Christmas at Tania

There were no Christmas lights hung on my house this year.  I didn't decorate cookies with my niece and nephews, and I haven't eaten any of my mom's homemade peanut butter balls or lady locks.  I have caught no snowflakes on my tongue, have scolded no students for throwing snowballs at their classmates, have built no snowmen in my yard.   I have not watched Rudolph, and I have not even seen the greatest Christmas commercial ever made on TV.  I did not spend Christmas Eve at church, singing "Silent Night" by candlelight as the wax dripped on the hymnals.  I did not wake up Christmas morning at my parents' house to exchange gifts with family while eating warm cinnamon rolls by the tree decorated with ornaments handmade by my siblings and I in the early 90's, with a fire roaring in the wood stove.

For 30 Christmases, my routines and traditions looked very much the same.  The lack of those routines this year meant it didn't really feel like Christmas in the days and weeks leading up to December 25th.  But Christmas still came.  "It came without ribbons.  It came without tags.  It came without packages, boxes, or bags. ...What if Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store?  What if Christmas, perhaps means a little bit more?"

It was told by the prophet Isaiah that the coming Messiah would be called "Immanuel," meaning "God with us."  The God who was divorced from us in the Garden of Eden broke down the walls separating us and came down to live among us as a baby on Christmas, and that's what we celebrate:  that 2,000 years ago, God came among us.

But I can feel more this year that this is something we can still celebrate, because God is still among us.  When Jesus told us that, where two or more are gathered in his name, he's there, that means I didn't just celebrate Christmas with the Kigundas, we celebrated with Jesus.  When Jesus told us whatever we do for those who are vulnerable and in need, we do for him, that means I'm not just loving the kids here who have nowhere else to go for Christmas; I'm loving Jesus.  The same Jesus who was visited by shepherds as he slept in a barn was in the dining hall at the Tania Centre as we threw a party to bring joy to these kids who have no one else.

We don't just celebrate a God who came to earth as a baby over 2,000 years ago--we celebrate a God who is still present with us on earth today.  He was present when I celebrated with my family in Pennsylvania for the past 30 Christmases, and he was present today when our staff prepared a special meal for our children, as we shared small gifts with these kids who so rarely see gifts, as I played Christmas carols on my cello for everyone.  It didn't look the same as any other Christmas I've celebrated, but God was still among us.

I pray that I can always remember to look for Immanuel, God among us, not just on Christmas, but every day.

Praying big

"There are sometimes the store room is empty and we're not sure where the children's next meal will come from, but in all these years, they've never gone to bed hungry."

This was said to me by one of the directors of the Tania Centre within the first two weeks of my arrival.  It was said so matter-of-factly.  My mind immediately went to the story of George Müller, who ran an orphanage in 19th-century England without ever asking another person for donations.  When they were in need of food, they would pray.  When they were in need of clothes, they would pray.  One story tells how the children were sat around the table and Müller prayed, thanking God for the breakfast they were about to eat, when they had not one scrap of food in the house.  As soon as he finished praying, the local baker showed up with a donation, and a milk cart broke down outside the orphanage and had to offload its milk there to repair the cart.

I see the same sort of faith in the leaders here at the Tania Centre.  Last week, our store room was empty.  Aside from vegetables from the farm, the directors were not sure where the children's dinner would come from.  So we prayed.  Later that day, a local grocery store owner gave Tania two sacks of rice on credit, and our children had food.

Then, just to make sure we remember it is God who provides, he sent a donation later in the week from a school in Nairobi and a church in California.  Our store room is now overflowing!

Also last week, one of the directors, Jennifer, was talking to me about how she hoped that some of the local families who take in children from Tania for the holidays might consider sponsoring those children's school fees.  We prayed about it.  Later that day, before Jennifer even asked, one local woman who takes in two of our boys for the holidays called up Jennifer and said she'd like to pay their school fees.

