Remember what is true

God is good.  God is love.  God is sovereign.

I love a good mix of upbeat and contemplative worship songs on Sunday mornings.  It lets me be joyful and praise God for all that he is, but also lets me mourn how far we often stray from the path God intends for us.  This morning, I didn't feel like playing the upbeat songs, though.

It's hard to sing "hallelujah" when your city is still reeling from a mass shooting less than a week ago.  It's hard to sing about how "if our God is for us, what can stand against?" when there is an ongoing terrorist attack in a country you love dearly.  It feels like I'm singing something when all evidence points to the opposite.

At one point in the Hunger Games trilogy, the main character, Katniss, goes through a time when there is so much chaos around her, she starts to forget what is true and what is her imagination.  When she starts to lose sight of what's real, she goes back to the basics and reminds herself of what she knows is true:  "My name is Katniss Everdeen.  I am seventeen years old.  My home is District 12.  I was in the Hunger Games."  There is turmoil all around her and she doesn't know who to trust, but she can remind herself of who she is.

There is turmoil around us in this world.  There are shootings every day, terrorist attacks, broken families, and broken lives.  It's hard to know who to trust, and it's hard to remember that there's still good in the world.  It's days like these that I need to go back to the basics and remind myself of what I know is true:  God is good.  God is love.  God is sovereign.  I have seen God pull a phoenix from the ashes of a broken life, and I have seen God use terrible situations as opportunities to show how great he is.  And God can use even something as awful as a terrorist attack to create something beautiful.  It's just hard to remember when the headlines cry about death and destruction.

So, even when it doesn't feel real, I remind myself of what I know to be true:  God is good.  God is love.  God is sovereign.

Finding balance

I've been home from Kenya for three weeks now.  Most days it feels like it's been longer, like time is trying to see how slowly it can pass before I lose my mind.  But some days it's as close as the air in my lungs, a part of me that I can never really be far removed from.

I stopped by Wegmans for a couple of things after work today.  As I walked down the stairs to the parking garage after making my purchases, a family with two small children made their way down behind me.  "How many steps are there?" one of the kids asked the other.  They found their answer the obvious way:  jumping down one stair at a time, counting each as they went.  One, two, three, four...

My heart stopped for a moment as I was transported to another set of stairs and another pair of preschoolers pondering the number of steps.  In my mind, I saw Elijah and Kanje, two of the children at the Tania Centre who loved hanging out with me, but didn't know much English yet.  We spent a good part of one afternoon at the school store, which had a staircase on the back, running up to the top of the steps, and counting each in English as they hopped back down.  My heart was bursting with pride to hear those itty-bitties counting the whole way to 13 without my help, and the whole way to 20 with just a little help on those pesky teens.  We must have counted those stairs a hundred times, until I was begging them to do something, ANYTHING else but count the stairs again.

I've almost found my balance of enjoying my life here, while still missing Kenya.  It gets easier every day to understand that I can be happy here, and still love and miss Kenya without feeling guilty about being happy.  And I'm usually able to look through my Kenya pictures without many tears, remembering how much I love those kids and how much love they gave me, and still move on with my day.

But some days I just really want to be counting stairs with Elijah and Kanje again.

(There were 20 stairs in Wegmans, too.)

Thus far the Lord has helped us

If you read through the Old Testament, you'll notice that the Israelites seemed rather fond of setting up altars and stones and monuments just about everywhere they went.  They built them after crossing the Jordan, after hearing the 10 commandments, and after God came to them in dreams.  In a world before blogs and facebook newsfeeds, people needed a way to remember events.  So they would set up these stones in certain places, and seeing the stones would remind them of the laws God gave them in this place, or the dream God planted in that place. 

My favorite story of one of these stone piles is in 1 Samuel 7.  The Philistines are about to attack the Israelites, so Samuel instructs them to cry out to God, and God saves them.  To make sure they always remember how God rescued them in that place, Samuel builds one of those stone altars:  "Then Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen. He named it Ebenezer, saying, 'Thus far the Lord has helped us.'" (1 Samuel 7:12)  "Ebenezer" translates as "stone of help."  Every time the Israelites saw that stone after that, they remembered that it was called "stone of help" because God had helped them and brought them that far.

