Thoughts on Westgate

(A disclaimer:  For some reason, the words on this blog post got all jumbled up at the half way mark - I had to switch the color and font to get them to show up.  I don't know why this happened.  Sorry if it makes it difficult to read!)

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Many of you have so kindly reached out to me in the last four days since the Westgate Mall attack in Nairobi.  Thank you SO much.

Many have wanted to know my thoughts about this ordeal.

I haven't written yet, because I just couldn't seem to be able to type out (or write out) my rambling thoughts.  I was just too numb, perhaps.  But now I will "give it a go", as my British friends say.

When I first heard about the attack, my thoughts were, "Really?  Westgate?  But that's our favorite mall."

Not exactly words that my friends might expect to hear out of someone serving as a missionary in Africa.  Don't folks who become missionaries automatically forget about things like malls, mocha frappes and movies?  Well, I hate to burst your bubble about us, but, in a word......no.  We don't.

The funniest part is, in America I detested going to malls!  Shopping was pretty much my LEAST favorite activity.  Just ask my poor daughters.  We didn't really ever have those cool mom/daughter bonding experiences at Macy's.  Just didn't happen.  They had to do that with other people's moms.

But something about being 8,000 miles from home makes anything that feels remotely like "home" seem suddenly attractive.  And attractive certainly was a fitting adjective for this mall.  The marble tile floors, the lush and classically tasteful decor, the delicious coffee shops - the piped in pop (American) music playing softly throughout the area.  It felt like home.  Familiar, safe, comfortable.

When on our second trip to Nairobi last year, we discovered this bastion of American pop culture - and I think we returned each trip after that.  There was always a notebook, a hairbrush, tennishoes, hair rubber bands, shampoo & conditioner, or whatnot that someone needed, which we couldn't find anywhere else, and so we'd find ourselves back at Westgate again.

Just a month ago, Tim and I enjoyed a cup of coffee on the veranda together, and tried to comfort each other after leaving Ruthie and Stephen at school, just a week after we'd already left Hannah in the States for college.  We were mourning the departure of these three from our nest, and were also mourning our impending separation. Just two days later, Tim was scheduled to fly back to Rwanda to work and I was set to fly back to the United States so I could attend Hannah's family weekend at college with Sam and so I could learn how to teach Sam's homeschool with a whole new curricula before rejoining Tim in Rwanda.  (With our poor internet in Rwanda, we thought it would be easier to start, and become proficient in using, Sam's internet based home school in a place that had dependable internet!)

Anyway, as we sat there a month ago and sipped our sumptuous coffee, we just kind of sadly looked at each other, and hardly talked at all.  We were a little shell shocked from all the family dispersement.  Being still newby missionaries, we just weren't used to our new vagabond life - and we were licking our emotional wounds while we sipped such deliciously fresh and intensely tasteful coffee in the exact place where you've seen many pictures these last few days.  We were sitting on the veranda on the "Urban Cafe"- where I believe the first grenades were thrown - right next to the steps you saw in many pictures outside one of the mall's entrances.  Talk about surreal.

But how did I feel when I heard the news, and continued to watch it unfold?

I did feel shaken, terribly shaken, to see all of it and to know I had NO power over what was happening.  Not even a little.  Oh, how helpless I felt, knowing two of my precious children were one hour away from all the madness and I was nowhere near to help them!  And to know my beloved husband was nowhere near me, and I had to walk through this alone.  (And he did, too.)

Actually, the intensely protective feelings I felt were just silly.  Truth be told, if I had been there, I would have depended on Stephen, now over 6 feet tall and quite strong, to protect me and Ruthie, not the other way around!  And Ruthie is stronger than me, too, and she runs much, much faster.  I would have been a detriment to them, not a help!  But, I guess a mom is always a mom, eh?

One morning, I went for a walk around the ranch, hoping to get some time alone with God to sort through my whirling emotions.  As I walked, I gazed at the hills beyond the prairie, the same hills I've loved since we first moved here in 1979, and loved even for years before that, when we used to travel here on vacation each summer to escape our cement jungle home of Houston, Texas for two glorious weeks.  I told God about my helpless feelings, of my panicked heart (as if He didn't know), of my questioning if I could even continue to handle living in Africa.  I told Him how this tragedy stirred up a longing deep within me for security, for the familiar.  How I longed for "the good old days" when my children were all under one roof, when we homeschooled in our dining room, when I always knew where each one was.

Of course, as I told Him this, I conveniently forgot the stress involved in trying to teach four different sets of curricula. (And trying to do this with a highly distractible brain made it even MORE stressful!  I really have trouble staying focused on things, even in the best of circumstances!!)  I forgot about trying unsuccessfully to keep sibling rivalries in check as I taught them all day, of doing laundry and other household things on top of teaching, etc. etc. etc.  As I yearned for the security of the "good old days", I forgot about all the hard things from those days.  Not that they weren't wonderful.  Not that I don't thank God for them.  They were wonderful, and I do thank Him.  BUT, they were challenging too, just like today, and I was forgetting that.

