Kenya Mission 2007

Journal Day 5, Part 2

2007-11-13T07:30:00.000-08:00

I am so thankful that the Lord healed my headache, because today we were headed back into Nairobi to find a cyber café. I was looking forward to seeing more of the third largest city on the continent of Africa. I was also eager to send out a message on the blog telling everyone I was in the country and working hard. Neither Fr. Dan nor I had cell phones so I couldn’t call home anytime I wanted. The village where we were staying didn’t have phones either. It’s like Africa skipped the days of landlines connected to public phone booths and dove straight into the cell phone revolution. Fr. Lawrence had a cell phone but he always had it up to his ear. The thing never stayed in his pocket for longer than a few minutes. He was always taking calls or making calls related to the mission team’s visit. So getting a message out into cyber space was the best to let everyone in the States know I had arrived in Kenya.

On this little excursion, I left the camera back at Papa Gloria’s house. I didn’t want the trip to be all work and no touring. I got to enjoy being a simple tourist for a little while but I still ended up behind the lens before the morning faded into noon. Fr. Dan had brought his little video camera along on the trip. On the way to the cyber café, Fr. Lawrence wanted to stop and show the mission team a van that he wanted to buy for Grace House. I took a few shots so we could use the video to help raise money for the much needed mode of transportation. The mission team was spending a lot of shillings on taxis and drivers to cart us around. If Grace House had its own van, mission teams who came to visit wouldn’t have to worry about raising the extra money for transportation expenses.

Before lunch we stopped at the cyber café. I have been talking about this trip on the blog for several months so I thought it was important to post something while on the trip in Kenya to give the blog credibility. We had to pay for web access by the minute so I kept the message short. I wanted everyone to get a glimpse of how their donations was at work here half a world away. Thanks again to everyone that helped me get here.

After indulging in a fine lunch at an organic restaurant in downtown Nairobi, the mission team headed back to Grace House. Fr. Dan and Debbie had not been to see the building or meet the residents yet. We stopped to grab the camera so I could tape the first meeting of the residents and the priest from America. Only half a day to be a tourist then back to mission work. No worries, I enjoy being around Grace House so much that I would raise money all over again just to come here to paint walls.

I clipped the wireless microphone on Fr. Dan so I would have sound of him and Debbie giving their testimony to the group. I buzzed around getting all kinds of different angles and perspectives. As a news photographer, I have the mindset to shoot and move. Here I probably should slow down a bit and let the camera roll for a while to capture sound I wouldn’t normally get under the tight time constraints I am usually working under. I thought of this while working so I set up in one place and stopped moving around. Fr. Dan noticed I wasn’t bouncing from place to place so he took the microphone off. He thought I was finished shooting. I thought he was finished talking since he removed the microphone. As soon as I flipped off the power to the camera, Fr Dan launched into a small sermon that would have worked well in the video. He talked about how God viewed substance abuse and how it hurts him to see his children struggling with drugs just as any parent would be hurt by this attack on their children. For the second time on the trip I felt like I had missed something I really needed.

But, that’s photography. Sometimes you capture something extraordinary that you never expected to get and other times you watch a missed opportunity pass before your eyes while the camera is tucked away safely in its case. You can’t control how events unfold in front of the lens. You just have to do your best to get enough to make your vision work.

Tomorrow we are planning to go to Nairobi National Park to see the wildlife. It may sound like another trip where we are acting more like tourists than missionaries. But, I assure you the trip has a specific purpose. Remember that van I was talking about earlier? We are test-driving it for the day to see if it’s worth raising money for. I also want to shoot beautiful scenery shots for the video. I think it’s important to capture some of God’s wonderful artwork he has blessed this country with.

Journal Day 5, Part 1

2007-11-09T07:29:00.000-08:00

Oh man, I woke up with a splitting headache this morning. This makes me believe something else is wrong with me other than simple dehydration. I drank a ton of water last night before bed and had to get up in the middle of the night to use the water closet. This house is as dark as a cave at night. No night-lights, no street lights bleeding in from outside. Just total blackness. I had to feel my way down the hall to the bathroom.

The pain radiating across my skull was so sharp I had to beg Fr. Dan’s wife, Debbie, for some Tylenol. I normally don’t take pills for a headache because I don’t believe over-the-counter medication works. But I was in so much pain that I was willing to try anything. Debbie also gave me Sudafed thinking my sinuses may be the cause of my pain. I took all four pills in one large gulp of water. Then I took a sponge bath with boiling water to try and relieve the pressure. I soaked a washcloth in the hot water and draped it over my face to breath in the vapor. The cloth felt good on my face but did nothing to cure the pain.

The pain was so intense it made me feel sick to my stomach. I couldn’t eat breakfast. Papa Gloria noticed me pecking at a plain piece of toast as if I was a bird. He asked, “Ken, are you not well?” I told him about my headache and he said it was a common problem for visitors. Since we were South of the Equator in August, Kenya was in its cold season. This close to the Equator there isn’t a winter like we see back in the States. But the temperatures do drop enough so that you need a jacket. I would pull out my lightest jacket to wear when I got a chill. Others around me would have on a coat but I thought the temp felt more like autumn or early spring. Coming from Charlotte where the temperature was in the hundreds when we left, I was very happy to have to use a jacket in the evenings. But, cold weather seems to bring out the viruses no matter where you are and my head may have picked up something going around.

Papa Gloria said he also was suffering from sinus problems. He said there also could be a lot of stuff in the air here that my system was used too. I didn’t really care about why my head was hurting. I just wanted relief. I can’t remember if my head has ever hurt this bad before. I was worried that I was in too much pain to shoot video today.

Father Dan and Debbie prayed over me while we sat in Papa Gloria’s living room having breakfast. As they prayed, I concentrated on opening my mind to the healing power of the Holy Spirit. I kept repeating the same question in my head, “Lord, please heal me so I can do the work you have led me here to do today.” I have never seen somebody instantly healed and I have never experienced healing myself. My thoughts drifted to the idea that after prayer God might give me a break some time later in the day. In other words, I didn’t really believe in instant healing. But, I have also learned that God’s healing power is only as strong as our faith in the prayers we are asking for. The pain was so intense that I needed relief fast. I decided I was going to focus my prayers on believing that God would heal me just enough that it wouldn’t effect my mission work. Fr. Dan and Debbie were praying for my healing and I was praying I would believe the healing would happen.

After we stopped, I sat on the couch for a while to reflect. Pretty soon I picked up the piece of toast I was nibbling on a few minutes ago and devoured it like I hadn’t eaten in days. While I started filling my plate with more food I noticed that the pain in my head had dulled quite a bit. It wasn’t gone completely, but I suddenly had an appetite again. The Lord had granted me my prayer. He took just enough pain away to that I could function for the day. I wish I could have believed in total healing. But, I know my mind just would not let that concept pass for reality. Hopefully as I walk the path that leads me closer to the Lord, I will learn to believe in the healing gifts from the Holy Spirit.

This was the first time I have experienced healing through prayer. Even after the experience, it is hard to believe in the miracle that happened to me. I still want to explain it away. It could have been the pills I took kicking in. I my not have felt as bad as I thought. Well, I have to keep telling myself I experienced God’s healing touch. I must remember what happened to me as well as what I’ve see since I’ve been here.

Two nights ago the mission team prayed over a man that was experiencing back pain so intense that he could barely stand up. Last night, he came to have dinner with us and said we healed his back pain. He told us the events of his day after we prayed for him. In the morning, he woke up still feeling the pain. He still got up and went to church. Over the course of the day his pain slowly drained out of his back like water out of a tank. Usually his back gets stiffer and stiffer through the day instead of better. He stood up and danced around for us while he told his story. Of course, I thought that he might have taken a pain reliever during the day. But, after this morning, I’m putting that thought out of my mind. This man had believed in the healing power of prayer and had received total healing. Something for me to think about after I return to the homeland.

I truly believe that if the Lord had healed me completely and instantly I would have gone out of my mind. Something that radical and out of the ordinary would have been much too much for my brain to handle. Because the healing came gradually and the healing was just enough to get my attention, I can coax my mind into believing in the healing power of prayer. Fr. Dan gave us an illustration of the concept I’m trying to write about in a sermon one Sunday not long ago. He told the story of a friend of his who had cancer. He had prayed and prayed for healing for his friend. However, it took a long time and some modern medicine before the cancer finally went into remission. Most people would believe the medicine is what turned the tide for his friend. But, how often does medicine fail or only postpone the inevitable? Prayer had been the key to the medicine’s success.

We have all heard a story like this before. I didn’t pay much attention to the story until Fr. Dan started building up to a point I hadn’t thought about before. He said if God had healed his friend instantly, just made the cancer disappear from her body after uttering words of prayer, then the doctors and loved ones witnessing the miracle would have no choice than to believe that a higher power was untimely in control of everyone’s lives. I have to admit, if I saw any of the miracles described in the Bible with my own eyes, I would have freaked out and probably found a cave to hide in for the rest of my life. Think about it. If an invisible force had the power to heal you or make you sick and you had absolutely no power to stop it, wouldn’t that cause you to live in a constant state of fear?

Yes, God does have that power. But, God also gave us free will. He doesn’t want us to come to him out of fear. He wants us to choose to worship him. So his miracles and answered prayers come in ways that allow us to think and make our own conclusions about his mighty power and grace. He doesn’t force us to believe; we must discover our own faith in him. Yeah, my headache might have been relieved by the pills I took only minutes before I prayed for healing, or it could have been healed by my faith that I was under God’s protection here in a foreign country on a mission to spread the word of the Lord.

Journal Day 4

2007-10-22T07:44:00.000-07:00

Today is Sunday. I officially started my duties as a mission team videographer this morning by shooting the church service lead by Fr. Dan and Fr. Lawrence. On the way to the church our driver stopped in the center of a small town to wait for another party that would be meeting us. I jumped out of the car and turned my lens on my surroundings. I wanted good shots of street activity for the video but everything I had shot so far was while I was hanging out a car window. Those bumpy shots just wouldn’t do. As soon as I set up the tripod I was mobbed with people. They started spouting off questions as they stared at the camera.

“Why are you here? What’s the camera for? Will you give me money for my picture?”

The crowd grew larger and larger. I began to feel very uncomfortable with all these people pressing in to get closer to me. Fortunately, most of them could speak English, which made the experience a little more bearable. If I hadn’t been able to answer some of their questions, and tell them I worked for the church, the situation would have gotten to the point of me busting out of the crowd and running for the safety of the car.

I’m not sure telling the crowd I was a missionary was a good idea. They started asking me to follow them or if they could show me something somewhere other than right here on the street. Someone in the crowd saw Fr. Dan sitting in the back seat of the car and noticed his Priest’s collar around his neck.

This person yelled out, “He has a Priest with him,” as if I was traveling with the president. The crowd looked at Fr. Dan as if he was some kind of movie star or celebrity. Then they looked at me without the suspicion I saw in their eyes when I first drew attention to myself with the tripod. Now they looked at me as if I was a celebrity too. This new attitude toward the camera and me didn’t help my situation at all. If anything the crowd pressed even closer to me. I finally gave up shooting and returned to the car to hide behind the rock star I was traveling with.

