feels like. Maybe I’m just not close enough to the Lord. I do feel His presence normally, but my mind is getting in the way of His voice or He’s just being quiet right now.

Poetry

Friday night I was kicking it at my house and I began to go through all the previous blogs that I’ve written since December. Maybe its vanity, but I really like going back reading things that I’ve written. It reminds me of where I was when I wrote it, it brings back the emotions, the thoughts, events, the whole deal. I am very blessed by the ability to write and articulate life and I was quite encouraged the other day when my mom told me that my writing is “poetic.”

And yet I’m a little worried. I used to write poetry. I guess I can say that I write poetry, but I haven’t lately. My fear is that I’ve traded in my poetry for prose (does blogging qualify as prose?). Yes, I want my prose to be “poetic,” but I would rather just write poetry. As I’ve gone into writing songs and prose, I’ve been losing my roots.

Roots. I can’t say that “poetry” is necessarily my roots, not just poetry. I am quite indebted to hip hop. My first memory of hip hop, was at my house on L Street in San Miguel. My Junior High best friend Baldo came over and I turned on my radio. I had it on Sly 96 Alternative Rock. He asked me why I didn’t have it on Kiss 99.7 (before it evolved into Wild 106) Hip Hop and R&B and I made some lame excuse and changed it over. We went about our business and soon he left, but I left it on the airwaves. My dad came in and 2Pac was on, he heard it and told me that that is not music I should be listening to, I was officially hooked. Even now, to get in the mood, I got my favorite album on, Black Star. Hard to believe this album is over 10 years old already. “The fire’s in my eyes and the flames need fannin’” [Insert head nod here] So my first poems, weren’t Shakespeare, Frost and Dickinson inspired (that came later), but rather Nas, Method Man, and Mos Def.

Poetry. I decided a couple months ago that if I was going to start writing poetry again, I needed to get back into the culture and get inspiration by reading it first. I got a book and have been enjoying the poems, but the pen hasn’t touched the pad yet. I wrote a song while I was at language school, but that is different from poetry and spoken word. The last few days I’ve just been praying the Lord will give me the opening line, if I get that, I’ll just take off. We’ll see.

Sorry, this blog isn’t really about Tanzania or the kids so much. This is what I’m thinking though. The Lord gave me words, I’m no Robert Frost, I’m no C.S. Lewis, I’m just Brandon and this is what I enjoy. This is my art form. I want my poetry back and I don’t want to lose my prose or song writing, I just want to have my words intact. People that are photographers come to Africa and take amazing photographs, people that paint, come here and paint the most beautiful paintings, and so on. I want to write a poem that will bring tears because of the beauty it shows in life here.

Ephesians 2:10 says we are God’s “workmanship” the Greek word is poiema. As you can infer, this is the word we get our word “poem” from. Try and fit this into your head. Jesus is the Word, the Alpha and Omega, A to Z and all good and real things are brought into existence through the Lord speaking. This universe exists, because God spoke and we are what He does when He writes a poem. That is AMAZING!!! Something special can take place in a poem where the effect it has goes beyond the form and the words. There is such a valuable beauty that comes about that is so much more than you’d find in a science textbook. We are more than a humongous group of intricate molecules and body parts. We experience things that cannot be explained physiologically. Our existence goes beyond our form, that’s because we are His poem. That’s beautiful.

So as you can guess, by the end of Friday night, I had kicked aside the previous blogs and pulled out my poems. And as far as going forward, I’m sure that my words will return to me and if I feel confident with a written poem, I’ll share it with you all at some point. In the meantime, I suggest you find a book of poetry and watch the effect the words have on you. The Lord gave us art and it is one of His most special creations. We are blessed to partake. I’ll give you a freebie and get you into the poetic swing of things…

Excerpt from “The Eternal Goodness” by John Greenleaf Whittier

The wrong that pains my soul below

I dare not throne above,

I know not of His hate, - I know

His goodness and His love

I dimly guess from blessings known

Of greater out of sight,

And, with the chastened Psalmist, own

His judgments too are right

I long for household voices gone,

For vanished smiles I long,

But God hath led my dear ones on,

And He can do no wrong

I know not what the future hath

Of marvel or surprise

Assured alone that life and death

His mercy underlies.

And if my heart and flesh are weak

To bear an untried pain,

The bruised reed He will not break,

But strengthen and sustain.

No offering of my own I have,

Nor works my faith to prove;

I can but give the gifts He gave

And plead His love for love.

