tea and sympathy

Dim sunlight filters in through the window and spills onto the small table in the center of the room, illuminating cups of hot, sweet tea, a plate of soft, white bread and a basin of cool water. The heels of my shoes are sinking into the mud floor. Rows of stools and small chairs fill the edges of the room. A single bed sits to one side of the room; a sheet hanging from the ceiling separates 'bedroom' from 'sitting room'. A knife leaning against the window sill denotes 'kitchen'. 






We are crowded together in this small home, knees meeting awkwardly as we hunch over our seats and reach for our tea. Mine is hot, too hot to drink anytime soon. I grasp the cup and wait. A small girl wearing a ski cap stands in the doorway watching me solemnly. She reaches for my hand. She takes some bread. She barely moves when a chicken pushes past her to get into the house.

Now from the bed in the corner comes the soft crying that reminds us why we are here. The baby's mother is young. Too young, and she delivered her baby three nights ago, in her home, alone. We want to see the baby, to hold her. We give the mother food, and clothing, and diapers, and prayers and advice: please, please keep her warm. Keep breastfeeding. Go to a clinic. Take her for a check up. Please. Please. Please.
 

 




And now I'm taking pictures to print for them later; pictures of the grandmother, of the mother, of the baby, of the neighbour girl in her cap. Pictures of our tea and our bread. Kim helps: pictures of my thumb, of his chin, of our toes. 

And now we're praying and now we're standing to leave and now we are walking home and all I can do, all we can do, is pray that the mother stays healthy, that she receives the help she needs, that she does the best she can.

  



             It's all any of us can do: the best we can. 

Visible Grace History: part three (I'm pretending to write a book)

(part two is here.)

I left off with the entrance of a ‘young college student who thinks she knows everything’. Heh. You see, I was studying child development. I was an expert on all things kid-related, and I knew what was best for them, because my text books and teachers told me so. Plus, I’d taken the American Red Cross Babysitting Class when I was like 13. Thirteen!

So there I am, spending a semester in Nairobi, Kenya, at the entitled and enlightened age of 19. I have and do and always will love children of all ages, specializing in two and three year olds. I never really thought I would end up focusing all my energy on eradicating or relieving severe poverty. I’m not an economic or sociological expert. But I remember seeing the cover of a Christian magazine when I was maybe 10- starving Ethiopians holding their hands up to the all-knowing western photographer who, I pray, was working to ease their pain. That cover was the first time I was really aware- I mean to-the-core awareness- of other people’s pain. And that may well have been the day I began to shed the protective layer people keep between their hearts and the world’s.

Because I don’t have it, that layer. I feel your pain. If you’re in pain- I feel it. This is called compassion, empathy or awful. Take your pick.

So: my point is, I distinctly remember the first time I realized there were people who are suffering in this world. And then I went to high school with a friend whose parents were missionaries. She’d grown up in various parts of Africa, and regaled me with stories about Kenya- nothing spectacular, nothing crazily eccentric- just fond stories of the women, the colours, the children, the scents and sights that comprise daily life in Kenya.

And THEN I went to college, full of hope and energy and wide-eyed wonder and stories from my dad about how his ONE wish in college had been that he’d been able to study abroad.

So when my academic advisor returned for the school year brimming with stories about his time in Kenya…well. Here. We. Go.

the plan! (part three)

first of all, a side note- I am moving out of my apartment at the end of April and staying with friends until I leave, to save money, and OH MY GOSH YOU GUYS, who let me accumulate this much stuff?!

anyway- the month of May will be spent visiting my sister and other family members, saying goodbye to friends, and preparing to leave.

AND THEN.

on June 21st I will leave Oregon and head 'home'. and here's what I plan to do from there (Lord willing):

for the first few months, I will live with my Kenyan sister Susan (pictured left on her wedding day), her wonderful husband Wilson, and my Kenyan niece, Eileen (named after me. more on that incredible honour later). (you can expect to see pictures exclusively of me with her in my arms for the next...10 years or so.) Susan and Wilson live in an apartment in the town of Ngong, about 20 kilometres from our VG land. they are
saving to build a house for themselves.

my immediate goal and focus is to acquire custody of 6-8 children, who I will take into my care. we will move into the home on our land as soon as the house is ready. we are about $6000 away from finishing the house- trim, tile, countertops etc. did any of my readers happen to win the lottery?

choosing the kids will be a process consisting of prayer, advice and recommendations from leaders in the community, the vote of the VG board in Kenya, and the help of our incredible lawyer, Franklin. I am not expecting this to be easy, but God sometimes throws us for a loop by working everything out quickly! whatever happens, I know he is in control and wants what is best for these kids. his love for these kids greatly outweighs mine, and I know he will set them in homes. amen!

part two: when, and how.

over the past ten years I've been to Kenya eleven different times for a total of 24 wonderful months on that beautiful red soil.

that's a lot of frequent flier miles, in case you were wondering.

I've always dreamed of living there- I mean LIVING there, not visiting- but I've been (almost) content just to visit. often. most of my friends know that my long term goal was to finally settle in Kenya, but it's never quite been the right time. there's always something to keep me here in Oregon. there's always so much to do.

but it's finally time. we have finally reached the tipping point, the point where my time and resources are better spent in Kenya than here in the US. the point where I can finally sell my car, give up my apartment, and invest in a better, faster, more awesome camera. finally give up on trying to keep my asthma, anxiety and insomnia under control, and just go home.

HOME.

I will be leaving in mid-June. I can't wait.

moving: part one.

for years I've felt like I'm living on the wrong side of the mirror. I'll look around this beautiful, beautiful town (seriously- I love Portland!) and everything feels upside-down, or at least backward.

my heart beats correctly in Nairobi (literally- but that's a different story). things are NOT easy there. they aren't convenient. don't get me wrong, Nairobi is fairly Westernised and you can get almost everything you want, and certainly everything you need- but it can still be really, really annoying.

the buses are always late, and slow, and prices change daily, and the potholes make me crazy. restaurants never have what they say they have, and the last time I went grocery shopping, the store was 'out' of rice. RICE. phone service is terrible, and expensive. internet is slow at best. the rains are late and crops are bad and employment is low and crime rates are high and people are hungry and tired. it's entirely imperfect.

but it's HOME.

I am moving home at the end of June. and when I say 'moving', I mean finally. moving. home. I've been waiting for this for almost a decade, and it's time.

ruin and treasure

where there is ruin, there is hope for a treasure. ~Rumi

I spend about half my time and energy thinking about how to get children out of the slums and into (as of yet non existent) homes on my land, and the other half of my time and energy worrying about myself: why does my back hurt? why am I so sad? why can't I buy more clothes?

there needs to be some balance, probably. and by 'balance', I mean, less of me, more of Him.

more Jesus.

more of the One who loves these children, knows their names, and has authority over the dust and dirt, the disease and the filth, the poverty and oppression. authority, even, over my whiny, selfish self.


I need to take my eyes off myself, because I can't fix myself anyway. I need to throw myself into this project, because as I love and serve others, and spend time with the One who loves them, I will begin to heal; I will begin to be healed.

the problem is that I don't know where to start. I feel very stuck. not with the general concept, but with the actual day-to-day tasks: I need money.

a lot of it.

but there is One who knows, and today I'm choosing to trust in Him.

VisiGrace news!