Next stop, the church where Fr. Lawrence had scheduled the mission team to preach and pray for all of those who would come. When we drove up to the building I couldn’t believe we were in the right place. The church didn’t look like a church to me. It looked like a barn you would find on any farm back home. The entire structure was covered in corrugated metal sheets. You know, the kind of corrugated metal used to cover shed roofs or to build small utility buildings. But the garage-like appearance of the church wasn’t the only think making me wonder if I needed my eyes checked. A herd of goats and a few donkeys grazed on the grass right in front of the door to the inside of the church. On either side of the church stood fenced in pens with cows and other livestock milling around in the mud. I even saw a mountain of feed piled up against one of the walls of the church. With all my eyes were seeing, how was I to know a church made it’s home inside this building?

I guess the crowd of nicely dressed people standing in the doorway under a sign with the name of the church painted across it should have tipped me off. I took my camera and tripod inside and thought I had stepped through a hole in reality. I found a fully decked out sanctuary inside the metal building. Up front was a raised platform with a hand made wooden podium at its center. Pots of flowers surrounded the podium and large black speakers flanked both sides of the platform. The corrugated metal walls were hidden behind large curtains made from ornate fabric. In the corner stood a pile of electronic equipment including an audio mixer board and CD players. There was a keyboard resting on a stand and several microphone stands stood guard around the platform. Hidden inside this barn was a contemporary church setup that would rival any church I have attended back home.

The service started with a group of singers taking the stage while a fellow pounded away at the ivory keys on the keyboard in the corner. Man, you talk about praise music that reaches out and grabs your heart. These singers didn’t hold back. They sang from deep down in their hearts and sang with the confidence of seasoned concert performers. I was in the church choir once. I was so self-conscious that I barely whispered the hymns we sang on Sunday mornings. Not these guys. They sang with conviction and continued to sing for as long as the Spirit led them. I didn’t understand the words but I could recognize when they were repeating the chorus over and over again. They closed their eyes and lifted their hands into the air swaying to the rhythm for what seemed like an hour. I rolled as much tape as I could spare knowing I needed a lot of music for the soundtrack to the video. That was some of the best praise music I have ever heard.

Fr. Dan stepped up to the podium and gave a gripping sermon on the power of prayer and healing. But the most moving part of the service was when the mission team stood in front of the church offering to lay hands on and pray for anyone who needed healing. Once the pastor of the church invited his congregation to come to the alter for the laying of hands, people streamed down the isles to where the mission team stood waiting.

Fr. Lawrence told me after the service that the church had advertised the coming of the mission team from America for over a week. The church was packed to the doors with folks needing prayers. I guessed the church held over two hundred people and there were no empty seats. People stood against the back wall and in the doorway. More than half of these folks surged forward when the alter call came. It wasn’t like those Billy Graham crusades you see on TV. It takes several brave souls to go up front before the crowd finally comes out of the stands. As soon as the call went out people jumped from their seats. No one was worried about being the first person to go up front here.

I immediately broke the camera off of the tripod and dove into the crowd to try and capture the emotion flowing down to the alter. Lucky for me, the mission team stood on the floor directly in front of the raised platform. I could stand up on the platform and get in close without invading their personal space. I tried to stay back so that the lens wouldn’t intimidate people or distract them from the reason they were here, seeking prayer. But, I was still in the middle of all the prayers and laying on of hands. I got great shots and good sound for the mission video.

I even shot some still photos to use in the video or the newsletter we send out about our trips. I usually shot to the point to where I feel like I’m repeating shots I’ve already gotten. I decided to back off and watch the praying from the sidelines. Just as I put the camera back into the case, I heard a slap on the concrete floor. I spun around to see that a lady had been slain in the Holy Spirit. She was lying on the floor with members of the team protecting her from being stepped on by the crowd. I had missed the most powerful shot of the service.

I have never experienced being slain in the Holy Spirit so I can’t really describe what it feels like or why you fall to the ground. But, I do know what its like to feel the Holy Spirit working inside of you. When I pray, I speak in tongues like the twelve Disciples of Christ did at Pentecost described in Acts chapter 2 verse 4. I just concentrate on God and imagine sitting before him and saying to him what I would say if he was flesh and I could reach out and touch him. While I’m concentrating on this vision in my mind, my mouth falls open and sounds I have never heard or even thought of making myself flows out. If I quit concentrating on my vision of God and think about the unfamiliar noise rising up from my throat, then the sound stops immediately. I have to concentrate on standing before God or Christ or I will not make the sounds. In my church we call this our prayer language. The only time I have seen Christians in America speak this prayer language was when I attended a charismatic church or a Pentecostal church. In Kenya, every Christian I met spoke in tongues. It didn’t matter if they went to a Presbyterian church, an Anglican church, or a Roman Catholic Church. They all believed in the gifts of the Holy Spirit. I wonder why Americans have to be members of a certain church to receive a universal gift from the Lord?

After the service, the mission team was invited to have lunch with the Pastor’s family in his apartment across the street from the church. Yeah, I know I just described the church as a building surrounded by farm animals. Well, that’s the thing in Kenya. You would see a piece of property that looked like a farm located across the dirt road from a multi story concrete apartment building. No zoning or land use master planning here. It gives new meaning to the American idea of living and working in the same neighborhood.

I got excited when I learned the Pastor lived on the top floor of the building. I needed shots of the typical Kenyan town from above ground level. That way I could show the viewer a birds eye view of the poverty most Kenyans live in. I could show that most of the homes were made out of corrugated metal and that most of the streets are dirt paths with no sidewalks. Being up on a balcony would also keep me from getting mobbed by folks like what happened on the way to church earlier in the day.

When we got back to the home where we were staying, I decided I wanted to shoot one-on-one interviews with each member of the mission team about today’s service and the laying on of hands. I believed that getting their testimony on tape right after the event took place would give me interviews with more detail and more emotion. Time has a habit of fading some of those memories that make for good sound. Each member of the team gave me an emotional story about someone they had prayed over. Some of the people were suffering from illnesses including AIDS, cancer, and substance abuse. Everyone who came forward during the laying on of hands poured out their hearts to the mission team and didn’t hold back on what they were suffering from. Because I was shooting video, I didn’t get to participate in being a part of the group prayer. I actually feel a little left out because I know how powerful and uplifting it can be to pray for someone other than yourself.

I really enjoy praying over others. I know everyone has heard the old proverb that says, “It’s better to give than to receive.” Well, praying for someone gives you a feeling very similar to the feeling you get when you give a gift. I feel like a prayer I pray for someone carries a little more weight than when I’m asking for something for myself. I guess praying for others takes the selfishness out of the thoughts and words you want God to hear. I also believe saying a prayer for someone else strengthens my own faith. When someone comes back to me with a praise report I tend to believe him or her easier than when my own prayer is answered. I know I shouldn’t feel left out of the prayer team because I also have an important job to perform this week.

After two days of travel and two days of shooting, I am already feeling tired and worn down. I thinking I’m getting a headache because I am not drinking enough water. I should sleep well tonight after this long day of working for the Lord.

Journal Day 3

2007-10-01T05:15:00.000-07:00

Ring, Ring.

My first thought was that a telephone was ringing somewhere in the guesthouse. I could hear the TV downstairs, in the dining room, from inside my room directly above. The walls were thin in this country. So when I heard the ringing, while fooling around with the video camera in my room, I naturally thought a telephone was calling out to be answered.

Then I heard voices laughing and carrying on as if they were standing under my window. I looked up at the window and saw that it was open. The temperature this time of year in Kenya stays in the low 70’s so I figured the windows were open all of the time. I went over to the open window to look for the source of the laughter.

The crowds of uniformed Kenyan teenagers were not right under my window but they were only a few yards away on the other side of a hedgerow. When I saw the students from the English school next door filing out into the narrow yard that separated the guesthouse from the school, a light bulb popped on in my head. The ringing that started all of this was the school bell. Then Grace came into my room and asked, “Do you see the British school children out your window?”

Soon after breakfast we were off to Grace House. I had been looking forward to finally seeing the building I had spent so much time producing fundraising videos for. Earlier in the year I spent several evenings staying late at work to edit together photographs of the construction of Grace House. Now it was time to reach out and touch the bricks and mortar with my own fingers.

The drive out to Grace House took us out of Nairobi and into the suburb of Kiambu. I stuck the camera out of the window and tried shooting while we drove. At first Nairobi seemed to be like most other cities I have visited during my travels. We drove past several tall skyscrapers made of steel and glass. Traffic was heavy with small Japanese cars and European cab over diesel trucks. I did see a lot of people walking along worn out dirt paths beside the road. I asked Fr. Lawrence where were the sidewalks and he just looked at me and grinned. It was hard to believe that the third largest city in the entire continent of Africa didn’t have enough of a tax base to raise money for simple sidewalks.

Soon the city streets gave way to tree lined roads. There were still a lot of people walking along the side of the road even out in the more rural areas. Most Kenyans don’t own cars so they have to walk to where they need to go. Kinda makes a fellow who has three cars in his driveway feel a little guilty.

I started to enjoy the ride more out here away from the congested city streets. The endless rows of drab concrete buildings were not as pleasant to look at as the coffee farms and villages. Out here, I saw a lot of plants and trees I’ve never seen before. The landscape rose and fell in a series of ridges and valleys similar to the foothills where we live back in the U.S. Similar but very different. There were lots of trees but no heavily forested areas. Nearly every patch of land was used to grow a crop. The dominant tree was the banana tree. It only grew to about half the height of the trees back home and didn’t have a thick trunk covered in bark. Instead of branches, large leaves several feet long grew out of the slick green trunk. Huge purple pods hung down under the leaves with slim green bananas growing out above the pods. The coffee trees looked like rows of shrubs growing in fields. They resembled bushes instead of trees. They were short and had small leaves. They were short because the farmers kept them trimmed back like apple trees here. If you don’t trim them every year they don’t produce as many beans.

Before going to Grace House we stopped at Fr Lawrence’s Kenyan home. To get to his house we had to travel a few miles up a treacherous single lane dirt road. When I say dirt road, I’m not talking about the graded gravel roads found in rural areas back home. These roads were packed clay with no gravel at all. They were deeply rutted and extremely narrow. You could reach out your hand and touch the branches of the bushes on either side of the road. I had a hard time imagining the fact that people drove small Japanese cars up and down these dirt trails they call roads. Back home I would only attempt one of these if I were driving with four-wheel drive. Today we were rocketing up the path in a Toyota sedan. Impressive to say the least.

I was also impressed with Fr. Lawrence’s home. Not that it was large and ornate. It was just the opposite. I was impressed with its construction. It was built out of handmade bricks that are about the size of the large grey blocks we use in the States, except the bricks were solid instead of hollow in the center. This was one solid ranch style house tucked in between banana trees and cow pens. I asked about the bricks and Fr. Lawrence told me they were six inches by nine inches. Monsters. A large painted metal door hung in the doorway. Single pained glass windows hung behind painted steel bars all around the house. The steel bars are to prevent intruders. No Alarm Force security systems here. Terracotta shingles covered the roof. This place was built to last. As I took in all of the details I thought this house would still be standing long after my house in America has crumbled to the ground.