Right now, it's very easy for me to remember just how far God has brought me over the past few months.  It's almost overwhelming when I think about it because of how fresh it all still is. 

But I know it won't always be so fresh, so I want to raise my own Ebenezer to remind myself of what God's done in my life when the dust has been scrubbed from my feet and my suitcases are back in storage.  I want a visual that I can look at and say wow--look at how much God helped me. 

So today, I took some time to pick out pictures from my trip that illustrate how God is my helper.  I made a collage with these pictures, the boarding passes from my first solo flight, and a printout of 1 Samuel 7:12.  This collage will hang on my wall, and no matter how far from Kenya I feel here, I can look at this and truly say "Thus far the Lord has helped me."

I'm not who I was

One of Brandon Heath’s first big hits was a song called “I’m Not Who I Was.” Those lyrics have been running through my head as I’ve been reflecting on my time in Kenya and Uganda this summer and prepare to fly home tonight.

I didn’t expect to change so much. I’ve been to Kenya twice already, so I didn’t think I’d experience anything drastically different enough to really change me. But it’s impossible to get on an airplane alone, flying into the unknown, and stay the same. It’s impossible to move in with strangers who become family for five weeks and stay the same. It’s impossible to give your heart to a hundred children and have it shattered time and again as you learn their stories and stay the same. It’s impossible to face one fear after another until you’re no longer afraid and stay the same. It’s impossible to follow the call of a living, loving God and stay the same.

As always, I am leaving a part of my heart here in Kenya.  It’s a larger piece this time, so it’s harder to leave this time, but I can’t wait to get back and share even more stories with friends and family in my first home.  And I’ll be praying for time to pass quickly until God calls me back to my second home.

The thing I find most amazing in amazing grace
Is the chance to give it out.
Maybe that’s what life is all about.

Prayer and Praise

I need to start this post with a prayer request.  There was a fire early this morning local time at the Jomo Kenyatta International Airport, the only international airport in Nairobi, which gutted the international arrivals hall and temporarily shut down the airport.  It has since been re-opened for domestic and cargo flights, and may start to accept international flights tomorrow morning.  Please pray for the team from my church, which is supposed to arrive at JKIA on Friday night, and for those of us who are scheduled to leave for Uganda via JKIA on Sunday afternoon.  Pray that the airport would be reopened to international arrivals by Friday night, and international departures by Sunday, so that we can continue the work God has called us to here in East Africa.

And now, my blog post as I intended to post it before today’s excitement:

I’ve been called many things for coming to Kenya and volunteering here on my own this summer.  I’ve been called brave, but I can assure you I am the biggest coward I know.  I go out of my way to avoid awkward situations, meeting new people makes me nervous every time, and I take the Metro whenever I go into DC because I’m scared to drive there.  I nearly threw up on the plane ride here, but not because of turbulence.  I was scared witless of coming to a place in Kenya I’d never been, all alone.  But I have a courageous God who reminded me that he was already at the Tania Centre, preparing a place for me there.  I have a courageous God who puts incredible new people in my life here who are so easy to be comfortable around.  I have a God who is courageous even when I am not.

I’ve been called amazing and inspirational, but all I’ve been doing is the one thing I wanted to do most this summer.  Who thinks they’re amazing just for doing exactly what they want to do for an entire summer?  I think I’m truly being spoiled!  But I have a God who molds my heart to be more like his, and then delights in giving me the desires of my heart.  I just have the privilege of following these desires the whole way to Kenya.  And I have a God who came to earth to give an example of how to live with each other—He is the true inspiration.  I am just making a feeble attempt to imitate the life Jesus lived in the places He calls me to.

I’ve been called loving and caring, and these I may agree with.  I have had a life filled with so much love from my family and friends that I can’t help but let it spill over into the lives of those around me.  But, most of all, I have a God who loved me first and showed me how to truly love others.  I have a God who’s cared for me in every rough patch in my life so that I know how to care for others in their tough times.  I have a God who touched lepers and had dinner with prostitutes, and he helps me to fall in love with these children even when they smell like feces or spit at me when I sit near them.  It’s something I can’t help doing.