For some mysterious reason, God chooses to work through prayer.  The creator of the horsefly and the Horse Head Nebula chooses to listen when we speak to him, and delights in answering us.  I'm not sure why I see prayer answered more often and more rapidly here in Kenya than I did back home in the U.S., but I have a few suspicions:  in the U.S., we've made ourselves so great that we have no need of God.  We pride ourselves on our self-sufficiency and see dependence as weakness.  We don't see miracles because we don't need miracles, and have no faith that they can happen.  If we can work hard and solve all of our problems ourselves, why should we bother asking God to help solve them?  The same thing happened in Jesus' hometown when he visited there.  But when your store room is empty and it's not in your power to refill it, God has the opportunity to show up in a big way when you ask him to.  And I think the more audacious the request, the more God loves answering it, because what faith it takes to ask God for something impossible!  God loves when we dream big because he gets the glory.

Some of the projects we'd like to accomplish here at the Tania Centre are huge.  There are so many more people out there more qualified than me to do parts of this work.  I've spent the last seven years teaching elementary orchestra in one of the most affluent counties in America, who am I to help a small, private school in rural Kenya raise funds and find grants and care for children who have no one else to care for them?

I am no one, but prayer means I don't need to be someone special.  I see things happening here on a daily basis that have no business happening, but we pray, and they happen.  The children are cared for, needs are met, bellies are full.  God loves these children so much.

I don't know how many of these dreams God will make happen, but I believe it takes faith to verbalize your dreams, so I'm verbalizing here a few of our dreams at Tania, with the faith that God will make them happen:
--We're dreaming of turning Tania into a Montessori school, which will make us more marketable to parents who can pay school fees.
--We're dreaming of turning Bruce Park into a retreat center, with a guest house and conference area and places to relax and play.  We'd like to employ some of our students with special needs once they finish school, since they might have trouble finding understanding employers.  We want to use the profits from the retreat center to support Tania.
--We're dreaming of expanding our farm to include more cows and chickens, to produce enough biofuel to fuel our kitchens and our van, and to produce enough milk and eggs for our children.
--We're dreaming of the day that Tania is so blessed that it may become a blessing to the surrounding community, county, country, and world.

I promise you that any progress made over the next three years will not be a result of my talent, skills, bravery, perseverance, or any other positive quality you might want to pin on me.  I am severely lacking in all of those categories.  Any progress you see here at Tania will be a result of the prayers we're praying and the people God will use to answer those prayers.

Redeeming the past

I'm sure as Joseph was being marched off to Egypt after being sold into slavery by his brothers, he didn't see what good would come of it.  But, years later, when a famine threatened the lives of his people, the position of power he'd risen to in Egypt allowed him to save them from starvation.

I'm sure as Esther was being made queen in a regime that was unfriendly to the Jewish people, she didn't see what good would come of it.  But, later, when a decree was issued that would have meant the destruction of the Jewish people in her kingdom, she was able to use her power as queen to save her people from that fate.

God shapes our lives in ways unique to the calling he places on us.  Sometimes, to get the shape he needs us to be in, that means allowing us to go through some tough circumstances.  I was never seriously in want as a child--I never went hungry, we had a homemade cake for every birthday and presents under the tree every Christmas.  Music was a priority in our family, so I had private lessons on violin, then on cello, from the age of 9.  But we still didn't have as much as many families in America:  I can't remember a time when our roof didn't leak and our ceiling wasn't falling in; I lost several favorite books, pictures, and toys when the ceiling would begin leaking in a new place; it was not uncommon to catch a mouse in a mousetrap (or have one be caught by our pet cats) several times each week; I learned early in life how to keep food containers air-tight to avoid ant infestations; we got creative with fixes around the house when we couldn't afford to bring in a repairman.  We were never in serious need of anything crucial, but my childhood was different from many of my friends'.