We were only at Fr. Lawrence’s house, or I should say his family’s house, for a brief moment. Here in Kenya, the entire family lives together in a family compound. They may all live in the same house or they may have a bunch of small houses spread around the property. But, they all pitch in and work the family farm together. I wonder what it would be like if the Corn family all still lived together on my Grandfather’s land like I did as a child. Maybe I would’nt be sinking in a mountain of mortgage payments like I am now. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to look inside. We dropped our luggage and headed off for Grace House. Maybe I would get to see inside later.

Today is family day for the young men that made up the very first class of residents at Grace House rehabilitation center. When we arrived, some families were already gathering together under a shade tree in the courtyard. I was eager to explore the three-story building but Fr. Lawrence kept me busy by introducing me to everyone. I was the only American in the crowd and everyone was eager to meet me. I’m not used to having the guest of honor status at a gathering for folks.

I did manage to take a quick peek inside after I shook everybody’s hand. Only the bottom floor of the building is in use at this time for the center. Fr. Lawrence has four beds to a room in four different rooms. He has two more floors of rooms he needs to furnish before the center will be fully operational. The kitchen has only one small table and most of the cooking utensils are laid out on a cloth on the floor. There’s no oven or microwave, only gas camp stoves and cooking pots filled with coal. Basically, the only furniture I saw was plastic outdoor chairs, the bunk beds in the dorms and the one wooden table in the kitchen. The place reminded me of the Boy Scout camp I used to spend summers at when I was young.

Lunch was served soon after we arrived. I was talking with a father of one of the residents when a lady walked up to me and handed me a plate piled high with food. No one else had a plate yet so I was feeling a little uncomfortable being the only one to have food. I’m not used to being the guest of honor. The ladies were bringing out plates quickly so I wasn’t the only one for long.

I love Kenyan food. Grace introduced me to the Kenyan style of cooking back in the States. My favorite dish is made of mashed potatoes mixed with spinach and kernels of corn. They call this dish mukimo. Grace’s mukimo was the first, and up until this day, the best I have ever tasted. I hope I don’t offend Grace by saying that the mukimo here at Grace house was outstanding. The young woman I saw working in the kitchen earlier had added a few extra ingredients like onion, lima beans, and milk. Wow. After the meal I went and found the young lady to thank her for making the best mukimo I’ve ever shoved in my mouth.

The crowd grew larger and larger as we ate. More family members kept coming through the gate. Here in Kenya there is regular time and what we Americans call Kenyan time. Here nothing starts on regular time. As I have said before, not everyone owns a car. Some people have to walk while others have to catch a ride with a friend or a bus. It’s hard to predict how much time travel will take. I’m sure there are other factors contributing to Kenyan time but travel seems to be the one I see most often.

Suddenly, Fr. Lawrence jumped and began speaking to the crowd. I couldn’t understand a word he was saying because he was speaking in Kikuyu. I have learned that Swahili isn’t the only language spoken in Kenya. It’s a universal language across the continent of Africa but many different languages are spoken in different areas. Where I was, there are people who speak Kikuyu and others like the Massi who have their own language. So even if I had taken the trouble to learn Swahili, I still wouldn’t have been able to follow along with Fr. Lawrence’s speech. It also means that they speak a minimum of three different languages. They speak their native language, Swahili, and English. What does that tell you about us Americans?

After Fr. Lawrence gave his speech, he asked for each one of the fifteen men in the program to stand up and introduce himself and his family. I was surprised to see that everyone had a little speech to give as well. They didn’t just stand up and say their name and sit back down. They had something to say. When the men introduced their families, one or two of the family members would stand up and give a few words as well. This was not what you would call a bashful bunch.

The men were talking about their struggles with addiction. Back home, people are so private and afraid to admit they have a problem, there’s no way they would stand up in front of a group of strangers and talk about their addiction. I myself wouldn’t be able to stand here and tell them some of the stupid stuff I have done over the years. I was amazed at the openness of the speeches.

I had the fine fellow sitting beside me lean over and give me the highlights of each speech in English. Just hearing the highlights genuinely moved me. I began thinking about how rich this environment was for emotional stories to tell in my video. But, I also wondered how hard it was going to be getting some of these men to open up to my camera. The kind of testimonies these men were giving the families gathered today were perfect for pulling at the heart strings of my audience if I could get all of this moving sound on tape.

As I heard the translation of the testimonies, I thought about these stories as much more than good sound for my project. I believe these guys would serve as good examples for people in America suffering from alcohol addiction. I was inspired by their openness and willingness to confess their wrong choices to all of us gathered here. I think Americans in this situation would blame their problem on something other than themselves. I don’t think they would take responsibility for their behavior like these guys have. We are so quick to blame our problems on things like a difficult childhood or abusive relationships. From what I was hearing today, these guys would never think to place the blame on anything other than themselves. They didn’t play the part of being a victim. They atmitted to making some wrong decisions.

The personal testimonies went on for several minutes. Everyone was sitting in a circle and soon the fellow sitting next to me stood up and addressed the crowd. While he talked, Fr. Lawrence leaned over and whispered “your next.” Oh boy, I should have expected this. I have been to several Kikuyu gatherings back in Charlotte. Everybody, and I do mean everybody, stands up and says something about why we are all gathered together. So I managed to suppress a panic attack and got up in front of the crowd. I told the men about how I was moved by their openness to share their testimony with everyone here including me. I also told them how I believed their stories could possibly inspire Americans struggling with the same problems to reach out to a larger group just as these men have. I said I thought Americans could learn a thing or two from the Kenyans and how I wanted to capture all of their stories with my lens.

I think the men understood exactly what I was there for. After the program, several of the men came up to me and started repeating their testimony right away. I had to explain to them I wasn’t working at that moment and I reassured them I would be around the entire week to see each one of them individually. My worries about these guys not wanting to go on camera were totally wrong. They couldn’t wait to get started. I felt like a kid in a candy store. I’m used to having to beg people to tell me their stories. My own grandfather wouldn’t let me tape him talking about his experiences during WWII. Now I have fifteen men waiting in line to go in front of my camera. Amazing.

Before the program ended, Grace, the lady who was the inspiration for the name of the rehabilitation center, stood and gave the final speech. I had to get out the camera and get shots of this. I thought a sequence of Grace talking in front of a crowd gathered at Grace House would be perfect for my project. Even though she was talking in Kikuyu, I taped the entire message thinking she could translate for me later. Every once in a while she would switch back to English for a sentence or two. I hear her say something about getting yourself out of a “pit.” The word reminded me of the book Grace was reading on the plane. She studied and took notes out of this book the entire time we were in the air. The name of the book was Get Out of that Pit. On the plane, Grace was preparing for the message she was delivering right now. She had prepared for this mission trip by studying her book just like I studied the manual to the new camera. In that moment, I realized this was not going to be a vacation. We were here to do some serious work in the mission field. Everybody was prepared for the jobs they had to do.

A thunderstorm ended the program and my taping for the day. It was just as well, we needed to head back to the airport to pick up the rest of the team. This time I stood outside of the wall of windows, looking in on the people milling around baggage clam. The feeling of being at a zoo was even stronger from this side. I was tired and wanted to lay my head on a pillow. I knew I was going to be working hard the next several days, and I didn’t have much patience for standing around at an airport. Fr. Dan and Debbie finally came out of baggage claim and we all rode in the back of a pickup truck to the place where we were staying for the night. I was more than ready for that thin foam mattress.

Mission Journal Day 2

2007-09-14T08:08:00.000-07:00

We ended up arriving in Zurich only fifteen minutes late. We must have had a powerful tail wind all the way across the Atlantic. Fortunately for us, our departing flight was only two gates over from our arrival gate. We had about an hour to take a bathroom brake and stroll through the terminal. To my surprise, we had to pass through another security checkpoint inside the terminal even though we arrived and would depart without going outside of the concourse. I began worrying about time again when I saw the row of metal detectors. But, the security people didn’t make me take off my shoes or make me take the camera out of the case. We passed through quickly and found our gate with twenty minutes to spare.

Twenty minutes to take in the sights of Switzerland. Well, I was unimpressed with what I could see through the glass walls of the terminal. I expected Zurich to be a large European city surrounded by snow-capped mountains. From where I stood I didn’t see a city. The mountains that surrounded the airfield were more like hills, instead of proud members of the Alps. The view reminded me of what I would see if I was standing at the gate at Asheville Regional Airport back home. I was disappointed I didn’t see fluffy white snow, settled into jagged rock cliffs. Only in the movies right?

We had a good flight into Kenya. It lasted seven hours and was pretty much uneventful. I did have to switch seats with a young mother and her baby. The three of us were together in the center isle. A two-year-old boy sitting in the row in front of us kept turning around in his seat and teasing the baby while the mother was desperately trying to put the baby to sleep. The boy’s father did absolutely nothing to keep the kid from reaching over the seat and tapping the mother on her head. So I gave her my seat and I sat behind the out of control two year old. I must not have been a good target for the boy because he didn’t turn around and try to tap me on the head while I was reading.

We landed in Nairobi at about seven o’clock in the evening. This was the end of our two-day trip. But I still felt like I was having one very long day. The overnight flight from JFK to Zurich seemed short because it was only dark for about six hours. When you are flying east you are flying toward the sun essentially speeding up time. I caught a nap or two on the ride but was never able to sleep longer than thirty minutes. So I had not gone to bed in twenty-four hours. A very long day indeed.

Stepping off the plane felt like da-ja-vu. Once you have been to a third world country you know it when you come back. While Jomo Kenyatta airport didn’t have various military planes performing touch and goes on the runway, the buildings and the character of the place was the same. I felt like I had stepped back in time. Everything looked old and extremely worn. The chairs in the terminal had that retro sixties look. When we got to baggage claim I saw men in various different military uniforms. Some wore green while others had a blue uniform. They were carrying old rifles similar to the ones the Germans carried in old war movies. No American made M-16s here. It felt and looked like the middle east but different.

Grace asked me if I thought everyone looked the same when we walked through the crowd. She was referring to the fact that there is very little diversity in Africa. “No,” I replied. “When everyone is wearing the same clothes and the same cloth on their heads, that’s when they all look the same.” I was talking about the Arabs in the Middle East.

We grabbed a Smartcard and found an unoccupied spot beside the conveyer belt to wait for our luggage. On the opposite end of the baggage claim area from where we stood was a wall of windows with a crowd of people pressing up against the glass. I felt like an animal at a zoo being watched by all those who stood at the windows. Grace said that security keeps everyone out of the entire airport except ticketed passengers. The people pressed up to the glass were family and friends waiting for arriving travelers. Unlike in the U.S., they were not permitted to roam freely in the baggage claim area. “We have very tight security here,” Grace said watching me look at the mob outside.

I strained to see Fr. Lawrence, Grace’s husband and mission trip coordinator, in the crowd but could not see him. As I looked, Grace’s question about everybody looking the same came back to me. Even though everybody was dressed in the Western style I was used to, I noticed just how much everyone did look alike. I didn’t see all the different skin tones and eye colors you find in America.

