You are golden, child

"Auntie!" she yelled as she ran up to the woman and buried her face in her embrace to hide her tears of joy.  The sweet girl from class 6 could not have been more excited to see that someone had come to visit her. I had to turn away to hide my own tears.

Today was visiting day at the Tania Centre.  Students could have relatives or other important adults in their lives come to visit them at the school.  Many of the students don't have parents, or don't have parents who can come to visit them, so other adults had to step into that role today.  Some of the dorm mothers and other school employees took the children in small groups to spend time with them, listen to them, and give them little treats.  The children were thrilled with their party hats and masks, cookies, and cups of pineapple juice.

Some of the children, like the class 6 girl, were lucky enough to have outside visitors come to see them.  A few friends of the Tania Centre stopped in to see some of the students shortly after lunch.  One of the older girls with specials needs saw their car pull in and, unable to speak, started wildly waving her hands at the dorm mother she was with, and pointing up at the car.  She got permission, and went running up to greet everyone as they piled out of the car to greet her and her friends from the special ed class.  This particular girl doesn't always have much control of her facial muscles, but she did not stop grinning from the moment she hugged her first visitor until they left.  Oh, the joy of being loved.

The class 6 girl was so thrilled to have visitors that she couldn't keep them to herself--she invited three of her friends, and me, to join in with her visit.  We sat around a table and enjoyed together the many treats that her aunties brought--chips (french fries), stew, sausages, orange soda, and fresh, juicy oranges.  The girl was given gifts, too, like a soap dish and laundry detergent.  Her elation was so contagious that I could not stop grinning, either.

One sweet girl lost her father, who used to be a teacher here, a few weeks ago.  She seemed a little lost while everyone was visiting with people, so I decided that I would visit with her myself.  We sat there for a while, with her just leaning on my shoulder, which seemed to be what she wanted most at the moment.  Some children visiting with one of the dorm mothers noticed her by herself and brought her some juice and biscuits, and another child donated a party hat to her.  And she was one of the three friends who were invited to visit with the other girl's aunties.  It was probably a hard day for her, but she knew she was not forgotten.

In a school so large (80 students, plus another 40 high schoolers who come to live here during breaks), I'm sure it's easy for these students to feel lost in the crowd.  In the bustling cities and neat, trimmed suburbs of America, we often feel lost, too.  Everyone, from the special needs students of the Rift Valley to the stay-at-home moms of Northern Virginia, needs to know that they matter.  That they are important.  That they are loved.  That someone cares enough to come for them.

We can be reminded that, even if it seems like we don't make much of a difference with our existence, that Jesus thinks we matter a whole bunch.  He told this story about how he rejoices over each one of us the same way a shepherd rejoices over a lost sheep that has been found.  It doesn't matter that the shepherd already had 99 other sheep, and it doesn't matter to Jesus how many other people are already in a relationship with him, he will still come for you, the one lost sheep.  He will be so excited to see you that he'll have the angels throw a party in your honor!  I imagine, for some of these children, that party will include biscuits, juice, and shiny party hats.

"Five sparrows are sold for just two pennies, but God doesn't forget a one of them.  Even the hairs on your head are counted.  So don't be afraid!  You are worth more than many sparrows."  -Luke 12:6-7

Being present

Jesus seemed to always need to go somewhere to get away from the crowds when he needed some personal time.  People wanted to be around him so much that he had to stand on a boat to give a sermon to the crowd on the shore, some people had to punch a hole in a roof just to get to him, and the crowds around him were so large, a woman thought he'd never notice one person touching his robe in the middle of it all.  People came to hear him speak, to be healed, but most of all, people came to just be near him.  How could you not want to be as close as possible to the embodiment of love, to know that you are loved yourself?