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The Rundown: Speaking of writing, I just got published. My first article written as Education Director was just put out in the newsletter this week, kind of. I really love writing, as you know. Apparently Rita really loves editing. I wrote that article in Victory Magazine, mostly. After I read the published version, I was like “Wow, I sound like Rita.” Lydia, Jodie and I had a good laugh about it and they said she’s been doing that for years. Hamna shida. She wants like that dramatic, adventure writing and I just want to chill, be real and crack self-effacing jokes about eating oatmeal in my underwear. Its all good, just difference in style and I‘m pleased with the article. Life is good. The past couple days have been really nice, a little slower and I’m keeping up with stuff. I’m still trying to figure out the programs somewhat, but the preschool is just about right where I want it. This coming Wednesday, I am going to lead worship at my home group (weird we don’t call it a life group), so I’m looking forward to that. Today was the Kilimanjaro marathon. I went down there and checked it out. My church was supposed be doing evangelism, but I couldn't find them. Several of the kids, including Awadhi, have malaria so you can be praying for them and I myself have a bit of a sore throat, but I'm hoping that's all it is. I’ve been doing research for the ESL stuff, so hopefully that will fit in a little better. Its just hard, because all the kids are at different levels and their schedules seem so random. Continue to pray as I try and figure it all out. Yeah, that’s life.

Moshi Brandon

They (whoever they are) say that after five months on the field, a missionary goes through a bit of a culture shock or a season where they are a little more sad and frustrated. I know of friends that have gone through seasons like that while they’ve been here. This is the best explanation I’ve got for what’s going on right now. Yay, for being a textbook!

Granted, I haven’t been here for five months (consecutively), but between an introductory two weeks in 2008, a normal life type of two months over this last summer and being here a month and a half now, maybe somehow that’s accumulated and now, I’m in a little bit of a head funk or emotion funk or whatever (and if this isn’t that, I’m in for something special come May).

This makes it entirely frustrating to write, even though I want to write. Maybe I just love getting comments on my page, seldom as they may be. I don’t even know if anyone reads this. If I write a blog in the forest and no one reads it, does it make a difference, at all? Just joking, but I really do appreciate those people that take a moment to comment or email me (side note). Throughout the week, I think of like five different titles and topics for my blog. I’ve got some doozies in the oven, let me tell you. I’ve been thinking of one called “Poem” for a while, last night I started writing one titled “Possibility,” and the list could go on. This one, I didn’t title at the start. I just wrote an introductory sentence talking about how I have no idea what I’m about to write (it was deleted upon revision).

If there were one prayer request for me personally, it would be for thought and emotional clarity. My internal life has never been so ambiguous and I’m an introvert, a very pensive man, but I feel like in the times that I just stop and spend sometime trying to organize my thoughts, I make no headway. To be honest, I don’t even know if I’m sad, maybe I’ve never been happier. I just can’t make sense of anything (which maybe adds to my cynicism exampled in the previous paragraph, sorry).

Lydia said something last week that scared me a little. She talked about how she is not the same person that she was when she was in the states. That inevitably will happen to me as well, and I believe its already begun. I think about Long Beach, that amazing, yet brief season. I liked myself in Long Beach. Paso Robles Brandon is too immature and Costa Mesa Brandon has too much baggage, but Long Beach Brandon, yeah I wouldn’t mind being that guy for awhile. Children’s Pastor, Life Group Leader, the guy that loves to just go to Portfolio and write or get coffee with a friend and talk about the Lord. Hmm, good times.

And yet I would rather be here in Moshi, but I’m not as fond of myself here or maybe I just miss my community and family back in the states, which undoubtedly plays some role in all of this. In Long Beach, I felt more like I really had something to impart to The Garden, to the people, to those friends in Orange County I would still see regularly. Here, I know, but I don’t know. These kids need a father, but this isn’t the way that I envisioned it. I think of my dad, good memories as a child growing up even up til my visit there a couple months ago. He’s a dad. How can I be a dad, when we don’t even largely speak the same language? Yes, they call me “baba,” but that’s also very cultural. I call men older than me on the street “baba” because that’s what you do here. Yes they love me and I them, but its like I get here and they’ve lived basically their whole lives without me in it. I’m their father? There’s more to being a dad then this and I just pray that the Lord will show me what that looks like, because this is entirely different from what I would think of as normal.

To end abruptly...

I appreciate your prayers so much, equally so the emails of encouragement. Thank you for being my family and spending part of your day reading. Please do keep me in your prayers. I am so blessed to be right where Jesus wants me, the hardest place there is to be. As I was telling my friend Melissa the other day, being a full-time, long-term missionary and feeling the gravity of such an undertaking is a whole other ballgame from short-term missions. This of course adds to the difficulty and that’s why I appreciate your support so much. I bless you in the name of the Lord.

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The Rundown: This week has been good. I started some of the ESL and art programs at TOA, which has been fun. Its all a work in progress, but I prayerfully trust that its making a difference. The bookkeeping is coming along too. The Lord’s grace is sufficient for that. Its been nice to know that I’m doing something that Lyd would normally have to do and it takes a little off her plate and keeps our books up to date weekly as opposed to monthly. The preschool is going well. Jeremiah, or JerrBear, or Pinoche, or Stevie, or simply Jerry (I have many nicknames for him) will be starting at his special day school this week so we’re down to seven kids. Its been a joy to work with Grace and I think we’re starting to settle into the changes I’ve made. The kids are well, although you can pray for our second grader Sam. He’s a good kid that we love, but he’s made some bad decisions (like kids do) and he’s on ultra groundation. Pray that the Lord would be speaking and ministering righteousness to him. Other than that, things have been normal. Tuesday discipleship and Thursday worship with Ryan was good. Let’s see what else, oh, right when I was getting used to my new beard trimmer and really liking it, it broke on me a week ago. So I leave you with this final prayer request, pray that I can find a trimmer before I turn into Grizzly Adams.