The bell on the conveyer belt rang letting us know that the luggage was about to come out from behind the wall. I was curious to see if all our bags had made the trip. Since the layover in Switzerland was so short, I wouldn’t have been surprised if our bag were still en-route to Nairobi. I shouldn’t have worried. Grace’s monstrous duffle bags full of medical supplies came rolling out with all the other luggage. But, as it came toward us on the belt, I noticed that one of the duffle bags was ripped open on one end. When I pulled the bag off the conveyor and set it on the cart, clear liquid began running out of the hole onto the floor.

“Oh God,” Grace whispered when I pointed out the puddle on the floor under the damaged bag. She said she had packed a couple of one-gallon jugs of hydrogen peroxide in that bag. “I wrapped them in garbage bags just in case they started leaking.”

I guess we were lucky enough to have that gorilla from the old Sampsonite TV commercial handling our bags on this flight. Grace opened the bag and tried to rearrange the medical supplies to stop the leaking peroxide while I got our other bags together. “We better get this out of here before the customs officer sees this,” Grace whispered as she wiped her wet hands on her pants. I piled all our stuff on the cart and rushed out the door to meet up with Fr. Lawrence.

We took a short drive through Nairobi to the guesthouse where we would be staying the night. It was dark so I really didn’t get to see much of the city. They didn’t have a lot of streetlights and the buildings were not lit up like the one’s here in Charlotte. I did notice we were driving on the left side of the road. I also noticed that they didn’t use stoplights at intersections. They also used those horrible roundabouts like the ones I became so familiar with in Kuwait. I was very thankful someone else was driving instead of me.

In the parking lot of the guesthouse the leaky duffle bag caught our attention again as the driver lifted it out of the trunk of the car. It left a puddle on the floor of the trunk.

We were staying at the International Bible Society Guesthouse. On the outside it looked like a hotel. But when I saw the inside I was reminded of a college dormitory. The first room I walked into was the dining area. It had four large tables where groups of folks sat enjoying tea and watching television. A staircase off to one side lead up to the second floor and to our rooms. My room was small and the bed consisted of a three-inch thick foam pad. No box springs and no headboard or footboard. A mosquito net hung from the ceiling. There was a closet but I didn’t see any other doors in the room. Where was the bathroom? The single bathroom for the entire floor was at the end of the hall. Did I mention this place reminded me of a college dorm? I dropped my bags on the floor and rushed back down to the dining room for my first Kenyan dinner.

The chef brought out three plates piled high with meat, rice, pasta, and a variety of vegetables. I recognized the vegetables to be carrots, cabbage, and spinach greens. The meat I wasn’t so sure about. I popped a piece of meat in my mouth but didn’t recognize the taste.

“How do you like the Gizzard,” Grace asked watching me chew with a puzzled look on my face. So that’s what it was. I liked it. It was tastier than chicken and wasn’t dry or chewy like the bird I’m used to eating at home. Once I had wild duck prepared for me by a friend who was an avid hunter. The gizzard was very similar to the duck meat. In any case, after two days of eating prepackaged airplane food, I would have devoured pretty much any home cooked meal placed in front of me. I enjoyed every last bite of my first Kenyan meal.

Once my belly was full I was ready for the bed. I can hardly sleep on an airplane so I had been awake for two days. I opened my suitcase to discover the Sampsonite gorilla baggage handler had struck again. Everything in my suitcase was covered in Gold Bond medicated body powder. Nice. I was shocked because my suitcase was a hard plastic shell. The bottled water was intact. The tubes of antibiotic cream and sun block were fine. But somehow the lid of the powder had been knocked off during the flight.

Grace went and got a wet towel, and helped me beat the powder out of my clothes. When we finished the floor was covered in white powder. I didn’t mind, the air in the room was a little stale and the powder made the room smell much better.

I was more than ready to get a shower and hit the sack after all of the excitement of our journey. I took my powdered underwear and walked down the hall to the community bathroom. I got a shock when I saw the shower. There was no showerhead above the tub. Instead, the tub faucet had a hand held shower attachment with a tube coiled around the spout. I was going to have to hold up the showerhead with one hand while I washed with the other. Then I got another shock when I turned on the hot water. There wasn’t any hot water even after I let the water run for several minutes. Oh no, was I going to have to take a cold shower? I decided to try the cold water just in case the two were backwards. Sure enough the water started getting warm after I turned on the cold water knob. Man that was a relief.

I had expected my accommodations to be a little less convenient than what I was used to in America. But I have to admit I was a little baffled with the mixed up shower faucet and the foam mattress bed. Not quite roughing it, but it definitely had the feel of living in a third world country. But, once I lay down on the musty thin mattress I was out until rays of sunshine warmed my face the next morning. As long as you get a good night sleep and wake up feeling refreshed, who cares about anything else?

Journal Day 1, Part 2

2007-09-09T16:11:00.000-07:00

By watching my best friend Jeff and his wife having to pack half of their clothes into a cardboard box, I had an idea of how to deal with the situation if Grace’s duffle bags were overweight. She thought maybe the ticket clerk wouldn’t charge her if the bags were just a few pounds over. I knew better. I guess it’s just the cynic in me but if these bags were even a half of a pound over, we would be forking over the extra fifteen bucks they charge for overweight luggage.

In an effort to prevent wasting time at the ticket counter, I decided to be proactive and started weighing the bags at an empty ticket counter. I wrestled the first bag up on to the scale and it weighed in at 52.5 pounds. This was not encouraging so I quickly dragged the second bag up on the scale. I cried out, “its 54 pounds” as I read the digital screen. Grace looked at me with horror on her face. “Don’t shout out the numbers,” she said to me in a hushed tone.

I checked myself knowing my voice gets louder and louder when I get anxious or nervous. But, I had an idea of how to solve this problem before it was our turn at the ticket counter. I had weighted my suitcase last night after packing. It was only 37 pounds. We just need to transfer some stuff from the duffle bags to my suitcase. We were the next in line so we had to move fast. I opened up my bag and told Grace to start moving stuff out of the duffle bags. She still believed the ticket clerk would let the bag pass without charging the overweight fee. I pitched the last duffle bag up on the scale and it read 57 pounds. Now I was worried that there was too much weight even if we used my suitcase.

Sweat popped out on my forehead as we opened up three duffle bags. To my surprise, I found boxes of Band-aids and packs of diapers inside instead of clothes. I had no idea we were taking donated medical supplies with us. I reached into the pile of gauze and boxes of latex gloves to find the heaviest items I could find to remove. After a few minutes of juggling cargo and losing a few places in the growing line of travelers, I had all the bags evened out at 50 pounds each. But, we had a small pile of stuff we needed to find a place for. I quickly packed the leftovers into my backpack, which I was using as a carry-on bag. Crisis averted. We checked in and rushed to the security line.

Navigating JFK Airport in New York turned out to be a bit of a challenge. When we got off the plane, we couldn’t figure out how to go to catch our connecting flight. We were not in a concourse with multiple gates and monitors with departing flight information. It was just a hallway leading away from the plane. I began looking for some kind of airport map while Grace looked for someone to give us directions. Grace found a person before I could find a map.

Once again my anxiety level started creeping skyward when Grace told me we would have to leave the terminal and take a train around the airport to our destination. Leaving the terminal meant we would have to go through another line at a ticket counter. We would also have to go through security again which meant I would have to take off my boots and open up my camera case again. I thought once you got checked out at the first airport you wouldn’t have to do the dog and pony show again. I was wrong.

Of course we got on the wrong train. Turns out that JFK has three different trains moving between ten different terminals. Some helpful fellow travelers set us in the right direction when they saw the panic on my face. As always I was worried about time. It took us two hours to get from our arrival gate to our connecting flight. Hopefully in Zurich we will not have to leave the terminal and go through the ticket line and the security line for a third time. I’m a bit worried that we only have a little over an hour to make our connection and we have been sitting on a runway in New York for the last hour and a half. We are on our way now but I feel our flight out of Zurich may be in jeopardy. But hey, I’m on vacation. I need to chill and enjoy all the in’s and out’s of international travel. We have an eight-hour flight ahead packed with free movies and a gourmet dinner. How could life get any better?

Happy Birthday Bro

2007-09-03T17:08:00.000-07:00

Happy 37th Birthday Jeff. Yea, I know, you had to call me to remind me your birthday was today. I bet you thought I was going to let your special day just go by without any congratulations or well wishes. It may have been to late to send a card by snail mail but we live in a modern world with much faster ways of communication. Instead of something on paper that you would just toss in the trash after it sat on your desk for half a year, how about a special blog post in honor of your birthday. I dug into your old wedding photos and found this picture which shows just how I feel about you on your birthday. Now my feelings for you are immortalised on the web so if you ever have any doubts, just come back to this special birthday post.

I love you bro and I hope you have a very happy birthday even though you are spending most of your day driving down that lonesome highway between North Carolina and Florida.

Mission Journal Day 1 Part 1

2007-08-30T07:40:00.000-07:00

I just had to get the story of the goat head soup posted first even though it was the last thing to happen to me on the trip. When I got back to the States everyone asked me two questions. How was your trip and did you get sick? Since everybody knows the answer to the first question, I decided to start my stories from Kenya with the answer to the second question. Starting with this post, I going to type in everything I wrote in my journal. In doing this, I will answer the first question beyond a reasonable doubt.

Mission Trip Day 1

Here we are, sitting on a Swiss Air jumbo jet, in New York waiting for our turn to take off. The captain just came over the intercom and said we were twenty-fifth in line to take a ride over the Atlantic. To save fuel, the captain explained, we have parked somewhere back from the gate in a holding area and powered down the massive engines hanging out side the tiny window I can see from my isle seat. The captain assured us that we should only have to stay in the holding area for ten or fifteen minutes and we shouldn’t be late arriving in Zurich. I hoped the captain was right because Grace and I only have about an hour to get off this plane and find the one leaving for Nairobi, Africa. It took us two hours to navigate through the crowded terminals of JFK airport to find the plane we were sitting in now. I really hoped Zurich wasn’t as easy to get lost in as JFK had been. But, I’ll write about getting lost a little later. I need to back up and start this journal entry from when I arrived at Charlotte Douglas. Things got very interesting very quickly.

When I planned for this much anticipated departure day, I figured the best place to meet Grace was at the boarding gate. The gate was the one place that we had to cross paths or come together at the airport. I was certain that we would arrive at different times and there really isn’t a good spot or landmark to meet around the endless rows of ticket counters. So, I believed the easiest place to meet would be in the waiting area of our gate.

Well, Grace informed me the Sunday before departure day that she would need me to help her check in her bags. Not only did she need some extra muscle to wrangle her bags to the ticket counter, she also needed me to claim one of them as my own. Wow, I thought, how much stuff was she going to take for two weeks? Her family still lives in Kenya and I wondered if she was taking a bag full of wonderful and exciting American merchandise home to the eagerly waiting family.

So, I wrote down Grace’s cellular phone number knowing that if we just picked a time and place someone would end up coming late or we might miss each other in the crowds of summer travelers. I believed that if I called and checked in with Grace sometime before the time we needed to be at the ticket counter I could get a better feel of the situation and make a smooth meeting.

My cellular phone idea worked. Grace was running about thirty minutes late. We had given ourselves plenty of time so thirty minutes was not a big deal. But, if I had just went to the terminal and sat around waiting for Grace not knowing how late she was going to be, I know I would have had a melt down before she arrived. I do not do very well in situations when I’m dealing with a lack of information. Heather and I sat in the cellular phone parking lot until Grace arrived.