Many of you who read this heard last year the story of Charity, a little girl here who'd been found in the forest, being raised by apes.  She had many anti-social behaviors and refused to spend much time around other people.  This year, Charity looked me in the eye and shook my hand when I greeted her.  She had shoes on her feet, and she wasn't trying to kick them off.  She walks upright and shows more emotion in her face.  I am convinced it is because of other children being the presence of Christ for her, even when she would spit at them or run away.  Today in church, I sat next to Charity and her friend Njeri.  Njeri is a quiet girl in class 5 who has the biggest heart of any girl I know.  For the entire two-hour service, Njeri sat in the same chair as Charity.  She wrapped her arms around Charity and rested her head on Charity's shoulder.  When Charity would reach her hand up to her mouth to chew on her fingers, a nervous habit that has left her fingers quite a mess, Njeri gently pulled her hand down so she couldn't hurt herself.  And halfway through the service, Charity, the girl who would grunt and spit at me last year, reached over and took my hand, and held it for the rest of the service.  I fought back tears, seeing what Njeri's love was bringing out of Charity.  Njeri wasn't doing any expensive occupational therapy exercises or sending Charity to see a child psychologist.  She was just being present with Charity.  She was showing Charity the love that God had shown her.  And it was honor to sit next to this little girl who was so much closer to Christ than me.

Sometimes, I feel so overwhelmed by how much I don't know and don't understand about Kenyan culture, that I become convinced that I can never make a difference here.  I become paralyzed by how great the need is, and how inadequate I am to meet that need.  But God reminds me that I don't need to preach a sermon or heal someone with my touch to make a difference.  I don't need to have all the answers and I don't need to be fluent in Swahili:  I only need to be present.  I have crowd problems here, too.  I'm not teaching my lessons from boats, and no one has punched a hole in any drywall to get to me, but I've been accidentally elbowed, pushed, and squashed by children all vying for a place near me.  And it is because I am present.  Because I am present, my hair has had more knots, tangles, and braids put in it in the last three days than the entire past year.  I constantly hear calls of "Teacher Beth!" from children who want (and know they can receive) my attention, because I am present.  I can't fix every hurt these children have ever had, I can't turn them into brilliant students in 6 weeks, and I can't even converse with all of them in their own language, but I can let them know that they are loved.  I can't tell Kanje that she is one of the most special children in the world to me, but she knows it when I spend hours holding her even though we can't understand each other.  I can't change the fact that Sarah lost her father a few weeks ago, but I can hug her and gush over how wonderful the pictures are that she takes on my camera.  (They really are wonderful pictures.)  I can't tell Charity with words about a Savior who loves her so much that he died for her, but I can hold her hand when she offers it.

I am excited to be teaching English and music to these wonderful, loved children this summer, but mostly I am honored that God is allowing me to be his physical presence to them, even for a short time.

"Dear children, let us not love with words or speech, but with actions and in truth."  -1 John 3:18

Step by step

I love lists.  I love checking things off as I go, and I love how I feel when I throw away a post-it note that's been completely crossed off.  I love step-by-step instructions when troubleshooting electronics and when piecing together Swedish furniture.  Having an end in sight and a sense of completion is comforting for me.

The funny thing is, there's no checklist for following Christ.  Some people try to make checklists (say this prayer, give this much, follow these rules) but that's not how it works.  There's no path lit, beginning to end, to show you what God wants you to do with your life.  On a good day, if you're following closely, he'll light up the next couple of steps for you.  But not much more than that.

I've felt called to Kenya for several years now.  My heart is there.  I count down the days until I go back, and I do my best not to sob for the entire plane ride home when I leave.  But I have no idea what future God is calling me to there.  I'm not sure how God could use my talents to make a difference there in a way that's helpful to the people there, and not just helpful to my ego.  I see many obstacles in my life that keep me from moving in that direction.  I struggled for a long time with this--why would God put this longing in my heart, but not give me a map to fulfill this longing?  I wanted the end game, and I wanted it now.  I hated that, no matter how hard I worked, I wasn't getting to Kenya any faster, and I hated that I couldn't see the entire journey.

