"Typical"...with Accents.

Day 22 –

   A “typical” day at school. The Lord gave me words and a story to tell the youngest students at the school for the morning devotion. The school day was full, and the evenings were restful and full of joy.

   I will never forget a conversation I had with Madame Purity. She is always quick to encourage (or rebuke, depending). She told me that if you speak the word of God, you are allowing Him to use you. We are a vessel. You should not worry about whether you did well or not, He will speak through you. It is conversations like that which slam me back to reality and a better perspective on my weaknesses.

   I will never forget the teachers in general.  There is Mark getting himself into arguments with his fellow teachers and stirring up trouble. His arguing will never cease. There is Fred, who made me giggle with his sudden sighs that turned into outbursts as he entered the room…”Oh! I have to grade papers!” Agnes and Winnie were quiet unless you talked to them one on one. Phoebe and Purity were the playful and passionate ones. Babu (Gregory) who’s smile was contagious and who spoke with impeccable English. Martha, who had a stern face, but would show her fun, joyful side sometimes. I was attached.

   When I helped in Winnie’s classroom, I was able to hear her story that also sticks in my mind. Her father is an alcoholic and has been ever since he was young; he is not a born-again Christian. Yet, this teacher has hope – she didn’t look discouraged at all while sharing. She has hope and she prays for him constantly. “God has protected him and has kept him alive for a reason. Soon he will be saved.” If that doesn’t blow you away…
    While I visited the school this last summer, the first question I asked Winnie was regarding her father. She didn’t hesitate to smile and say, “He is still not saved.” She then proceeded to tell me that it will happen in December when he has to walk into a church for her wedding. Even though we laughed about it, I will be praying that he does.

    I walked into the house at the end of the day with red earth caked, yet again, to my legs and feet.     Playing tag with the older girls was such an enjoyable time.
We went through our usual routine at home. Laughter.
   I remember Bea and me giggling over a Kenyan rapper showed on the TV (they are the same there as they are in the States), and that set the whole mood for the night. Pastor was an absolute joy and got very silly during dinner. He constantly urged us to take more food, “We won’t have to eat in heaven so we should eat enough now!”    Then, we started discussing the difference in English and Kenyan accents. I wrote the word “bowl” on a piece of paper and had Pastor read it. In his accent, it sounded like “bowel”. Bea and I laughed ridiculously hard for at least 5 minutes until we could explain to a slightly confused pastor how the differences changed the meaning to us. We proceeded and even tried to speak in each other’s accents.  That is finding joy in the differences.

Far from a Preacher

I will not give up on this blog. Haha! Only halfway through and I’ve already been back to that beloved country and home again. Keep up with me if you still can!

Day 21 –

“I preached today. I am so glad it is over.”

     Looking back, I cannot believe how nervous I was to preach at Mwangaza Pentecostal Church (in the same compound as the school) that Sunday. Nerves were present as I was getting up, eating my breakfast of arrowroot, and nerves riding with our boda-boda, Abdala, to church. These days, if I can be prepared, I don’t mind speaking in front of people as much as I did two summers ago.
      I was prepared. I read my notes over and over again; they occupied my thoughts as we sat in the prayer meeting, worshiped and danced with the children in Sunday school, and as we waited for the service to start. Pastor looked at me expectantly from the pulpit as he invited me and Teacher Mark to come up for the sermon. “Ahhhh! I can’t do this. I can’t do this. Okay, I have to do this. I have to do this. Lord, speak for me or it will be a disaster!” My feet dragged as I stood up and walked over to meet Mark, who was a calming comfort as he translated my shaky English.
      I don’t remember much. I don’t remember what I even preached on. All I remember was that it was short and that I knew, without a shadow of doubt, I was not gifted as a preacher.
That was OK with me! It was great, though, that I had that opportunity anyway because God used it to help me grow regardless of the results. I am continually reminded that being comfortable doesn’t help you grow as a believer in Christ, or even as a person in general.
      Mama and Pastor were so encouraging anyway despite my unsatisfactory (according to me) attempt at a sermon. I love them for that. Mama especially pointed out everything she liked about what I said, but also didn't leave out the fact that it was clear and concise. How blessed I was/am to have their unconditional love!  
       Among the faces of the usual congregation (mostly women) was a boy that we had prayed for during house visits just the day before. He was ailing of symptoms Bea and I couldn’t piece together. The point is that he was well enough to walk to church that morning if not healed all the way. Praise God! It was wonderful to “finally” see the fruit of our obedience to Jesus as we worked for the good of the Kingdom. That was just enough encouragement to carry us to the end of our assignment. It was coming soon. My journal was already full of, “I will miss…” this, thats, and this person. That was it. A part of my heart will be in Kwale district forever. To be able to describe why…well, just read the rest of my blog and maybe the answer will be there; in between each word, each sentence.

      The rest of our Sunday was spent resting, reflecting, and washing our clothes by hand. The latter activity also included chasing after Blessings when she grabbed a soaked garment to finish “cleaning” it herself. She wanted to do what we were doing. What would I have done without that child? She honestly would have been missed dearly.

    Lastly, as I reflected on my time with my wonderful new family, this is what came out of my pen:

     Since I’ve been in Kwale, God has made it clear to me how much pride gets in the way. My pride is cracked when everyone sees me as a delicate American girl. I’ve always wanted to prove to others that I was strong physically and emotionally – I don’t know why. I truly think that it is one thing I have done my whole life, for so long, that I haven’t recognized this sin. It’s a habit. My lovely friend Grace was quick to remind me that the women I come across in Kenya do more (physically) in a day than I do in a week. Fact. They are stronger, and I am weaker. I don’t fully accept that I am weak and Christ is the only thing strong in my life most days, but I know now how wrong that is. "...[His] power is made perfect in weakness." 
I want to bring that home with me. That and the joyful, slow-paced, relationship-focused lifestyle that I have come to love.
    God was changing me and shaping me as I learned to sit at His feet and listen - not proving to those around me how strong I was. My nature is to be a “Martha” and busy myself with tasks, and He was gently leading me to realize that being a “Mary” is more important (from Luke 10:38-42).
    The beginning of our adventure brought one question that still hadn’t been answered: Why did God choose to allow me to be in Kenya, on this trip, with this host-family, with this team, this summer of 2011? Maybe the answer won’t be clear now or in the near future…
But we will see, won’t we?

 
On a less serious note:
     I’ve realized, in my experience so far, that I dream (and remember my dreams) more in Kenya than in my bed in Colorado. The dreams are always set at home with friends and family who are close to me, or sometimes people I haven’t seen in years, and I wake up having to reorient myself back with the East African sunrise.
    The dreams I’ve had also never make any sense. One in particular made Bea laugh too hard for the early morning. The dream started with me at my church looking at reptiles in cases, and it ended with me running for my life from an old woman chasing after me. She had a bag containing a substance I won’t name that she intended to dump in the backpack on my shoulders… What?! I know. I know. I have no idea where that one came from.