Grace gave me a call when she turned into the entrance to the airport. We pulled out of the cellular phone lot and Heather dropped me at the curb to wait for Grace. A few moments later I saw Grace’s white mini van slide up to the drop-off area. A well executed plan for meeting in a fast moving, congested, airport terminal.

When Grace popped open the tailgate to the van, my anxiety level jumped a few notches. She dragged two large duffle bags and a bulging suitcase out onto the sidewalk. I already had my hands full with my rolling suitcase and the camera case. Before I could even think about grabbing a cart, she hailed the sky captain. Now, I don’t have much love for those uniformed cart pushers who hope to make much more than an hourly wage by carrying a few bags, maybe a hundred feet. I have also noticed that the sky captains are now charging two dollars per bag for check-in at the curb. Gut Grace said she had money so I figured I would let her run the show.

Turns out we were dropped off at the opposite end of the area designated for U.S. Airways. And, our sky captain couldn’t check in an international ticket at the curb. He would have to walk us in. Oh boy, here we go. Let our information deficit start draining our pocket in five, four, three, two, one seconds.

I thought maybe since he didn’t check us in at the curb we wouldn’t have to pay the two dollars per bag. We would just give him a tip and wait in line for the next available ticket clerk. How dumb was that? He dropped the bags and asked for “two dollars a bag”. Grace started counting out dollar bills and discovered she was two dollars short. She started to go digging in her bag for more cash, but in the interest of time, I jumped in and handed the man a twenty.

Uh oh, I must interrupt my story because the captain just came over to the intercom and said, “ladies and gentlemen, it is just one of those days here at JFK that requires a little patience by everyone”. We have been sitting in line to depart for close to an hour now. We have only moved from the twenty-fifth to the fifteenth in line. With only an hour to connect in Zurich I’m getting a sinking feeling that we may be staying in Zurich a little longer than planned. At the very least, our bag may not make it to Nairobi when we do. Ah, the joys of flying. Now back to our regularly scheduled program already in progress.

I handed the man a twenty because I wanted to get through security as soon as possible. In the past it has taken me a little longer to get through security because of the camera equipment. TSA likes to swab everything down to check for explosive residue. Against my better judgment, I tipped the guy because I know they expect it. I know I didn’t have to but for some reason, I care what the dude thinks about me even if I will never see him again. I’m not very thick-skinned am I?

Now we are at the ticket counter waiting in a very short line. I start to think we are going to get through this phase of our journey with some time to spare at the gate. That’s when Grace starts to wonder, out loud, if the massive bags at her feet are over the weight limit. “If they are”, she says to me, “we are going to have to take the stuff out”.

Oh boy, another situation that could eat up a ton of time and cause us to miss our flight. I have seen this happen before. My best friend, Jeff, and his new wife came to visit from Florida last year. They drove up in a rental car, but decided to fly back. I took them to the airport and watched as they had to somehow divide one enormous and overweight bag into something they wouldn’t have to fork over extra cash to get on a plane. The airline gave them a cardboard box and some packing tape.

Thank God, the captain just informed us that we would take off in two minutes. It’s only an hour and a half later than the original departure time so I guess we should consider ourselves lucky to get out of New York in a semi-timely fashion.

I have to say it was quit entertaining to watch my best friend Jeff and his wife dig clothes out of the over-weight bag and pack them into a cardboard box while impatient travelers pushed passed them to get to the ticket counter. I remember thinking to myself, man I’m glad I do not have to deal with a situation like that. Now I stood in the line wondering if I was going to beg the clerk at the counter for a cardboard box.

Tune in next week to see if we made our flight…

GOAT HEAD SOUP

2007-08-20T07:10:00.000-07:00

I woke up in the darkest hour of the night shivering so violently the bedsprings sounded like they were squeaking out the Hallelujah chorus. But I was in Kenya, Africa just south of the equator. The temperature outside sat at about seventy-five degrees everyday. All week I have slept in a tee shirt and shorts with just a sheet for a cover. But tonight I’m groping for the wool blanket and coverlet I’ve thrown over to the other side of the bed. Why was I suddenly so cold?

I also noticed I was covered in sweat. Did I have a fever? Had I caught the dreaded Typhoid fever? It was my last night in Kenya and I thought I had caught Typhoid fever. I immediately slapped my hand to my forehead to feel the excessive heat radiating out from my head. Surprisingly, my head felt cool. Well, if my head wasn’t as hot as an oven then I guess I didn’t have Typhoid. But, other parts of my body were warmer than usual or I wouldn’t have been sweating. My joints ached and I felt light headed. This sounded more like the Flu. How could I have the flu when I haven’t worn a coat the entire time I’ve been here?

My gut wretched. It felt like someone was twisting my stomach as if they were trying to ring water out of a washcloth. I clutched my middle with both arms and pulled my knees up to my chest. In that instant I knew why I was sick.

Tonight was the final night of our ten-day mission trip to Kenya. To celebrate the close of our mission, Poppa Gloria purchased a goat head to serve as the main course of our farewell dinner. Now, I have to stop and explain two things here. First I must explain to you Americans why my host had a female name. Get out your notepad. This will be on the test of African customs. Our host’s English name is Walter. But in the village where we were staying, no one calls Walter by his English name. They call him Poppa Gloria. He named his first-born child Gloria. So according to custom, you address the head of the household using “Poppa” and add the name of his first-born child. For example, my first-born child is Nathan. If I lived in this village, the folks here would call me Poppa Nathan. I guess you better think long and hard about what you name your child because you are essentially naming yourself.

Secondly, Kenyan’s consider goat the finest dish you serve to your guests. If you have invited guests to your home to celebrate a special occasion, you serve them goat. If you do not serve goat than you will offend your guest and they may tell others that you are cheap and stingy.

The mission team was invited as guest at several special events. I became quite familiar with many different goat dishes. My taste buds actually accepted goat with open arms. The texture and flavor of the meat reminded me of the lamb meat I experienced in the Middle East. Most of the time hosts would serve us goat ribs, or goat leg. But, gnawing the meat off a rib bone was a lot different than popping a chunk of boiled goat tongue into your mouth. The Kenyan’s don’t waste any part of the animals they eat. Poppa Gloria carved up the goat’s ears, cheeks, and tongue and set the meat out on a large platter. When he had finished carving, he brought the platter over and set it down right in front of me.

“Ken,” he said with a broad smile. “Go ahead and have a piece.”

I have read that you always eat what a host offers you in a foreign country so that you will not offend the gracious host. Like I said, I have already eaten tons of goat meat in the past several days so I figured eating parts of the animal I wouldn’t normally eat wouldn’t bother me. Only two days ago I had devoured grilled goat intestines in front of a group of Kenyan men watching to see if my face would contort in disgust at the taste. But that is a story for another time. My point is that over the week I have tried some pretty exotic foods and none of them have upset my innards.

Without hesitation I plucked a few chunks off of the platter and popped them into my mouth. It tasted just like all of the other pieces of meat I’ve been consuming over the last week. The texture was a bit softer than the muscle meat, but nothing that invoked my gag reflex. I thought I had passed my final exotic foods test. Then Poppa Gloria set a steaming cup of goat head soup on the table in front of me.

Oh man. This was it. The ultimate in gross-out cuisine. If we had already eaten all the meat off the skull, then there was only one edible part of the head left: Goat brain. I stared down at the cup knowing that I was not going to be able to drink the boiled remains of an animal head. Poppa Gloria stood over me smiling as if he had just served me the world’s finest chocolate. I could tell from his expression that he expected me to thoroughly enjoy this local delicacy. He would surly be disappointed if I didn’t even take a sip.

Without reserve, I grabbed the cup and lifted it to my mouth. I took a big gulp hoping that whatever my taste buds decided, they wouldn’t cause me to spit the soup out across the table and onto Poppa Gloria. The fluid filled my mouth and I pushed it down my throat. Words can’t describe the amplified signals my taste buds were sending to my brain. It was as if my taste buds were under attack by an enemy that wanted to destroy all sensations of what was pleasant and enjoyable to my mouth.

When the fluid fell into my belly, I could feel my stomach reach up and grab my brain around the brain steam and say, “If you ever send something that disgusting down here again, I will gather up all the nerves I can find in this body and squeeze them as hard as I can until you cry for mercy.”

I looked up at Poppa Gloria and said, “I’m sorry but I do not like this.”

His smile never wavered. He told me he was happy I had tried as many different parts of the goat as I had. He made me feel as if I had earned his respect in giving the soup an honest try. Thank God I hadn’t offended my host.

Later in the night my digestive tract was totally offended by my willingness to shove everything I was offered into my gullet. I ran to the bathroom and sat on the toilet in the dark for a very long time. The next day all the muscles in my body ached. My stomach refused to accept even a simple piece of toasted bread. My brain felt as if I had caught a computer virus, which slowed down all my bodily functions. I was a wreck.

On this last day of my trip I had planned to go shopping for souvenirs and gifts for the family. The other half of the mission team left early in the morning and we didn’t have to board the plane headed for Europe until late in the evening. This was the only free day of my entire trip and I was barely able to move. I managed to function just enough to find gifts for the family. I could not come home empty handed. Then I slept until our ride came to take us to the airport.

I’m just thankful that the dreaded stomach rebellion came at the end of my trip instead of incapacitating me when I needed to perform my mission from God behind the lenses.

We Are In Kenya

2007-07-30T02:31:00.000-07:00

We are here and working hard. I'm at a cyber cafe and paying by the minute so I will keep this short. We have had a good couple of days here. We have prayed for a lot of people. I'm keeping a journal of all our adventures and will post very word I write when I get back into the States.

God bless all that helped me get here!

Check This Out

2007-07-24T08:45:00.000-07:00

During my campaign to raise enough money to purchase a plane ticket to Kenya, I met an interesting young man who was a seasoned veteran of the mission field. This fella told me wild stories of traveling to the Gulf Coast seven times since Hurricane Katrina ripped through several states and thousands of human lives. He also recounted his many trips to the Caribbean to plant trees in Haiti. This guy was the real deal with plenty of mission experience under his belt to teach to this young, hungry disciple. When he learned of my calling from the Lord, he quickly drew out his checkbook and fired off a donation to send me on my mission.

Now Dick “Crookedpaw” Carney has a new assignment from the man upstairs and a new blog to help get the word out about this new mission. He writes:

"My current effort centers around an attempt to purchase and outfit an equipment trailer to support our construction teams when they are in the field."

"I formed a group from the five local Presbyterian church's and we have purchased a new 7X12', single axle tag along trailer. Its just your basic trailer but does have an extended height feature that we thought would be helpful. It has bi-fold barn type doors in the rear and a small pedestrian door on the front right side. We have fabricated and installed a heavy duty ladder rack with an access ladder on the right rear. Our plans are to install a propane powered generator similar to those in RV's. This will power the air compressor, table and compound miter saws, lights and other power tools."

Sounds like Dick is planning to make many more trips to the Gulf Coast to help fellow Americans in need. Please visit his web site, Crookedpaw.net or just click on the link under Mission Trip Bloggers to the right, and learn how you can help in his efforts to do God’s will.