Sacrifice

"I can't lose focus, because Jesus is who I follow

Sometimes I choke back tears, but this time I'll decide to swallow

Submit my life to Him and glorify Him through the loss

Knowing before there's resurrection we must endure the cross."

-Excerpt from a poem I wrote on Jan. 30 2008

Mike Erre was joking a couple years ago about USC beating The Ohio State University and he said in jest that the loss was the cross that must be endured before the Buckeye's overcome and resurrect. Everyone laughed, but the joke itself was something that stuck with me (besides I'm a Badgers fan). We must endure the cross of pain and suffering before our resurrection and this is the path of the Way.

January 2008 was the crappiest month of my life. I just got back to Vanguard for my final semester before receiving my Bachelor's in Education. A little over a month before, my girlfriend of over two years had broken up with me, my best friend from back home had gotten into some trouble with the law and there was family turmoil as well. If I was ever in a state of depression, that would've been it.

I remember one night in particular. I was in my night class on the Gospel of Mark and I received a call from my brother Donny and then called back to talk to my sis-in-law Melissa and got the 411 on what had happened with my friend. I was devastated and shocked. In my pain, I wanted to turn to my best friend on this Earth, only to quickly remember that she had broken up with me November 23rd 2007. After class, I called my friend's wife and left her a pathetic tearful message and then went on a walk. I have never felt that things were so out of whack.

In that season of sowing in tears, I planted a seed that would lead to reaping in the deepest joy I've ever felt. The resurrection of my sorrow. [Psalm 126:5]

I again find myself in a time of dying to myself and sacrificing. I leave California in less than a week. This has been my home and the majority of the people I know and call loved ones live within the four and a half hours that it takes to get from Costa Mesa to San Miguel. As if saying goodbye to Andy, Amy and the Varners wasn't hard enough last week, yesterday I had a going away party. Joel represented the central coast, while Cody, Alaina, Clesi, Katie, Jeff and the LG fam showed up for Costa Mesa and The Garden/Modern Lovers gave LB love. And I was so sad. I cried so much yesterday. The bitter before the sweet I suppose.

Ashley put it really well a few weeks ago... I have sacrificed everything and especially these relationships for Awadhi [and the Treasures]. This last week, I've felt the weight of that sacrifice and its really painful. But the resurrection is yet to happen and that's my hope.

I am so glad that [Lord willing] my journey is not over yet. Yesterday before the party, I heard my story for the first time without speaking it. Thanks to a great videographer and now friend, Brett, I was able to hear me tell my story and I can't tell you how much it blessed me. I've watched it like five times by now and cried every single time. The only problem with my story about the Lord's calling on my life to Tanzania is that I live in California right now. I'm still saying goodbye and still hanging on this cross, albeit a glorious cross. I suppose my time in Rice Lake will be the tomb (am I reaching for this analogy?) and come January 10th, I get to come out and the Lord will receive glory and I'll walk through walls (figuratively...maybe literally).

So that seed that I planted in January 2008 when I started sponsoring and praying for Awadhi has already started to bud and next month January 2010 is going to be harvest time.

Praise be to the Lord. He is my Hope. He is my Love. He is my Peace. He is my Everything. And I will sacrifice everything and anyone (or everyone) for the joy of knowing Him. It is my delight to suffer for His sake and I await the day when all His saints are resurrected and we live in perfection for eternity. Asante Jehova.

Keep This Up Family

Love

Love is beautiful, Love is kind

Love is dangerous and sometimes blind

Love inspires music, Love inspires me

Love is really scary and the cost is not free

It will cost you your time, your emotion, your heart

But what you receive in return, well, that's the best part

And as my pen attests to this paper my words for Love cannot express

But if you've felt it before then I can lay my spirit to rest

And know that you know of this Love that I know

That causes me to repeat myself, cause feeble words could never show

The effect Love has and how it changes a man

To throw out everything for the future and let living Love be the plan

But when you fall in Love don't forget that you fell

And there will be pain in this Love, I know it all to well

I told her "I Love you", then she turned and walked away

And I still remember how Love felt on that particular day

But I would rather say and know Love and risk the loss

Then not commit and not be true with my feelings to be the cost

Because the same Love that was causing me pain

Was the same Love I felt for him as I held him that day

And felt his tiny heart as it beat against mine

Love transformed that hospital into God's Kingdom and it was truly divine

And even as I said, "Kwa heri, nakuPenda mwanangu"

That Love is driving me back as if there's nothing else that I can do

So yes I believe in Love, indeed true Love exists

And through his death on the cross, Jesus showed me this

And through his beautiful resurrection, His Spirit witnesses that its true

I can say with my whole heart, "I Love you"

Brandon Michael

September 23rd, 2008