I am often broken inside. The struggles here, some are not much different than there. Trying to love my husband and kids well, trying to keep a clean, hospitable home, trying to listen to God’s promptings throughout my day, to serve Him well. I often feel like I’m failing. Yelling at my kids, impatient with their requests, insensitive to my husband’s needs, uncertain that I’m doing the right things in schooling, uncertain whether I’m reaching these hearts for Jesus. I often feel broken. And I am. We all are.
And then a girl comes to our door. Holding a chameleon. Or three chameleons. With a radiant smile on her face. And shoes with holes on her feet. She knows Jesus. She is full of His joy. She wants us to come to her home. I say, “Maybe one day we could.” Then about a week later she shows up and says that her mom has made lunch for us and could we come…now? Taken by surprise, and conflicted because we already had plans to have lunch with another missionary family, we pray and decide to go. Some of our kids complain, not too excited by the change of plans. She says the walk will take 5 minutes…almost an hour later, after a true “hike” (by American standards) we arrive.
They live in a hut. We duck our heads to go inside. They usher us in with huge smiles and “Karibu’s” (welcome in Swahili). They have us sit on their benches and makeshift tables. There are thin cloths draped on the benches. Do some of them sleep here at night? It is very possible. The youngest child serves us each with a large tin plate of beans and rice. They don’t eat. Have they already eaten? Or are they giving us most of their food for lunch that day? They don’t speak much English, but they are very engaged and want to talk with us. We listen and learn more about their culture. We encourage our kids to eat, wondering and hoping we will not offend them by our all too common lack of respect for God’s provision in the food set before us.
As we finish up, the kids run and play with the other kids. Many have gathered now, friends, cousins, neighbors. They all seem to come when they see a “mzungu” (white person) in view. I follow Abby out of the hut to see where the mama went. She has been working hard, I know. I enter another small hut nearby to see her sitting by a small fire in the corner, positioned right next to a bed. I ask, “Is this where your children sleep?” Yes. She has 3. She motions for me to sit. I sit, and we both smile. I tell her she’s a good mama. I don’t know if she understands. There weren’t many words, but as she sat there and stirred the chai over the fire, and we both watched the babies play, we somehow bonded. I saw her Kipsigis Bible. They have almost nothing in the way of possessions. No running water, only stagnant rainwater with bugs in it to drink & wash dishes. Only this small fire to cook over. The kids don’t have any toys. But yet, they have joy in their eyes. They love Jesus. They are so hospitable. His light shines.
This experience was so humbling and amazing for us that day. It was a miracle really. Just that morning we had had total chaos in our home. Our kids wild and unruly, ourselves discontent and searching, questioning, “Are we any use here?” And then we experienced this generosity, this love, from a family that doesn’t even really know us. A girl who radiates His love, despite her hard circumstances.
As we said good-bye, they all waved and I grabbed the mama’s hand. They sent us with a huge pumpkin, bananas, and another chameleon. The kids all came with us to “escort us home” (their words). Dorcas carried Joshua as he complained of the blisters on his feet. Still with a smile. And a little way down the road, a missionary friend of ours appeared with his van to pick us up. We felt a bit guilty to jump in and drive off, but the Kenyan kids didn’t seem to mind. They helped us in and waved us off.
God, you are big. God, you are working. Are we of any use here? Is that even the right question? I think maybe it’s not. Who am I to question? My struggles are small compared to Your grace, your glory. Thank you for teaching us that day. Through one girl and a journey to her family’s home. Your love is beautiful. Open our eyes, Lord, to receive and to give. We have so much more to learn.