The Plane Tickets Are In My Hands

2007-07-23T03:42:00.000-07:00

Congratulations! We did it! We being all my family and friends that pitched in a few dollar bills to send me to Africa on a mission from God. Jake and Elroy Blues would be proud of you for helping me on my mission. Together you guys came up with 2,400 dollars for a plane ticket from Charlotte to Zurich to Nairobi. In addition to the ticket, you guys paid for all of my vaccinations so I wouldn’t fall ill in the Dark Continent and have a “Heart of Darkness” situation. One of my very special backers even provided me with a few dollars to spend freely while on my travels. She even told me specifically what souvenir I needed to buy with the money and bring back for her. Hey, no problem as long as the souvenir doesn’t use up all the money you gave me. I really feel like I am doing the right thing because of all the support and contributions I have received. I know I have written everybody thank you cards but I have to take this opportunity to thank everybody again for the prayers and donations.

Thanks to David and Karen Nash who were the first family members to send back the self addressed stamped envelope I sent out back in February. Thanks to my Grandfather, Kenneth “Pop” Corn, for being the first on my side of the family for getting the donation ball rolling. Thanks to Father Lawrence for taking money out of his own pot for the trip to give to me so that I could follow him into the mission field. Thanks to Anna Kirk for still being a good friend even though we have moved to different cities across this great state of North Carolina.

Thank you Dick Carney for listening to my story about my trip and immediately pledging to help even though we had just met for the first time. May God bless all of your mission trips and all of the good works you are doing in the name of Jesus. Thanks to Marc Zeller and his family for a donation. Mark is my investment guy and I know my investments haven’t earned him as much commission as he gave me in a donation. Don’t worry; I can see a life insurance policy in my future.

Thanks to my dear Aunt Frances who shares my love of photography. I wish you were coming with me to share in my shutterbug explorations. Thanks to my co-worker Natalie Dick who volunteered to sponsor me without me thinking to ask. Thank you again Colleen and Richard Davis for your support. I wrote about their involvement in the Speedway story above. In that post I also wrote about how Kris Cook rendered me speechless when he slapped some green backs into my hand. Thanks again Kris.

Thanks to my fellow church member Janette Prosser for being a good friend to our family and for caving into the pressure I gave you to write me a check. I was only kidding. You really could have said NO. Thank you Karen Bailey and family for your support. You have done a lot for my family and your donation was most appreciated.

I am especially touched by the love I have received from some of my former co-workers in Raleigh. Thanks to John Cox and his family for making a financial sacrifice to send me a few bucks. And thank you to my favorite reporter who let me tag along with him when he decided to go to war. Ken Smith, I’m really going to miss you as a traveling companion. You took a country boy who had only been out of his home state maybe a half dozen times and turned him into an international traveler with an unquenchable thirst for new adventures.

I have saved the very best for last. Thank you to my best friend Jeff Reece for paying for a few shots so I can return home disease free. Thank you to my in-laws John and Starr Tofil for a few extra dollars to spend on souvenirs. A big “Thank You” to my Aunt Mary Louise and Uncle Mike for promising me that no matter how much money I raise or don’t raise, I will be going on the trip. My Aunt Mary Louise is a big international traveler herself and knows how the traveling bug can get under your skin. Last but most certainly not least, the biggest thank you goes out to my Mom and Dad who matched the deal given to me by my Aunt and Uncle. Mom also went the extra mile by sliding me a few more dollars for my shopping and dining enjoyment. Mom, I’ll be thinking of you and Dad when I’m chowing down on an Ostrich fillet.

Oh, I better not forget to say thank you to my lovely wife for letting me leave her behind with the screaming kids for two weeks. Without her blessing I would be spending my vacation crossing off items on a “Honey Do” list. Thanks Baby.

Thank you all for your support and prayers.

Blessing at Lowe's Motor Speedway

2007-06-04T13:26:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I found myself perched on top of a two story platform located behind pit row, at the Lowe’s Motor Speedway, shooting video of speeding race cars and screaming fans. Yes, I often find myself in some interesting places when running a video camera for the six o’clock news. Why, just yesterday I had a front row seat for the dedication of the Billy Graham Library. I spent the ceremony getting close ups of Billy, Franklin, and of three former U.S. presidents. I’ve shot video of Bill Clinton before but this was the first time I had put a lens on Jimmy Carter and George Bush Sr. There were other notables in the crowd that I captured on tape. Joel Osteen of Lakewood Baptist in Houston, who sat practically right beside me, and country singer Ricky Scaggs also found his way onto my tape. Not a bad day of photography. But, I’ve gotten off the subject of this post. There is a reason why the NASCAR race this weekend is related to the Kenya Mission Trip I’m going on this summer.

I discovered at the race this weekend that people are actually reading this blog. I didn’t attach a hit counter because I view this blog as my electronic personal journal of the trip instead of a vehicle for getting my writing out there for strangers to read. I would keep a journal of the journey whether it was hand written or typed on the old Royal. However, I thought I would post it on-line so family and friends could read along as I experience each part of the ride. Turns out that was a good idea.

This fella in the photo is proof that folks are interested in Kenya. I met Kris Cook a few years ago when I first moved to Charlotte. He was carrying a lens for the competition but that’s never stopped photographers from putting the logo aside and becoming friends. Our employers may compete on television but us foot soldiers in the trenches know it can get terribly lonely hanging out at the edge of calamity without a friend to compare notes with. Kris has moved on to go into business for himself. Sort of a gun for hire if you will.

So, I no longer see him hanging out at the crime scene tape in the middle of the night anymore. I had lost touch with Kris until I found him hunched behind a Speed Channel fancy cam doing all the pre-flight checks on his equipment before heading out onto pit row. He greeted me as if we had just seen each other yesterday at some gov-co sponsored press conference and then he asked about the mission trip.

“I’ve been following along on your blog,” he said. Wow, I didn’t think anybody but my mom and a friend in Virginia were reading. Cool. Then Kris asked me how the fund raising was going. I told him I was about half way to my goal. As I blabbed on about all letters and e-mails I have sent out to folks, he reached down and drew his wallet out of a rear pocket on his faded blue jeans. I continued to spew words from my mouth as he opened up the black leather billfold and reached inside. When I finally stopped talking, he pulled a wad of bills out of the wallet and thrust then in my direction.

“Here,” he said, “Will this help?”

I stared at the crumpled pieces of worn green paper dangling in front of me as if Kris was holding the jeweled crown of Queen Elizabeth. My mouth opened but no words ventured out. Finally, my mind decided to send the most ridiculous stream of words I could have uttered at the moment to my voice box.

“Aw Kris, you don’t have to do that.”

What did I just say? I’ve been begging people for the last several months to spare a dollar or two for my cause. I’ve been making phone calls threatening family members that they wouldn’t get a Christmas card this year if they didn’t slide me some cash. I’ve told my friends I would break their arms if they didn’t ante-up. Here in front of me is a friend forking over his hard earned coin without the threats and all I can say is “you don’t have to do that.” What a nut brain.

Thanks Kris for stepping up to the plate and hitting a home run. I really appreciate you reading the blog and I hope I honor your donation by producing the best documentary my talents will allow.

I also want to thank Colleen Davis for being the first to use the PayPal donation button. I also hope to honor your donation by spreading the gospel to those who will hear the message and to bring back video that will inspire others to join in on the wonderful world of mission work.

Thanks to both my friends and may God bless your donations.

Praise Report

2007-05-11T06:16:00.000-07:00

Thank the Lord another check came in the mail. I would like to thank Dick Carney for pitching in and helping me buy that plane ticket to Kenya. I have only met Dick once when he was in Charlotte with his son who is a friend of mine. When the conversation came around to the mission trip, Dick perked up and declared “missions are my passion.” Well Dick proved how passionate he was by donating to my cause. Dick is also a veteran of numerous mission trips over seas and here at home. He takes a group from his church in Greenville, NC to Haiti every year to spread the love of the Lord to those in need. He has also lead a mission team to hurricane-ravaged Mississippi to help fellow Americans cope with the devastation and destruction cause by Katrina. When Dick says missions are his passion he has the experience to back up that statement. Thanks again Dick for helping a young man become involved in his very first mission trip.

Know, hopefully, the donations will continue to pile up in my mailbox. I sent out a reminder letter to all of those family members and friends who told me, “Oh yea, I’m sure I could give you a few dollars.” I had a hard enough time working up the courage to ask for a donation the first time around. Having to ask a second time has been pure torture. I don’t do well with asking for money because I know all to well how hard it is to earn a dollar and how much harder it is to keep a dollar. With my son’s medical bills and my wife returning to school instead of to work, we owe more than one bank several dollars. Living in the red isn’t fun and I know how many fine folks live with this problem. So asking them for money they could be using for bills is difficult for me. But, it’s not up to me who donates or where the money comes from. I just trust in the Lord and he will provide every one of his children with what they need.

Below is a copy of my second letter.

May has arrived and the countdown for my departure to Kenya has started. I have approximately one month to get all of my donations together to purchase my plane ticket. So far I have raised $750 towards my $2000 goal. That means I have raised roughly one third of the money I need for my plane ticket. I need your help in raising the rest of the funds to send me on this important mission.

Let me take a moment to explain how helping to send me to Kenya is a worthwhile cause. The church has been blessed to receive enough donations to purchase a professional grade video camera to document the work the missionaries perform while in Kenya. Since I am a professional videographer, the church has asked me to accompany the mission team with the new camera. I will spend two weeks following the missionaries on their journeys and recording all of their movements as they work diligently to spread the word of God. I will have a front row seat when the team conducts an evangelistic and healing crusade in Kitikiti, a village near Nairobi. Last year this crusade attracted over a thousand attendees and was held in an outdoor soccer arena. I will tour the new Grace House alcohol and drug rehabilitation center that our church sponsors. I plan to shoot enough footage of this wonderful new ministry to produce a second documentary for the purpose of raising funds to keep the new center operating. I will also follow along, with tape rolling, as the team visits individual homes and families for personal ministry and prayers.

When I return from Africa, my job will be far from finished. I will take all of the footage I shot and edit it into several different videos for the church. Our goal is not to just raise money for future trips, or to sponsor the ministries we have started in the region. We also want to increase the members of the mission team itself. We want to find doctors and dentists who also want give of their talents to those who cannot receive care. We need musicians and witnesses to help with the crusades. We are looking for anyone who is willing to embark on this life-changing journey to spread the Good News. My videos will help in finding those individuals led to join the mission.

I am very excited about this opportunity to serve the Lord in Kenya. I believe I am led to use my God given talents as a videographer to help bring the word of the Lord to those all over the world who need to hear a message of hope. Thank you so much for your consideration of this request.

Sincerely,

Calm Before The Storm

2007-05-04T07:41:00.000-07:00

Yes, I know it has been quiet a while since I laid my fingers on the keyboard to peck out a few lines about my journey to the Dark Continent. I attribute my lack of posting to the fact that not much has happened on this subject in the past month. Concentrating on Lent and celebrating Holy Week took my attention away from the trip. These holy holidays must have captured the attention of my financial contributors as well. I have not received a donation in several weeks. This dry spell has caused me to feel a bit nervous about reaching my goal. But, my priest tells me not to worry. Lots of prayers and a reminder letter would help the situation. So I am about to embark on a second letter writing campaign. I have never tried to raise this much cash before and I feel a little apprehensive about beating the same bushes a second time. However, I’m going to step out of my comfort zone and charge ahead with asking again for contributions because I feel that is what the Lord wants me to do.