Somehow, my five weeks at the Tania Centre have flown by.  I leave in less than two days to meet the team from my church in Nairobi, where we will split into two groups. One group will remain in Nairobi to give a children’s ministry training to a group of church leaders from around Kenya, and my group will leave for Uganda to give a sports ministry training to church leaders there.  I’m terribly sad to be leaving these children whom I love so much, but I can’t wait to see friends from back home, and I can’t wait to see how God uses their time here to touch even more lives.

Once the rest of my team arrives, I’ll be posting less, but you can also find our team blog at 2013missions.wordpress.com.  Please come follow the rest of the journey there!

Counting the hairs on our heads and the threads in our needles

God tells us that he counts the number of hairs on our heads, and he knows when even a tiny sparrow falls.  It shouldn’t surprise me when he plans something seemingly insignificant that turns into something huge, but it certainly delights me when I get to see it happen.  At Tania this summer, it was a simple sewing kit:  a handful of needles, a few spools of thread, a thread clipper, a needle threader, and a divine appointment.

The sewing kit was a last-minute addition to my packing list at the end of June.  I didn’t think I’d need it, but I had a nagging thought in my head that I should bring it.  It was so small, it seemed silly to leave it at home.  And after all, it would be nice to have in case I got a hole in my jeans while in Kenya.  I anticipated that it would stay in my suitcase the entire trip, but God had bigger plans for this tiny sewing kit.

One of the first things I noticed about the children here at Tania, after how joyful and loving they were, was how full their clothes were of easily fixed holes and tears.  I made a mental note to find out about mending the clothes of the children who stayed at the school for the August holidays once school was out.  What a great use of the sewing kit that I thought I wouldn’t need!

But God thinks even bigger than that—the social worker asked me if I would teach a mending class to some of the older girls during the August holiday.  Of course I would!  I’m no seamstress, but I could at least teach them how to thread a needle and make a finishing knot, if nothing else.

Mending classes have been so much more than I ever expected.  The first day, I had one of my class 4 girls, Sarah, watch me mend two jackets.  The next day, a few more children brought me clothes, so I set Sarah up with a needle & thread, and she mended alongside me.  The next day, we had a pile of clothes nose-high on our table, and there were 5 of us doing the mending.  Sarah was even helping me teach the newcomers what to do.

Our table in the back corner of the dining hall was a crazy mess of thread, needles, confusion, and pride this week as everyone who wanted learned how to fix their clothes.  No matter how easy the job or how many pieces of clothing a child had fixed, she still shouted “Teacher!  Look!” every time she completed a job.  And it brought me such joy to reward her for a job well done with a smile and praise, no matter how many times or how uneven the stitching.

Unless it’s THIS uneven.  This one I had to take away from the child and bring it home to pull the needle back through and undo all of the stitching.  If you like mazes, this would have been a fun puzzle for you.  But oh, that child gave it his all.

We’ve also had to improvise—my needle threader broke the first time I used it, so for a while I used the tiny piece of metal from the tip by itself to thread needles.  That eventually broke, too, so we’ve been threading needles the old-fashioned way (squinting your eyes & screwing up your face while you try to poke the thread through that impossibly small hole) ever since.  On Thursday, I spent a solid 40 minutes doing nothing but threading needles for the girls.

I also didn’t bring a pin cushion, and that many people and clothes at one table resulted in many, many needles on the floor.  I dug through my suitcases, searching for what I could use, and came up with a wrist band from last year’s sport camp.  It has been the perfect pin cushion!

I’ve really enjoyed these mending sessions with my girls so much more than I ever thought I would.  It warms my heart to see these children doing something concrete to make their lives better, and taking such pride in their work.  Even those who can’t physically use a needle and thread themselves love sitting with us and passing the thread clippers or needles to whoever needs them.  It has been a huge blessing for these children to learn a skill they so badly need, and it has been an even bigger blessing for me to watch them learn.  It was all possible because the God who counts the hairs on my head knew to tell me to bring a simple sewing kit to Kenya.

In the shelter of each other, we will live

In Africa, there is a proverb that says, “If you want to go fast, go alone.  If you want to go far, go together.”

Martin Luther King, Jr. once said that we are all bound together in an inescapable network of mutuality, and that what affects one directly, affects all indirectly.

There is a Celtic proverb that translates, “It is in the shelter of each other that people live.”

Jesus said that the second greatest commandment, after loving God with all of your heart, soul, strength, and mind, is to love your neighbor as yourself.

