Spreading of the Skies~Job 37


By millennia,
By torrents,
You claw the earth’s crust
From Madagascar
To the Red Sea.

I peer
Into the equatorial blaze
Where dust devils
Churn red volcanic soil.

In the middle distance,
Cool, thick-shouldered
Longonot rises
Death stalks
On a narrow path;
Ears tuned to lion sighs.

Bleached land seas
Roil over the valley.
Through the heat haze;
Shimmering Mt. Margaret,
Blue skirted Ngong Hills,
Kiss the sky

 Fragments of Eternity, Memories of Africa

                                                     From Unpublished Poetry


All families have stories.
Ours drift from continent to continent
Stops in North America, Breezes through Asia,
Lingers in Africa, Tours Europe,
And returns.
We wandered purposefully
Not called, Sent.
Seeking people,
Longing for everlasting love,
We hold hands with the dying,
Share water with the thirsty,
Pray for hearts wounded by indifference.
Point the way to the true healer
The peacemaker, the lover of souls.



The Journey Begins

Thanks for joining me!

“All I have seen teaches me to trust the creator for all I have not seen.” -Ralph Waldo Emerson


Viumbe Vyote Vya Mungu Wetu Na Mfalme Wetu

 “All creatures of our God and King,” seems like a benign beginning, a nice platitudinous acknowledgement of the creator. But. . .the song swells. The thoughts grow.

Leaving me
at the magnitude
of creation.

at the way
God stirred
and sung the stars
into the heavens,
the breath into mankind.

The rhythm of the familiar hymn sung in Swahili surges through my mind like a pulsating, driving force. It propels, for music bypasses my intellect and speaks to my spirit.

The pumpkin-colored sun rolls into its position above the escarpment. It filters through the pale morning light setting the scene ablaze with equatorial clarity. We are awake at dawn. The chickens began chuckling half-an-hour ago and we tumble-down the stairs hoping for water for a bath.

It is dry. The ground is fissured and the grass crackles beneath our feet. The long rains of winter did not come and people are hungry. They have chopped the grass with pongas (machetes) in our front yard to feed their scrawny cows. We have no butter and little milk because the cows aren’t producing.

Our world has shrunken from CNN to refugees on our doorstep. Somalis, Ethiopians, Kikuyu mingle uneasily under the hospital’s trees. World weary eyes beg for their children’s lives. It is not enough to write a check, smile and say, “Go, be filled.”

So, we are here. Praying for rain for the shambas, (gardens). Praying for true peace in the world. Seeing the selfishness of mankind up close and personal reinforces our faith even in the midst of our sadness and grief at the suffering. There is one simple answer. We celebrate His life each day. A cup of cold water to a person at the door, a prayer for a starving child, hope shared with the hospital pastor as he struggles to feed the displaced and heal the broken-hearted.

The students at the missionary school are fasting one meal per day so their food can go to the local children.