On the camera side of the project, Father Dan and I have shopped around for the best deals on support gear for the new camera. I have spent several hours combing the Internet for the best prices on batteries, camera top light, tapes, and a quick release plate for the tripod we already have. All of this gear put together is starting to add up. We may have to do without a few items or find less expensive alternatives. To me, less expensive alternatives means using equipment that isn’t going to work as well as I’m used to my equipment working. The tripod we are taking doesn’t have a level bubble for the head. Not having this simple piece of equipment makes the video gathering process much more frustrating for me. I will constantly have to be watching walls and trees to see if I’m level. I wouldn’t want buildings or other inanimate objects in the background of my shots to look like they are sliding off the lower right corner of the TV screen.

“You’ll just have to eyeball it,” Father Dan said after getting over the sticker shock of a decent tripod. Eyeballing doesn’t always work. In fact, it never works when the ground under your tripod legs isn’t level. Then there are angles and shadows that come into play. I actually tried to eye ball a shot using this same tripod and a camera at a wedding one time. I set it up in the choir box on uneven steps. I tried to line the shot up on a far wall but when I played back the video in a monitor every body looked like they were leaning forward on their tiptoes. Eyeballs can play tricks on you especially when you are looking through tiny black and white viewfinders.

Lastly, the church handed me new marching orders to edit together a third video for the mission presentation. This one will not take as much time and resources to put together. Basically I will edit all the photos and video from last year’s trip together into a music video. That’s all I need to do but I can’t just leave the assignment at that. I have an idea to dress up the video a bit. After the trip last year, Father Dan and Father Lawrence recorded a sermon for the weekly radio show that consisted of stories from the trip. I plan to take some audio from that radio show and insert it into the music video to keep it interesting. Yea, it will mean a little extra work but I think it will be worth it.

The slow period I have experienced this past month has ended. I’ve got a new letter writing champagne and video project to work on. Soon we will take all my video and start touring churches statewide to raise funds for the trip. I’m eager to get started with the tours. I enjoy showing folks all the hard work I have put into making the videos. I hope that my work will inspire them to join us in our mission to spread God’s love and provision across the globe.

Meet the New Camera

2007-03-26T09:51:00.000-07:00

Flap, flap, flap.

The rotor blades above my head spun faster and faster as I strapped myself into the back seat of my employer’s helicopter. With the flick of a toggle switch, a panel of electronic news gathering equipment came to life in front of me. A monitor on top of the panel glowed with an image of the belly of the bird from the camera outside. Somewhere, there was a crime scene waiting for us to fly over and record tape for the evening news.

Before I put on my headset, I heard my cell ringing from the clip on my belt. Thinking that this was a fine time for someone to call, I reached down and pulled the black box lose from the clip. As I raised the ringing box to my ear, I dug my thumb into its side flipping it open.

“This is Ken.”

“Hey Ken its Father Dan.”

I could barely hear his voice over the beat of the rotor blades but I could tell he was excited.

“Hey you know that table where we keep all of the church bulletins and the prayer books?”

In my minds eye I immediately saw a little table stacked with small leather bound books with a gold cross stamped on each cover standing by the front door of the church.

“That table is now covered with boxes with ‘Sony’ printed all over them.”

The new camera had arrived.

I wanted to jump out of the helicopter and run over to check out the new equipment but that would have to wait until Sunday. For now I had a date with the yellow crime scene tape and flashing blue lights.

Buying a camera for this mission trip proved to be a harder task than I had anticipated. I thought the entry level prosumer camera like a Canon GL2 or a Sony VX2100 would be more than enough camera to document the work done by the mission crew. After a little research I discovered that these cameras may have good enough image quality for what we wanted, but they didn’t have some of the bells and whistles that I have grown accustomed to with the professional grade camera I use every day.

To me, sound is just as important as images in a video. I knew I wanted a camera that would accommodate a good quality shot microphone so I could capture clean crisp sound of all of those African hymns they sing in church. With the cameras I listed above, controlling sound quality became an issue. Sure, there are enough products out there to slap onto these cameras to make them do what you want but why not buy something that already has these features built in. You can spend just as much money buying the add-ons as you would buy the next camera up the ladder. I focused in on cameras like the Canon XL 2, Sony PD-170, and the Panasonic DVX100B.

Price became the next issue. These cameras had the features I wanted but I felt they were too expensive for the church’s mission trip budget. So I started my search for the right camera by looking at used cameras. I used a Sony PD-150 a few years ago in Iraq and knew that it was more than enough camera for the job. Since Sony only sells the PD-170, I knew I could find a used 150 at a good price. Father Dan wasn’t so sure he wanted to spend the church’s money on used equipment but I think he went along with me because he trusted my judgment.

While combing all of the different web sites that sell new and used equipment, I stumbled onto a site selling a brand new PD-170 for less than used PD-150s. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I sent the address to Fr. Dan since he was the one with the key to the church vault. We both knew that something wasn’t quite right with the deal but we needed to investigate. If we could get a new camera in our price range, everyone would feel more comfortable about the purchase.

Sure enough there was a major catch with the cheap price. The 170’s on this site came from Europe. They were the camera only. No microphone, batteries or AC power source. No lens hood, owners manual, and most importantly, no warranty. If we bought all of that stuff to go with the cheap camera, we would have spent just as much money as if we bought the camera new in a store here in town. Deal or no deal? We said no deal.

Fr. Dan found other sites selling the cameras for a little more than the site I found but these sites were still much less than the professional camera houses I was familiar with through my job. Why not check them out as well. He found another shady deal that folks not as knowledgeable as us might fall for. These sites wanted to sell us cameras straight from Japan. They had all the support gear but still no U.S. warranty and no owner’s manual. Now I know I could get the manual off of the internet. But I wasn’t buying the camera. The congregation of the church put up the money for this piece of high tech equipment so Fr. Dan and I felt a one year warranty was worth the extra money.

Finally, Fr. Dan found a site that was selling U.S. cameras for a price that was not much more than the used cameras I found at the professional camera retailers. We ordered the fine camera you see here in these pictures. I didn’t know this but the PD-170 comes with a wide angle lens attachment. The used 150s did not have this piece. If we would have bought a used camera then bought a wide angle lens, the used camera would have cost just as much as the new one we ended up with. I think God was watching over us as we went through this difficult task.

I pursued the Sony over the Canon and Panasonic for several reasons. In my job as a photojournalist, I have used several different brands of video cameras. Sony has always held the title of being the industry leader in professional grade cameras. But I didn’t let a reputation be the only deciding factor. Back in 2003, I took a little trip to a country called Iraq. My employer handed me a new PD-150 to use while chasing the Army across a sandy desert. The camera performed up to expectations even after I dropped it off a tripod onto an asphalt roadway. It took a lick’n and kept on tick’n. I knew the Sony would stand up to the harsh environment I will experience in Africa. I’ve seen the Networks use these cameras in many different situations like war zones and hurricanes. It its good enough for them, then it should be wonderful for our little mission trip.

A Blessing In My Mailbox

2007-03-12T05:34:00.000-07:00

The mail box door stood slightly ajar. Yeah, I bet the box is packed full, I thought as I walked across the narrow asphalt street in front of my humble home. My wife was out of town for the week so the daily ritual of emptying the mail box fell on to my shoulders. Only, I never remember to check the box everyday. Usually I think to look inside the black, elongated metal box standing on the opposite side of the street from my driveway a day or two before Heather returns home. By then, our letter carrier has crammed countless white envelopes into the tube until he can’t get the door all the way shut.

I never think to check the mail box because I never get any mail. My wife handles all the finances of the Corn household so all the bills are addressed to her. She also gets catalogs and various magazines. Heather’s family also sends her, Peter, or Ashley parcels from all over the continental states. All my family lives in one town a couple of hours drive from us so they wait until we are visiting if they have something they want to pass into my hands. I think I get one magazine a month. But Heather always puts it on the kitchen table so I will pick it up and take it to work with me since I don’t have time to read at home. No, I don't have a reason to remember to look inside that box mounted on a pole at the end of the drive.

Only when the family is gone on an adventure and the box is bursting at the seams with mail do I ever empty out the mail box. Even though I know nothing in the enormous stack of thin packages has my name above the address of my little piece of American pie, I never can resist the urge to flip through each envelope. If I never check the mail, why would I carefully read the return addresses to see who sent each of these lovely pieces of correspondence? It must be a habit born in the days when my parents asked me to accompany them across the busy road to see if the mail man left something in the big galvanized steel box perched on top a rusty metal post. When you pulled the pile out of the box you always look through it while you waited for traffic to clear so you could cross the road again.

So I flipped through the stack on my way up the driveway knowing nothing was addressed to me. Then I noticed a letter with my name on it. On closer inspection, I realized my name was written in my own hand writing. Seeing my own name written in the hand writing my father used to say only a code breaker could read caused the circuits in my brain to overload with increased computing activity. What in the heck was this? Then my brain finally recalled the memory of sending out a pile of mission trip letters I sent out a couple of weeks ago. In each letter I had out in a self-addressed envelop in case the recipient wanted to send me a little something special for my trip.

Puzzlement and wonder quickly turned to excitement as I slowly realized I had a donation in my hand. Without knowing it, my feet picked up the pace a few notches on the way back to the house. As soon as I walked through the door to the kitchen, I flung the stack of bills and credit card solicitations down on the kitchen table keeping my self-addressed envelope in my hand. I dug my finger up under the flap on the back and tore the paper down the length of the white rectangle. Out slid a smaller envelope with Church of the Messiah printed across the top. It was one of those tithe and offerings envelopes like the ones I used to take from the back of the church pew and draw on during service when I was a kid. I had included these special envelopes with the self- addressed envelope in the mission letter. The church bookkeeper needs the tithe envelope so the church could send the giver a tax credit form at the end of the year. That’s right, give to my cause and I can you get a tax write off. Not a bad deal I’m telling ya.

“All right,” I said to myself knowing I had just received another donation. A couple of folks I have pitched my cause to have already slid me a buck or two. So the slow process of raising two thousand dollars was in full swing. I figured if I asked a lot of people for a little bit of the family finances I could raise the plane ticket in six months. I have a lot of asking to do.

I looked down at the amount line to see how much closer I had just gotten to my goal. When I saw the three figures written in front of the printed dollar sign on the envelop, the lower half of my jaw dropped to the floor. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Just to make sure it wasn’t a mistake, I held the sealed envelope up to the sun light pouring into the kitchen window. Through the thin sides of the tithe envelope I could clearly see the check inside. The three digits on the check matched the ones printed on the outside of the envelope.

I held one quarter of my plane ticket in my hand. Praise Jesus. A huge weight lifted off my shoulders. If I was over one quarter of the way to my goal this early in the game I was going to be home free. I did a little victory dance around the kitchen sing out “thank you Lord, thank you Lord.”