But, I can see my next step.

That's where God asks me to have faith.  He's given me a glimpse of his vision for me, and he's lighting up one step at a time to get there.  I don't know how many steps exist on this path, how bumpy, hilly, or perilous the path is.  I just have to trust that God will lead me down it.

I have a quote written among the pictures in one of my collages of Kenya pictures on my wall.  It comes from Mother Teresa's book "No Greater Love," which I read last year in God's perfect timing while I was in Kenya:

"I must not attempt to control God's action; I must not count the stages in the journey He would have me make.  I must not desire a clear perception of my advance upon the road, must not know precisely where I am upon the way of holiness.  I ask Him to make a saint of me, yet I must leave to Him the choice of the saintliness itself and still more the means that lead to it."

I don't know how many steps I am from doing something bigger in Kenya.  But I have faith that God will help me to complete this journey, and I know that God has called me to this next step this summer, back at the Tania Centre, and I am ready to be the best Beth that I can be for them.

Little is much when God's in it

I know that I talk a lot about how God provides, but it blows me away every time.  I never really worry about the money coming in for my mission trips, because God won't call you where he can't afford to send you, but this year was another awe-inspiring year of fundraising.  My church is getting ready to do some renovations, which means a lot of fundraising has been happening in my church over the past several months.  I thought that would mean I'd have to do some shake-downs of my close friends to find the money for this trip.  In the past, after about a month of fundraising, I'd have to start talking to people to let them know how much I still needed, I'd start looking into what else I could be doing to raise funds, and then the last of the money always came in a couple of weeks before I'd have to leave.  Never failed.
This year, I was mentally prepared to do my shake-down once it hit June and I'd still have money to raise.  One week after I sent out my support letters and posted on Facebook that I was starting to raise money, I got a report from the missions team to let me know how much money had come in that first week:  it came to $500 more than I needed!  After just one week!  It was as if God was reminding me that a challenge is just another chance for him to prove his power: "My kindness is all you need.  My power is strongest when you are weak." (2 Corinthians 12:9)  The fact that other fundraising was going on at the same time didn't matter to God; he has the power to get it done.
For the second year in a row, I have had people coming out of the woodwork to ask how they can help and how they can pray.  I am humbled by the way people in my church carry each other through life.  I was astounded last year by the way the children at the Tania Centre care for each other, but I see that same love in my friends here when they do what they can to share God's love with others.  I am so very blessed to have a church family like this in my life, teaching me what it truly means to love others.

Narudi nyumbani--I'm coming home!

It's springtime in Virginia, which means I'm thinking ahead to summer.  I can hardly contain my excitement over returning to the Tania Centre again this year as a volunteer teacher.  Not a day has passed since I returned home from Kenya last August that I haven't thought of and prayed for the people I met there.

As you probably know, it takes a lot more than just me to get me to Kenya, so I'd like to ask for your support.  I need prayer, both as I prepare and as I spend my summer in Kenya.  Please pray that God would prepare me for what he has planned for me at the Tania Cenre; that he would prepare everyone at the Tania Centre to receive me in June; that God would be glorified through all that I do this summer.

I also need financial support.  The total cost of my trip will be about $3500.  I'm hoping to raise about $2000 by the first week of May to cover the cost of my plane ticket, then to raise the remaining $1500 by the first week of June.  If you feel led to support me in this way, donations can be made through PayPal at www.fairfaxcirclechurch.org/give.  Be sure to put "Beth--Kenya" in the notes section.

If you'd like to hear about what goes on at the Tania Centre this summer while I'm there, keep checking back at this blog.  I usually update about once or twice a week while I'm in country.  You can also read my entries from last summer to see what happened there last year.

Thanks for all of your support--I can't do it without you!  Be sure to contact me if you want to hear more about my upcoming summer at the Tania Centre.  I can't wait to see what God has planned for this summer!

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.)