I think the Kenyans I have met have a lot to teach Americans about loving our neighbors.  We’re taught in America to look out for number one, to strive to be the best regardless of whose neck gets stepped on in the process, to mind our own business, and to only worry about ourselves.  And, as a culture, we have an alarmingly high rate of anxiety and depression.  It has always pained me to live in a culture that is individualistic to its own spiritual detriment, but I have hope that there is another way after seeing the children here at the Tania Centre truly living out the idea that it takes a village to raise a child.

There is a little boy here named Ian.  Ian is wheelchair-bound and completely dependent on others to get him from place to place, to take him to the bathroom, to get him food at meal times.  There is no adult in charge of taking care of Ian, but he is always taken care of.  When it’s time for class, one of his classmates will push him there.  When it’s meal time, one of the older students will get his food and feed him.  When he needs to use the bathroom, one of the boys will take him and help him.  He is never forgotten, and it’s never the same students helping him every time.  Everyone helps out Ian.

There is a little girl here named Charity.  Charity has many anti-social behaviors and tends to throw things and spit at other students, and she often smells due to lack of hygiene.  But Charity is never left behind or ignored.  At tea time, a student or two will lead her down for tea.  When it’s time for class, someone will lead her back up to the school.  During breaks, when Charity plays with the grass, other students will pick pieces of grass and hand them to her as a sign of friendship.  Everyone helps out Charity.

There are many small children here, some as young as 1 or 2 years.  With over 100 students, there is only one dorm mother for the boys and one dorm mother for the girls, but the small children are always taken care of.  Their clothes are washed, they are dressed in clean outfits every day, and they are always fed at meal times.  When a small child falls and bumps her head, someone will pick her up to comfort her.  When one is wandering around during class time, someone will remind him where he needs to be.  When one has a runny nose, someone will find her a tissue.  Everyone helps out the small children.



I have never seen a child complain while pushing Ian’s wheelchair.  I’ve never seen a child reluctant to lead Charity where she needs to go.  I’ve never seen a small child ignored when in need of help.  I’ve never even seen a child need to be asked to do any of these things.  They just do them.  These children are so much like the Samaritan in Jesus’ parable.  When they see someone in need, they help, even if it’s uncomfortable for them. 

So often, I think I am the priests in Jesus’ parable.  I see someone in need, but I am too busy to help.  I am too comfortable to help.  I am too distracted by my schedule and my technology and my things to even notice.  And this hurts the people I ignore, but it also hurts me.  When one human loses their dignity, my own dignity is lessened if I do nothing.  When one human feels unloved when I have had the chance to love them, it is my heart that is hardened as well as theirs.

God, help me to be more like these children.  Open my eyes to see those around me who need to be shown your love.  Give me the courage to love others as you have loved me, to live in the shelter of those around me, and to work for the good of all instead of just for the good of myself.

Testing, testing, 1, 2, 3...

Some days, what I’m doing here feels almost glamorous.  I’m getting covered in dust, loved to pieces, and making a difference in the lives of these kids.  Following God’s call can lead to doing wonderful things in exciting places.

But following God’s call isn’t always so glamorous.  This week at Tania, the kids are taking end-of-term exams.  This means I’m not teaching any classes, just proctoring exams.  Which translates to hours of sitting in a silent, cold room each day watching students take tests.  It’s not exotic or exhilarating, but it’s necessary.

That also means I probably won’t have any interesting posts this week.  Sorry, folks.  Remember, eyes on your own paper.

Slice of life: fishing for dinner

One day last week, as I was hanging out with some kids after school had ended, someone yelled something in Swahili to the children, and they all got up & started quickly walking down towards the lower part of the school grounds.  It turns out they were going fishing!  The school has several tilapia ponds, including a large one that a student told me has 8,000 fish in it.  This day, however, they were just fishing the two small ponds.

As we walked down, one of the children asked me how we go fishing in America.  They thought it was hilarious (and mind-blowingly inefficient) that we use a line and a hook to catch one fish at a time.  I discovered, as we approached the pond, that fishing here meant a handful of the older boys were moving a net as large as the pond from one end to the other, scooping up the fish in it as they went.