But, like Joseph and Esther, I'm seeing God use how I was shaped by these experiences for the calling he's placed on my life.  Every day, I see more how God is able to use me in ways that he wouldn't be able to use other Americans.

I've seen some Americans assume that mold in their house is reason enough to burn it to the ground and start from scratch--when I discovered mold growing on my wall here in Kenya, I sighed a little because it was annoying, but then I went to the store, bought some bleach, and cleaned it up.

I've seen some Americans go into crisis mode when their ceiling begins leaking--when I woke up this morning to the sound of drip-drip-drip onto my desk, I surveyed the damage, thanked God that it wasn't dripping on my electronics, cleaned up the water, and put a bucket under the drip.

I've seen some Americans reduced to tears over the presence of an insect in their house--I've spent the past three weeks since arriving in Kenya playing defense against the bugs who want to share my dwelling space, and I've even given up on ridding my space of a few of them.  (There's one spider in particular who's kind enough to sit just outside my door and never comes in.  He's cool.  He can stay.)

And here's an example of some improvised handiwork we've accomplished here since I moved in.  Hair ties are a lot cheaper than a plumber!

The work we're doing here at the Tania Centre is vital to the lives of the children who live here, and every day it becomes clearer to me that my being here is badly needed.  And every day it becomes clearer that not many other Americans would be able to live in conditions like this without feeling discouraged.

So I thank God for those leaky roofs and collapsed ceilings.  I thank God for the mouse and ant infestations, and I thank him for the lost possessions and jury-rigs of my childhood home.  Because of them, I'm able to do this urgent work here at the Tania Centre.

And this gives me hope--if God is able to redeem the hardships of my life, how much more can he redeem the hardships of these children here at the Tania Centre?  The abandonment and disabilities these children live with every day are hard.  So much harder than I can comprehend.  But I know that that just means these children may be destined for great futures--great enough to save a country from famine or a kingdom from genocide when no other person could.

Unquantifiable

As a teacher in the U.S., a lot of how I taught and assessed was based on the need to collect data.  I needed to have numbers to show where my students started, how they progressed, and how they'd improved by the end of the year.  I submitted a spreadsheet of color-coded numbers with my teacher evaluation paperwork to show how effective I was as a teacher.  But those color-coded numbers didn't show the types of improvements of which I was the most proud.  The numbers didn't show the way the boy who barely spoke English became a leader in the class, or how the quiet, reserved girl whose parents worked multiple jobs lit up with joy when her mother could come to her strings concert.  Those improvements can't be quantified.

I see the same qualitative improvements here at the Tania Centre since I first volunteered in 2013, but in spades:

Charity, who used to spend her time squatting on the ground, picking at the dirt, and would only eat her food off the floor, now walks upright, makes eye contact, and eats from a plate.

Lucy, who used to use force to get as much food as quickly as she could at meal times, even stealing from other students, sat patiently on Sunday and waited to be served her tea.  She smiled and signed "thank you" when she was allowed to have her tea.

Kanje, who used to be a shy, reserved toddler (in front of me, at least), now leads her friends in songs during church on Sunday.

Ann, who used to only speak Swahili and was shy about speaking to me, now smiles and speaks excellent English when she sees me.

Mokishoi, who rarely spoke or smiled or interacted with others, now flashes her big-toothed grin every time I see her and is constantly moving around to hang out with other students and to help Charity get where she needs to go.

The other Ann, who was brought to Tania when the place where she lived wasn't safe for her, was able to return to her village with her two small children because she now has a safe place to stay there.

The Tania Centre has had its share of struggles over the past two years since I first came here.  Keeping teachers is a challenge with limited resources.  Meeting basic needs isn't always a given.  Yet, the dedication of the staff here means that these children aren't just surviving, they're thriving.  I am honored to be counted among those staff members now, and I am thrilled to get to watch how these children progress over the next three years.  And can you imagine the improvements in these children's lives if we could work together to raise their quality of life?

How can you put that into numbers on a spreadsheet?