Shoshos and Sisters

This past Saturday was when I think I began to truly recognize that many of the people we visit and share life with and the relationships we have made here are more than just acquaintances and friendships - they have become family. I find it so wonderfully strange and beautifully real how many similarities there are in the relationships and interactions and conversations I have back at home and those I've had here - sure, the customs may be different, and the language, and the way we live daily life - but I have been struck by the incredibly simple yet incredibly profound truth that we are all just HUMAN - just broken, searching, relationship-desiring humans. And because of that very deep and so very basic 'common denominator', if you will, we are able to create bonds that go far beyond just surface-level understanding of another's culture or "cross-cultural interaction" - we are able to relate to one another and laugh and joke with each other and truly become family.

Who would have thought, for example, that Shosho Veronica (Shosho means Grandma in the Kikuyu language) from the IDP camp would "adopt me", so to speak, into her family! We met Shosho Veronica the first week that we were handing out food at the IDP camp, and when I first met her I instantly felt so much love and admiration for her. We learned through hearing bits and pieces of her story that she has endured many, many trials and hardships and oppression that we can't even imagine throughout her life, yet she retains a joy and a faith (like so many other persecuted people here) that is beyond inspiring. But not only is Shosho strong and resilient, she is also a tiny (literally, she is less than 5 ft. tall) fiery, hilarious, and spunky little grandma! She had joked the first time we visited her about wanting me to stay and live with her, and when we went back this past Saturday she bantered with Matt for a good 20 minutes about what she would "trade" me for - they settled on me staying with her in exchange for 150 shillings and two puppies (which is a little insulting since I think I'm probably worth more than that, but it was all in good fun :)). I felt incredibly sad to leave Shosho that day knowing that was the last time we would be in the IDP camp, and she made us promise over and over that we will never forget her and that if we ever come back to Kenya we will visit her. In true hilarious Shosho Veronica spirit she also requested that we give her love to our families and to all our cows and chickens back home (direct translation). I promised her that I absolutely will, and I told her that she will forever be in my heart as my Kenyan Shosho.

And then at the Hospital this week, I adopted ANOTHER Shosho into my rapidly expanding family! This wonderful Shosho was named Shosho Annah, and we met her while visiting patients in the Women's ward on Tuesday. She told us her story about how she had been in a matatu accident back in December and how she is one of only 3 people who survived out of the 14 who were in the van. She had bad hip and leg injuries, and has been in and out of hospitals for the past 6 months. We just spent time talking with her and hearing about her life and family, and she asked about our lives back in the States and what we were doing here in Kenya. She was so sweet and joyful and she held our hands as we sat with her and prayed over her. We went back the next day and as soon as she saw us walk in the room her face lit up and she was beaming to see that we had come back to visit her. It was again very difficult having to leave at the end of our time with her because Wednesday was our last day at the Hospital, but we were able to get a picture with Shosho Annah and we assured her that she will be in our thoughts and prayers even when we return home.

Not only did I gain two precious grandmothers this week, but I also acquired approximately 600 new sisters. Yep, 600! After spending time at the IDP camp on Saturday we went to visit Kijabe Girls High School. We hadn't been to the high school yet so I wasn't really sure what to expect - I think I actually thought it might be a little harder or at least more draining than the primary schools we've been working at, because let's be honest, little kids can be much easier to entertain and win over than teenage girls. What I thought was going to be a tiring experience or interaction though was the COMPLETE opposite. We were enthusiastically welcomed and embraced by about 15 girls, and after we chatted with them for a while they invited us to come to their worship service that they have multiple times a week in their auditorium. Needless to say what ensued was SO not what I was expecting. The "service," which I would feel more comfortable calling a "Jesus party," was possibly the most joy-saturated, exuberant worship service I've ever been a part of. I remember thinking it was some sort of oddly fantastic mix between a dance party, a gospel-style praise session, and the approximate volume and excitement level of a Duke basketball game. The 600 or so girls' voices blended together in worship into one of the strongest, purest, most spirit-filled sounds I have ever heard. I was so caught up in the beauty and joy of it all that the only thing I was really aware of was that I didn't want it to end. I was also thinking somewhat subconsciously during those moments about the mind-blowing CRAZINESS of the fact that we were standing there singing completely unabashedly with our sisters in Christ, across the world from our home, in Kenya, together and worshiping ONE God. I can only speak for myself, but that scene right there is one of the most beautiful images of pure joy that I could ever imagine and that I could ever hope to experience. And it was AWESOME. I wouldn't have traded that "Jesus party" - worshiping with my joyous sisters - for anything, and I'll never forget the passion and abandon with which they sang and danced and the inspiration I found in that and in them.