The children loved watching, and once the net was pulled out of the pond, they eagerly helped pick the fish from it to put in the bucket.  We all shared a lot of laughter as they tried to hold the squirmy fish for a picture.

Of course, the boys who did the fishing took the opportunity to get in a little swimming after the net was pulled out!  The ponds usually have a net stretched across the top to keep birds from getting the fish, so it was a rare opportunity for these boys to have the net up and no fish in the pond.  They were all shivering from cold when they climbed out, but I’m sure they thought it was worth it!

As many of you probably know, I am a vegan/vegetarian (depending on the food sources), but in Kenya, I do allow myself tilapia since I know where it comes from.  I especially love when I see it caught fresh!  Someone must have heard me telling some of the children that I love tilapia, because someone sent one over to the house where I’m staying for me to have for dinner that night.  They spoil me so much!  Nothing beats fresh, Kenyan tilapia mere hours after it’s been swimming through the pond.

And a child will lead them

Since arriving at Tania Centre, time and again I have been astounded at just how much these children are capable of.  Sunday’s church services are no exception.  At 7:00 AM every Sunday, the children and teachers gather in their dining hall for church.  Of course, this is 7:00 African time, so when I walk in the door at 7:05, they are still in the midst of setting up the sound equipment, and only a few children are there.  But the few children who are there are the ones setting up the sound equipment!  It seems to be the middle schoolers who are in charge of sound, and they need no guidance, as I’m sure they’ve been doing it for several years.

When the church service started my first Sunday here, I think I may have been the only adult in the room.  That was no hindrance to them getting started—a group of three girls (one 6^th grader and two 4^th graders) led the singing, while a small group ranging in age from 1^st grade to 8^th grade led in dance.  One of the 8^th grade boys played along a little on the keyboard for a while before the pastor (who also happens to be the main church musician) stepped in and took over.  It was so beautiful and humbling to see such young children leading each other (and adults) in worship.

Some of the worship leaders:

Most of the songs were in Swahili, so I couldn’t sing along much, but I did catch the occasional “wewe ni Bwana” (you are Lord) that I understood.  As the service kept going, more children trickled in.  It both amused and amazed me to see the little 3- and 4-year-olds walk in by themselves, find a chair, and behave better than many teenagers that I’ve seen in church services in the US.  (No, I’m not talking about our wonderful FCBC youth!  :-)

After 45 minutes or so of worship, it was time for class presentations.  Each class came up, and if any of the students had a song or scripture or dance they wanted to share, they could.  Even those itty bitties took to the microphone like pros, introducing themselves and saying what they had to share.  One 4^th grade girl decided to sing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” for us, much to everyone’s delight.  (It’s almost Christmas in July, right?)  This week, I had been teaching some of the kids the motions for “Deep Down Boogie” (a UW song from sports camp a couple of years ago) so we presented that this morning.  Next week I’ll have to remind them to bring their recorders, since the pastor is requesting a presentation from the “flute group”!

When it was time for the message, the younger students left for Sunday School, but the 5^th graders on up stayed with the teachers for the message.  After the message, a basket was passed around for offering.  It was extremely humbling to see children with toes sticking out of their broken shoes and holes in their school uniform (their Sunday best) so eagerly reaching out to drop a coin in the basket.  A modern day widow’s mite right before my eyes.

Being a teacher and having a children’s pastor for a roommate means that I believe in children as leaders, and I know they are capable of so much more than many adults believe.  But I am still blown away by how much these children are teaching me about leadership, humility, and courage.  May God help me to always be open to learn, even from the littlest among us.

The hard places

I’ve tried writing this blog entry a few times over the past 24 hours or so, but it never seems to come out as well as it did in the email I sent to a few people last night, so I’m just going to copy what I wrote there.

Today I was given a reminder that these children, despite their great affection for others and their enthusiasm for learning, have not all had an easy life.  I was giving a recorder lesson after school to one of the teachers, and one of the special needs students followed me into the classroom and was hanging out during the lesson. 

This student is probably about 10 years old.  He is hearing, but non-verbal, sometimes making sounds, but never words.  He alternates between giving me a huge grin while running up to grab me in the most violent of hugs, and zoning out into another world entirely.  He has a tendency to eat anything and everything, and in the middle of my lesson with the one teacher, he decided to eat an entire piece of chalk, and proceeded to choke on it.  We got him outside because he looked like he was going to throw up, but he ended up coughing for a minute, then he was fine. 