Seriously, I am honored that one of our friends would trust me with such a large donation. This tells me that I’m following the right path because God is blessing me with the tools I need to go on the trip. It also makes me realize that I have a responsibility to honor those who are contributing to my plane ticket fund by producing the best possible documentaries I have the talent to produce. I’m excited about visiting a place I have never been but I know that it will not be a vacation. I will work hard knowing the equipment I’m using was purchased with offerings from supporters of our mission. I will use my time wisely knowing my presence in Africa was paid for by people who believe in me and my calling. Thank you to all of my supporters who have sent me money for my travel expenses. I will do my best to honor the hard earned dollars that you so graciously entrusted to me. May God bless you all.

Meet Father Lawrence

2007-02-22T03:45:00.000-08:00

Rain slammed against my windshield as I slowly piloted my news unit into an East Charlotte neighborhood. Usually I’m looking for flashing blue lights and yellow crime scene tape when driving around neighborhood streets I don’t usually ride through. Tonight I was on a different mission. One with a higher purpose.

I found the familiar house I was looking for and pulled into the driveway. Rain soaked through my jacket as I grabbed my camera and a light kit out of the back of the truck. I ran up the short side walk to the door wishing I had worn my rubber boots today instead of tennis shoes.

Thankfully the front door stood under a porch roof. I rang the door bell and waited for the owner of the modest two story home to peak out and see his camera toting guest standing on his porch with handfuls of electronic equipment. The door swung open to reveal a short stocky man dressed in khaki pants and a shirt unlike any I’ve seen anyone wear around this town. The shirt looked like it was made out of black canvas instead of cotton and every inch of the material was covered with swirling abstract designs. What struck me about the wild designs was that they weren’t printed or died on the heavy material like most shirts I buy at the local department store. The designs were embroidered on the shirt with miles of bright white thread. No matter how many times you put this shirt in the washing machine, the design would never fade or peel off.

My friend noticed me looking at his shirt and said, “I thought I would wear something authentic for the interview.” I felt a grin stretching across my face as I stepped across the threshold of Father Lawrence Mbugua’s home.

As you can tell from Fr. Lawrence’s name, he was not born in America. Fr. Lawrence came to the U.S. from Kenya ten years ago to attend seminary school. In the past ten years he has earned two bachelors degrees from two different seminaries and will earn a PhD soon. A busy man according to American standards. But, education isn’t the only activity taking up his time. He has a family which includes two teenagers and a toddler. He is active in many organizations and fills the role of associate priest at my church. I asked him how he finds time to meet all of the obligations expected of him. “Well, I believe four or five hours of sleep are enough each night,” he tells me. Four or five hours? I hardly function on eight hours of sleep.

Tonight I’m at Fr. Lawrence’s house to interview him about another noble task he has taken upon himself. For the past several weeks Fr. Lawrence has worked diligently to organize a fund raising dinner to raise money for Grace House. Grace House is a rehabilitation center under construction in Kiambu City, Kenya. The dinner will help raise money to complete the construction of the center and furnish the building with furniture and equipment.

At the dinner, Fr Lawrence will give a presentation on why Grace House is so important to the community of Kiambu City. I’m going to help put some zing into his presentation by producing a short video about Grace House. My goal is to draw the attention of diners away from the authentic African cuisine piled high on their plate to focus on the important message Fr. Lawrence has to deliver. Quite a challenge considering how tasty and delightful African food can be.

While interviewing Fr. Lawrence about Grace House I discovered some interesting information I felt I needed to pass along. Above, I mentioned all of the activities and obligations Fr. Lawrence has on his time. I didn’t mention how over the past ten years Fr. Lawrence has worked various different jobs to save up enough money to buy land and build a three story, nine unit apartment building in Kenya. The apartment building Fr. Lawrence built from the money he earned here in America will house Grace House Rehabilitation Center. He built his own building, now he just needs a few dollars to hire employees and purchase equipment.

I asked Fr. Lawrence why he built Grace House. He has many reasons that I will write about later. But one sums up the whole idea behind the center and why he leads a team of missionaries from my church into the suburbs of the capital city of Nairobi every year. He said he wants to give back to community he lived in before coming to America. He has seen so many people from his community leave for the States never to return home. They leave to find jobs and a better life only to forget about the place they came from. The only way to improve the community of his birth is for him and others who have left to return home and share with the community what they have learned from their experiences in America.

The idea of “giving back” inspired Fr. Lawrence to begin recruiting folks from the church to go to Kenya and lend a helping hand. This year the church will embark on its third mission trip to Kenya. Each year a couple of more folks find the inspiration to raise money and take all of their vacation days from work to go with Fr. Lawrence and Fr. Dan on the two week journey. This year will be my year. While I’m there, I will visit Grace House and shoot as much video of the center as time will allow. After the trip I will produce another video on Grace House so Fr. Lawrence can continue to raise money for the Center and fulfill his vision of “giving back” to his community. Maybe I’ll get one of those cool shirts while I’m there.

Welcome Friends

2007-02-12T06:12:00.001-08:00

Welcome to my journal chronicling my year long journey on a mission trip to Kiambu City (a suburb of Nairobi) in Kenya. Although I won’t be stepping foot onto a 767 until late in July of this year, my journey to plant my feet on African soil starts here in America right now. For the past two weeks I have written letters to all my family members and friends asking them to participate in my quest by either praying for me or sending me a few dollars for a plane ticket. Below is a copy of the letter.

Dear Family and Friends,

I’m writing to you because I’ve been given the opportunity to go on a mission trip this year to Nairobi, Kenya in Africa. In this letter I would like to share with you my opportunity and how you can help.

We have a minister in our church in Charlotte who is from Kenya, Fr Lawrence Mbugua. He is here in the United States to complete his seminary education before returning to Kenya to establish ministry works in the Nairobi area. Fr. Lawrence has told me about how people in Kenya struggle with much of the same problems we have here in America like poverty, addiction, and crime. But unlike Kenya, citizens of this country have an advantage to overcoming these problems like a strong economy and a just system of government. Fr. Lawrence says he is lead by the Lord to “take back” some of the blessings he has received here in America to his brothers and sisters still struggling in Kenya. I believe I am led by the Lord to help Fr. Lawrence accomplish his mission.

For the past two years I have given my talents as a videographer to the Kenya mission trips by taking the photographs and home video, church members collect while in Africa, and producing various DVD’s for the church. This year I feel led to accompany Fr. Lawrence and the church team on a two week visit to Kenya so I can use my talents to document the work our church is doing and collect all the elements I need to produce a full length, broadcast quality documentary.

This year’s mission team will include two priests and their families, a group of teenagers, and me and my camera. Here are some of the things they hope to do and I hope to document:
• We will be conducting an evangelistic and healing crusade in Kitikiti, a village near Nairobi where Fr. Lawrence will be establishing a new outreach and ministry.
• We will do a pastor’s conference, mainly about how to pastor and what God says about finances. We hope we can do this conference in two different areas to two different groups of pastors.
• The musician and teenagers will do some market crusades, dramas, and youth outreach – all to support and build a church in the Nairobi area.
• And, of course, we will be visiting in many homes doing personal ministry.

For this trip to be possible, I am trusting God to supply prayer partners and financial supporters who will participate with me in this ministry. I know that the Lord is calling us to invest in Kenya, and, most importantly, I am asking for your prayers. So would you consider being a prayer partner with me for this mission trip?

The following are some prayers needs:
• Financial – raising the needed funds by June 1st as well as having the funds necessary for my family while I am away.
• Paperwork – for all the necessary papers to be approved in both the USA and Kenya.
• Physical – for strength, health and safety for the trip.
• Spiritual – for my preparation spiritually and that many lives will be touched by our Lord Jesus and that the local church there will be blessed!

Also, would you consider being a financial partner with me for this mission trip? I need to raise $2,500 by June 1st to cover travel and basic expenses for the trip. Should God lead you to help financially, your contribution is tax deductible through our church and can be returned with the enclosed form and envelope.

I am very excited about this opportunity to serve the Lord in Kenya! As I said before, I believe I am led to use my God given talents as a professional videographer to help bring the word of the Lord to those all over the world who need to hear a message of hope. Thank you so much for your kind consideration of this request.

Sincerely,

Although the letter explains why I am going and why I need financial support, I believe it only scratches the surface of why this trip is so important to me, the members of our church, and the folks we are going over to Africa to help. I decided starting this blog would be the best way to report to the entire world our mission to reach out to those in need.

In the following post I will write about all the tasks that I and other missionaries have to complete before we can pack our bags. Then in the last week of July, I hope to post pictures and reports from Africa so folks can follow along with us on our journey. When we return, the blog continues with posts on how I produce a documentary from all the raw video and photographs I and other missionaries shoot while working in Kenya. I promise to write about a ton of interesting stuff that will keep you coming back to this blog for updates. Besides, where else are you going to see all of these great pictures from Nairobi, Kiambu City, and Kitikiti? Wikipedia? I don’t think so.

Please join me as we prepare for Mission to Kenya 2007.

Kenya Mission

2007-02-05T13:14:00.000-08:00

No, I didn’t just step off a plane from Africa with a memory stick full of pictures from the bush. I wished I had gone on the mission trip members of my church took last October. Our brothers in Kenya desperately need our help. Have you seen the news lately about the prolonged drought plaguing the country? Just to today I read the headline “U.N. facing severe food shortage in Kenya” (A.P.). News like that makes me realize how important my new video project here in the states is to those who need a miracle.

My priest handed me two DVD’s loaded with raw video from the church’s first mission trip to Kenya. “Can you make us a video to show our supporters how their contributions were used? We also want to use the video to recruit new supporters and participants for the next mission trip.” This would not be an easy task. All I have is a DVD full of amateur video and a CD packed with photographs. No problem.

I am an artist. Nothing in this world gives me as much joy as taking raw materials and working them into a beautiful creation for everyone to enjoy. I started my task by watching every frame of hand held video on the two hour DVD. The events on tape gave me an idea of how I should formulate a begging, middle, and ending to the story. Next, I needed sound to glue the video together and move the viewer through the story. Most producers write a script and have a voice talent track the story. I believed I had a better idea. Why not have the people in the video tell the story of why they went and why they need to go again? I devised a list of questions fitting my script outline to ask the folks I saw doing God’s work in the raw video. Now I’m in the process of editing the raw video together with the interviews to make a final product.

I’m enjoying playing the role of Producer and Editor. I wished I could have been on the ground in Kenya to gather the images too, but hopefully that addition to my job titles will come soon enough. The video I have has lots of good natural sound and we all know the other stuff can be fixed in the computer. For now I am happy God blessed me with a talent my church can use to help those in need. Someday I hope to leave news behind to travel the world documenting Christians working in the mission field. Imagine using my God given talent to work for the big man himself. Could there be a better job than that?

These pictures are of the Massai men the mission team visited on the trip. The Massai are nomadic cattlemen who are natives of western Africa. The Massai man in the top photo had six wives, forty to fifty children and several hundred head of cattle. A wealthy fellow by Massai standards. The man in black below is Father Dan Whitt. He is my priest and the leader of the mission trips. If you are interested in the work I or my church is doing in Kenya, please send me an e-mail and I can send you a copy of the video and a newsletter about our work.

This post was previously posted on Colonel Corn's Camera in March of 2006.