And now, my two months in Kenya is officially coming to a close...I kind of can't deny it anymore because we're currently at a resort-type place doing our team debrief and we have 3 days left in country. The whole thought of leaving to go home in just a few days is emotionally very confusing and bittersweet. I've not only grown accustomed to life here but I've become fond of so many of the aspects and quirks and simplicities of Kenyan life. Not only that, but the thought of leaving my new friends and family - both my team family and my Kenyan family - is heartbreaking. I'm nervous for re-entry for many reasons, but I'm also confident in the Lord to lead me through this next phase of processing and applying what I've seen, heard, experienced, and learned. At this point I can't even know or fully understand all the ways that I've changed and grown, and I know I'll be reflecting on this experience for months and years to come (actually, probably for the rest of my life!) And to all of you - my wonderful friends and family back HOME who are reading this and who I can't WAIT to see - thank you, thank you, thank you for all your support and prayers, and stay tuned for a final blog once I'm back!

Break My Heart for what Breaks Yours

...Open up my eyes to the things unseen / Show me how to love like you have loved me / Break  my heart for what breaks yours / Everything I am for your Kingdom's cause
- Hosanna

This past week God has been repeatedly breaking my heart for what breaks His. While that may make it sound like I've had a very sorrow-filled or saddening week, that actually has not been the case at all. On the contrary, the moments that have stuck out to me the most from our time spent at the hospital and visiting friends in Kijabe Town were, while heartbreaking in many ways, also full of God's overwhelming comfort and redemption. Let me explain...

My ministry team spent Tuesday and Wednesday in the pediatrics ward and the maternity ward at the hospital, just spending time talking with the patients and also the mothers of the children and newborn /very young babies. The language barrier was at times a bit frustrating because we didn't have a translator with us, but we did the best we could and with little children and babies we couldn't exactly carry on a full conversation anyway so we communicated in other ways through smiling and giving high fives and hugs. One of my favorite parts of the first day was spending a couple hours talking with three mothers in the maternity ward - all three of their babies had spina bifida, and two of them also had hydroenchepalitis. All the mothers - Winefred, Josephine, and Jennifer - were in their twenties, and were SO excited and appreciative to have company and just someone to talk to. As we got to know them and hear their stories (and love on their precious babies), they began to share with us some of their pain and their fears about their babies' conditions. They told us that before they came to Kijabe Hospital and encountered numerous other children with the same conditions, they thought their child was the only one in the world born with that illness and visible external problem. They shared the anxiety they felt for weeks not knowing if the doctors would be able to do anything to help them and they expressed their fears for when their children grow older and have physical problems that the other children around them do not have. We spoke encouragement and truth over them to the best of our ability, telling them that their children are overwhelmingly LOVED by their Creator and no matter what the world around them says, God sees them as perfect, made in His image and flawlessly knit together by His hands. And as my heart absolutely broke seeing these little tiny babies suffer and seeing their mothers suffer emotionally as well, God gave me waves of comfort and love to pour into them. And the next day that we spent at the hospital, I felt even more prepared and more determined to bring the Lord's comfort to these brokenhearted and hurting people. As I got to spend hour after wonderful hour staring at and playing with the most adorable and precious children and babies EVER, I realized that God's purpose in "breaking our hearts for what breaks His" is not that we simply feel and accept what is painful, but rather that we fight injustice when we see it, offer love and comfort when we witness those in distress, and pray for the things that God has the ability to heal and change. 

On Thursday, we trekked to Kijabe Town for the last time to see and say our goodbyes to some of the people we have made relationships with there. We spent most of our time with Mary, an older woman who we had met the previous week. We learned during our last visit with her that she is still very much grieving over the loss of her son, who passed away from cancer less than a year ago. She shared more with us yesterday about Peter (her son) and the emotional struggles she has been dealing with since his death. I am not a parent yet, but there is no doubt that the loss of a child is the hardest thing anyone could go through, and my heart broke for Mary in her grief and the spiritual and emotional wrestling that was clearly going on deep in her soul. I remembered what I had felt at the hospital, that God has put us in these peoples' lives to fight for them and pour strength into them when they have literally no strength left to fight for themselves. And so we did just that - again, to the best of our ability - we spoke encouragement to Mary and prayed healing into her life. When Matt told Mary that he will remember her as his Kenyan mother, she smiled through her tears, and I felt that we had been able to bring her maybe just a little bit of comfort and a glimmer of hope.