The teacher explained to me that this particular student came from an area in Kenya that was pretty hard-hit by the post-election violence in 2007-2008, and a lot of his behaviors are probably a result of that.  He didn’t get enough to eat during the violence, so now he eats everything.  He most likely has PTSD, and she said sometimes he will scream and have fits like he’s seeing something that no one else can, probably flashbacks to the violence.  It is hard knowing that this sweet, loving boy is suffering so much through no fault of his own.

There is another girl here with lots of anxiety issues who often chews on her fingers, and the teacher told me that she was in the area affected by the post-election violence, too.  She had been left in the forest by her mother, because her mother believed it was safer for her there.

It’s easy for me to take special needs in stride, being a teacher.  A student can’t hear?  She can still follow directions, feel the vibrations of the music, and participate.  A student can’t use his right hand?  He can still play the notes from G on up on the recorder.  But, having gotten to know how wonderful and loving these children are, it’s hard to take in stride what some of them have been through to get them here.  No child should have to worry about being left alone in a forest.  No child should be tormented by memories of events that he shouldn't have even had to witness at all.

Living in a broken world hurts.

Teaching in Kenya

On my 2nd full day at the Tania Centre, I was able to start teaching.  The head teacher was very organized and already had a schedule written up for me when I arrived, which was huge in helping me prepare.  I got to jump right in with my favorite level, Class 4 (equivalent to our 4th grade).  They were so eager to learn and, just like American children, had trouble keeping their recorders silent when it wasn’t time to be playing.  I can hardly blame them, though, as they were so excited to learn an instrument.  When their regular teacher returned at the end of music time, they proudly taught him how to play B, A and G on the recorder.  It was so wonderful watching my students become the teachers after only half an hour of instruction!
I’m also teaching recorder to Classes 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, and 8, and I am so, so proud of how quickly they take to the recorder.  The little ones have a hard time keeping the holes covered with their itty bitty fingers, but they love it just the same.

One challenge that I wasn’t expecting was having deaf students in my music classes.  I thought the deaf students were in a separate class, but they are integrated into the general classrooms with the other students, so they are learning recorder along with the rest.  The hearing students and teachers who know sign language are helping to interpret what I say, and I am truly impressed with how well they play.  Most of the deaf students seem to enjoy it just as much as the hearing students.  One deaf girl from class 5 even found me during break today to show me that she remembered Hot Cross Buns:

I can’t forget to thank the music teachers at Woodburn Elementary and Mantua Elementary for donating old recorders for this trip—I’m so grateful to teach in a district with the ability and willingness to use its resources around the globe.

Monday was my first non-music class—Class 7 English.  I’m not overly comfortable teaching anything other than music, so I was a little nervous going into this class.  Luckily, the class has already covered their syllabus and is just doing revision for their upcoming exams, so all I need to do is follow along in their revision book.  I’m trying to get them all involved & reading out loud, but it’s a challenge with two deaf students in the class.  Some hearing students who know sign language well are able to translate, though, so everyone can still participate.

Class 7’s classroom:

 Kenyan class times aren’t as precise as American class times, and since the bell ringer’s watch was off by 15 minutes, we accidentally ended English 15 minutes early.  No one seemed overly concerned about it, though.  It’s hard to wrap my head around when I’m used to every last second of class counting, and even being 1 minute off from the rest of the school can cause a lot of stress on other teachers in America.

Teaching here has reminded me just how much I love teaching.  I had a rough time this past school year that left me wondering if teaching is where I should be, but teaching in a new environment for the first time in 5 years has reminded me that yes, teaching is absolutely what I love to do.  I can’t imagine anything making me prouder than the light in a child’s eyes as they learn to do something they haven’t done before, or as they share their new-found knowledge with others.  In the hustle and bustle of education in America, it’s sometimes hard to notice those moments.  I hope to remember this when my next school year in America starts, to keep my focus on why I love what I do, and what a privilege it is to work with young people.

Karibu Kenya!