I told Him I was afraid, and even more, that I was afraid I wasn't "cut out" to be a missionary after all.  That I just didn't think I had what it takes to do my job.  I'm just not tough enough like all those other strong, more seasoned missionaries out there.  That I had been prideful to think I could handle moving to a foreign country, being separated by necessity from my growing children, being sometimes separated from Tim so I could be with the children, etc etc.  I basically just cried and cried and cried and told Him I was so weak, and so tired, and so scared.

And then I felt better.

Suddenly I remembered when Paul wrote about a similar conversation he had with God a long time ago, when he felt like he couldn't go on, either.  (Not that I am comparing myself to Paul.  Ha!  Believe me, I am not.)  Here is what Paul wrote about God's reply to him.  

"But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for

 you, for my power is made perfect in

 weakness."



And Paul's conclusion to God's answer was this:  



"Therefore I will boast all the more gladly

 about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power 

may rest on me." - 2 Corinthians 12:9


God comforted me so much that day.  As I walked around the 

ranch, still numb and hurting and confused from all the happenings

over in Nairobi, I felt the comforting reassurance of my Heavenly 

Father.  I felt the confident reminder - even a hint of a smile - as 

He reminded me I can't go back to the "Little Dining Room on the 

Prairie", even if I really wanted to.  There was a time when the 

children were young, and they were all studying (and arguing!) in 

the dining room.  But those times are gone.  They were only a 

season.  Now is a whole new season, and it is a beautiful one.  Our 

oldest daughter, such a gem of a young woman, is studying in 

university now.  Our second two are studying in a wonderful 

school in Kijabe.  And Sam still studies, for one more year, in our 

new dining room in Rwanda.  (Or in his grandparent's home in 

Bandera for now.)  Our "dining room" has expanded, even across 

the oceans.  But that is what happens.  Nothing ever stays the 

same.  And that is as it is meant to be.  As Tim often reminds me, 

"You WANT the kids to grow up, remember?  Would you prefer 

them to be not growing??  Of course not!" 



God reminded me that it is good to realize I am helpless, because 

that is the reality.   I was just as helpless before the terror attack as 

I continued to be after the attack.  A sense of control is only 

illusion.  Who are we?  We are mere mortals.  We are but a breath!  

We have no real power, only the dream of it.  We think we control 

our future, we think we make our plans, but in reality we do not.  

We do not know what the future holds.  We aren't in control of our 

next heartbeat.  To try to control my children's safety is a farce.  I 

must either go crazy trying to grab something I cannot, or I must 

entrust them to the One who loves them far more than I do, and 

who DOES have ultimate power over everything.  He holds the 

Universe, including my children and my husband and me, in His 

hands.  And even though there are crazy people the world over 



who want to - and do - hurt, kill, destroy, oppress, rob, maim and 

trick others - God is still God, God is still good, and God still has 

our lives in His hands.  No matter what.  No matter where we live.  

No matter what we are doing.  (And I won't even go into the 

thought that He is working in those "crazy" people's lives as well, 

and that He loves them, too.  And that we should be praying for 

them!  And it is our job to forgive, just as we in Christ have been 

forgiven for ALL of our sins.  That is a whole nother blog post, I 

suppose.)



The reassuring truth that I came away with in that morning walk is, 

I can trust Him.  You can trust Him.  More surely than the sun 

coming up in the morning, and setting at night over those Bandera 

hills, I can trust Him.  He is good, He is love, He will NEVER, 

EVER let me down.  (This does not mean He will give me 



everything I want, mind you.  But He will never let me down, as 

He knows much better than I do what I truly need.)  And the same 

is true for you, whoever you are!  He will one day make ALL 

things right.  And He can give me the strength - He IS my strength, 

who will equip me to continue on this journey He gave us.  



Terrorists or not, I can't wait to get back to Africa to get back to 


the job He set before us.  I'd rather be in a place or a land that 

seems unstable, but know I am where God wants me to be, than to 

be where I "think" I am safe, but where God has not called me to 

be.  

I love this quote by Corrie Ten Boom:  


"In the center of a hurricane there is absolute peace and quiet. There is no safer place than in the center of the will of God" 

So, that's what I've been thinking.  


Yes, I was shaken.  


Yes, being shaken tempted me to want to try to convince Tim to 

quit.  



But Yes, God strengthened me and encouraged me, and now I am 

once again grateful and excited to be returning to Rwanda (and 

sometimes to Kenya) to be involved in the high privilege of

 working with Him there.  Thanks for asking! 



And, thank you for your continued love, friendship, support and 

prayers for our family.