What I saw and heard this past week may have broken my heart, but it also grew my heart for God's people, His children. And I feel like through these experiences He has been strengthening me and maturing me so that as I continue to come into contact with hurting people and unjust situations, I will not even hesitate to join them in fighting for hope and healing.

Well that's all I have time for right now - I'm not sure if I'll get a chance to blog again before we leave a week from Sunday (wow, that's a weird thought), so if you don't hear from me before then please pray for strength for saying our goodbyes, safe travels, and I'll catch you up on everything when I'm back in the good ol' USA!

Love, 
Bethany 

Brokenness

just some thoughts...

I've been reflecting on and praying a lot about brokenness recently. To be honest, I've had a tough time fully grasping what that term means, both in a larger context and in my life personally. I am generally a pretty positive and joyful and optimistic person - especially here, where I've had moments and days filled with such pure and unadulterated joy, joy that is uncomplicated and uncluttered as a result of the beautiful simplicity of African life. Anyways, I think for me 'brokenness' has always carried a rather negative connotation; in my mind it sounds rather scary and vulnerable and depressing, and I'm not a huge fan of feeling any of those emotions. But slowly, God has been revealing to me through seeing more of the brokenness of this world outside of my usual little bubble and through gently showing me my own broken nature that fullness can only be found in Jesus once we truly realize, accept, and confess our brokenness.

Seeking brokenness in Jesus is NOT feeling like we are failures or feeling as though we are useless - those are lies straight from Satan trying to convince us that we are unlovable and incapable of receiving God's grace. Rather, coming to a place of brokenness actually brings us out of those places of fear and of insecurity and delivers us into a place of peace. I know this to be true because I experienced it last night as we worshiped and sang together. I had been hearing, and even at times truly believing, lies about my worth, that I am of little value and importance, that what good am I really doing here in Kenya? But then last night, instead of just letting those thoughts continue to swirl, I began to confess my brokenness to Jesus. I began spilling out some of the secrets of my soul, telling Him that I am a bit of a disaster right now, that I am confused and messy and unclean and stained and full of regret over things I have done and fearful about decisions I will have to make. I told Him that I have at times felt like a fake and a failure. And as I sat there, finally telling Jesus how broken I am and how greatly and deeply I desire Him to take me away from those places of fear and sin, I found myself in a place of inexplicable peace, and surrounded by a comfort found within His loving embrace.

This week I have been reading and thoroughly enjoying Blue Like Jazz, and in his chapter called "Grace" Donald Miller writes about seeking God's love within our brokenness, rather than seeking it from a place of feeling like we are worthy or deserving. He writes: "Self-discipline will never make us feel righteous or clean; accepting God's love will. The ability to accept God's unconditional grace and ferocious love is all the fuel we need to obey Him in return. Accepting God's kindness and free love is something the devil does not want us to do. If we hear, in our inner ear, a voice saying we are failures, we are losers, we will never amount to anything, this is the voice of Satan trying to convince the bride that the groom does not love her. This is not the voice of God. God woos us with kindness, He changes our character with the passion of His love." If we are willing to beg for and accept our Father's love from a place of humility - a place of true brokenness and need - we receive fullness and identity from Christ, something that I know personally brings me greater peace than anything else ever could. And as Miller writes, "...a beggar's kingdom is better than a proud man's delusion."

Home

This place is really starting to feel like home. We know our way around the town, we say hi to our favorite shop cashiers and restaurant owners, we go running and play soccer on the nearby field, and we have a bunch of favorite hangout spots (like the cafeteria at the Hospital which has amazing 'chips' (french fries)!) I'm so comfortable and at ease here that I've started to forget that we still stand out - I get confused now when people stop to stare at us and the little kids yell "Mzungu! Mzungu!" when we walk by. Anyways, it's an absolutely wonderful feeling to be so at home here. I know it's going to be incredibly difficult for me to leave this place and my teammates who I've grown so close to, so I'm not thinking about it yet because we still have 2 weeks left!