Hello/Habari from Kenya! (If you say “Jambo” instead of “Habari” that marks you as a tourist, in case your pasty white skin didn’t already. Or is that just me that’s so pasty white?) I arrived safe and sound Wednesday night, a little later than expected, but both I and my luggage arrived safely, so I can’t complain. I’m staying in a house on school property at the Tania Centre with the family of the son of a Masaai chief, which is cool, but don’t think I’m living in some Masaai hut like you see on TV. Just a normal Kenyan house!
On Thursday, I was able to take a tour of the school and see all that they are doing with the property. Much of their 7 acres is used for farming. They have quite the variety of crops—maize, beets, tomatoes, cabbage, pumpkins, banana trees, and huge rosemary bushes that they encouraged us to pick a piece to chew on. (This is how I figured out that my host family uses LOTS of rosemary in their tea. I may never want to taste rosemary again by the time I’m done here.) Cows, goats, and sheep wander the school grounds, and they had a handful of pigs in pens. There was some sort of contraption built under the pig pens that, as I understand it, is used to convert their waste into biofuel. How awesome is that?! They also have several tilapia ponds, and are building another.
Building is the word that seems to describe much of the Tania Centre. It seems to be in a constant state of growth, from what I’ve gathered, and I hope, with time, that these projects come to fruition. There is a room under the kitchen that they hope to make into a bakery, a small building along the main road that they hope to make into a store to help with some income for the school, a few unfinished rooms in the school, including a future computer lab. The school administrator told me that they have a donor lined up to donate the computer lab equipment to them as soon as they are able to get the computer lab room up to code with electrical equipment.
The biggest unfinished building that touched me the most was the new dormitory:

How beautiful is that building!? The current dorms are a small tin shack with one room for the boys, and one room for the girls. I got to peek inside, and the current dorms are crowded, dimly lit, and not a place that I would want to spend 9 months of the year like most of these children do, or 12 months like some of the children do.
The new dorms are set up much like a college dormitory—the lower floor is for the girls, the upper floor for the boys, including that wheelchair ramp for students in wheelchairs. Each floor has a room for the dorm mother, as well as many rooms lining each side of the hall. Each room has 1-2 bunk beds inside, and huge windows that allow in so much natural light. At the end of each hall are the bathrooms—toilets on one side of the hall, showers on the other side. Then, just past the bathrooms, is my favorite part—the balcony with the most gorgeous view of the Ngong Hills area. How awesome would it be to wake up to this view every morning!? (I think clicking the picture will make it larger, in case it comes out small on your browser.)

Unfortunately, the Tania Centre has been unable to secure funding yet for mattresses and bedding for the new bunk beds. From what I gathered, that is just about all that stands between the students & their beautiful new dorms. I’m praying that they are able to find the funding soon so the students can take advantage of the blessing that this building is for them!
The area where the Tania Centre is located is called “Kona Baridi,” which means “cold corner,” and whoever named it that wasn’t kidding! By my guess, it’s been in the mid to upper 50’s in the mornings when I go to school, though it warms up to the upper 60’s or lower 70’s by the end of school in the afternoon. I do wish I had packed more sweaters, though. Kona Baridi is situated on a higher hill than Nairobi city, which is what makes it colder than I was expecting. I could even see my breath when I walked to church this morning!  The elevation here gives Denver a run for its money, hence the cold temperatures despite being only 2 degrees south of the equator.
I’ve started teaching some of my classes, but I’ll leave that for another post. Thank you all for your wonderful support and prayers! Asante sana!

Mpaji ni Mungu, Jehovah Jireh, God provides

I am a worrier.  I'm not proud of it, but that's what I am.  I worry about getting places on time, about remembering to pay my bills, about finding time to go to the store, about remembering to get everything I need when I go to the store, about packing everything I need when I travel. I worry about the opinions of others, about my students, and about the unknown.  I worry about failing, and I worry about letting down those that I love.

But, for whatever reason, I never seem to worry about getting funding for my mission trips.  When I was preparing to go on my first international mission trip in 2008 to El Salvador, one of the first things they told us at the interest meeting was not to worry about whether we could afford the trip, but about whether God had called us to the trip.  God would not call us to something then not provide the means for us to follow through.  So I prayed about it, and I really felt God was calling me to that trip, so I didn't worry about the money.  And that made perfect sense to me--why would God ever call me to something, then leave me hanging?  That's not the God I'd come to know and follow.

Now don't get me wrong.  I don't mean I just sat back and expected the money to miraculously appear in the El Salvador team's account (although it could have).  I had to do my part, then I got to watch God do his part.  I wrote letters to friends and family asking for support.  I washed cars in the church parking lot with the rest of the team.  I prayed.  I fasted.  And, sure enough, the money came in.

The story is similar for my two previous trips to Kenya:  prayed, decided I was being called to go on the trip, did what I needed to do, and the money came in.

This year's trip to Kenya is shaping up in a similar fashion, but God is showing up in bigger, more beautiful ways.  By human logic, I should have been worrying about the money coming in this year--I'm staying for twice as long as I've stayed previously, so the trip is much more costly.  People around me seem to expect me to worry about the money.  I'd barely made enough through our fundraising and through sponsors the previous two trips to make it, so who knew where this extra $1000 that I'd never had to raise before would come from?  That might not be a lot of money for some people in my area of the country, but when you live paycheck to paycheck like I do, that's not something you can just pull out of a bank account if someone doesn't sponsor you.

But my God is a God who owns the cattle on a thousand hills, and who can take five loaves of bread and two fish to feed thousands with twelve baskets of leftovers.  And God knows who is able to help send me to Kenya when I can't afford to go on my own.  I lack faith in many areas, but I know God won't call me where he can't afford to send me.  I can't say I'm surprised as the money comes in for this trip, but I am always in awe of God's power.  People who have never sponsored me before are seeking me out to see how they can help.  People I've only met once before, and people I haven't spoken to in about 15 years are joining me in this journey.  Friends who are as strapped financially as I am are sending in what they can, and the little bits are adding up.  We are carrying each other's burdens in a beautiful way.

So I want to take a moment and rejoice with those who have already joined me in this journey--you will be touching lives without even leaving your home, and I can't wait to tell you about them.  And I want to pray that, if you haven't decided to join me financially, that you might consider it.  My previous post lets you know how you can give.  And please continue to pray for me, the rest of my team, and the people we'll be working with this summer as we prepare for all of the work we'll be doing in Kenya and Uganda.

I can't explain to you why I have such peace when I still have so much support to raise.  But I can tell you that God told me I'd have this peace that's beyond understanding, if only I would pray and trust.  I hope that someday I will have this much faith in other areas of my life, too!

Preparing to return

If you're reading this blog, you probably know just how much I love Kenya.  I am thrilled to have the opportunity to spend nearly my entire summer in Kenya this year.  I can't wait to be typing these blogs from Kenya!

For the first month of my stay, I'll be volunteering at the Tania Centre, a school for students with special needs.  It was started by a Kenyan man who attended my church back in the 80's.  We recently reconnected with him, and I am so honored to be able to complete this circle by serving at his school.

Later in the summer, a team from my church will be joining me in Kenya for several purposes.  I'll be on a part of the team that, along with UW Sports Ministry and a team from Nairobi Gospel Centre, will travel to Uganda to train pastors and church leaders in sports ministry.  Another part of our team will remain in Nairobi to train pastors and church leaders in children's discipleship as a follow-up to a previous sports ministry training.

I am equal parts excited and nervous, since this will be my longest stay in Kenya, and I won't be with anyone else from my church for my first month.  Philippians 4 tells us not to worry, but to take everything to God in prayer, so I'm trying to remember to do that first and foremost as I prepare myself for this trip.  Any prayers you'd like to contribute would be greatly appreciated!

I'm also working hard on fund-raising for this trip.  We have several fundraisers in the works at church, but I still have a lot of money to raise on my own.  My first payment of $2000 to pay for my plane ticket is due by May 10th, then I will have an additional $1500-2000 (final costs are still being determined) to raise by June 15th.  If you feel led to donate, you can make a donation via PayPal here (use the yellow "donate" button on the right side of the page).  Mention in the notes section that it's for Beth's Kenya trip.  If you'd like to make it tax-deductible, let me know so I can supply you with the necessary form.  I'd love for you to be a part of God's story in Kenya in this way.

I'll be updating my blog a few more times as I prepare to leave in a couple of months, and I'll update whenever possible while I'm there.  I hope you'll keep coming back to read and see what awesome things God will do in Kenya this summer!