Since we got back to Kijabe at the beginning of this month, we have been doing different service projects each day of the week that we'll continue for the rest of our time here. On Tuesdays and Wednesdays we work at Kijabe Hospital, cooking food and delivering tea and meals, doing visitations with the patients, and working with kids in pediatrics and newborns in the maternity ward. On Thursdays we hike about an hour to an area called 'Kijabe-town', which is a very small and quiet area of Kijabe - it seemed so unpopulated at first glance that it reminded me of an old western ghost town. We do ministry in the morning and have been hanging out with a bunch of local guys in their teens and twenties at the pool hall in the middle of town, and in the afternoon we go to a nearby school and play games with the kids. On Fridays we teach at a primary school (K-5) very close to where we are staying - Kate and I have been working with the 2nd grade class, which is SUCH a fun age group - this morning they greeted us excitedly and eagerly showed us the work they had been doing. And then on Saturdays, we drive down to the IDP camp that we worked at last month and we hand out packages of food and spend time talking with the families.

This whole past week has been especially eye-opening and challenging for me. The two days we spent at the hospital were particularly tough. To be completely honest, hospitals make me a bit tense. I've known for most of my life that my calling is NOT in the medical professional, and I'm quite honestly okay with that. Sickness makes me nervous, and blood makes me just plain uncomfortable. And some of the situations we witnessed at the hospital were just so horrific and extreme that it was all I could do not to both throw up and cry at the same time. It is difficult to accurately explain or convey what I saw or the emotions I felt as I walked through the different wards and saw baby after baby with Spina Bifida or Hydroencephalitis, and countless other patients with severe burns or other deformities or illnesses. It was sobering, to say the least, but even more than that it was irreversible what I saw. As I mentioned in an earlier blog, Shauna Niequist writes that it is impossible to ever "un-see" what you see in Africa. And I get it now. The images I saw while in the hospital, and the things I will continue to see, are now permanently drawn in my mind and imprinted onto my heart.

It was equally sobering the experience we had and the stories we heard while in the IDP camp last Saturday. The families we talked to shared with us about the persecution and pain they had been through as people from one tribe violently attacked them and burned down their homes solely because they were from a different tribe. I couldn't stop thinking about how the beautiful old grandmother I hugged and the family of 9 we shared tea with were actual victims of a form of genocide. It's been a week since we listened to some of their stories and I still haven't been able to fully wrap my mind around everything we've heard. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to actually. And I'm not sure I ever want to stop remembering what I've seen and heard, because this place is one of my homes now, and I never want to forget that, or forget the people here.

It feels nice to be settled into a schedule, but at the same time, I don't want life here to become just a day-to-day routine. I want, I crave for each day to be filled with the Lord's surprises, with His unexpected plans, and with His crazy and exciting wonders. And I believe that we will see miracles happen here and experience His Kingdom here on Earth - we already have and we will continue to! I've been praying for perseverance and persistence for our team, that we will be bold and active and alive here in our last couple weeks, and that we will be able to give as much to this place that now feels like home as it has already given to us.

Maasai and Chai

Welcomed. Embraced. Celebrated - three words to describe how I (and our whole team) felt this past week as we traveled to Moi Ndabi (about a 2 hour drive from Kijabe) and lived in a Maasai village. I honestly had no idea how we would be received - the Maasai people are some of the most traditional of all the Kenyan tribes. After all, if a group of strangely dressed, oddly loud young people came to your home and essentially camped out in your backyard, how might you feel? But the reception that we received from these beautiful people as we set up camp on their land and visited their homes daily was nothing short of a royal welcome. When we arrived last Monday (6/27) and set up our tents in what felt like the middle of nowhere (yep, you guessed it: no running water, no electricity, no showers - just us and the African bush!) the pastor's wife had 3 teapots full of chai and a huge tub of bread prepared for us. This trend continued throughout the whole week - practically everywhere we went we were greeted warmly and enthusiastically with huge smiles and an emphatic invitation to come in for a cup of chai (and often times massive plates of food as well!) It was equally beautiful to see and to learn from these peoples' immense faith in the Lord and the simplicity of their lives. When we asked one elderly couple - Samuel and Margaret - that we visited what they generally filled their time with on a day-to-day basis, Margaret responded, "Just breathing in and out and waiting for the Lord!" Another much older Maasai woman we encountered was sitting on the ground outside her hut, peeling potatoes. We asked her if she lived there alone, and she replied with a huge toothless grin, "No, not alone - I stay here with God!" I was struck over and over again by the pure faith, joy, and simplicity by which these people live.

In the interest of saving time, as usual, here are a few other highlights from this past week in Moi Ndabi:

• camping outside and living it rather rustic for the week :)
• going to a traditional Kikuyu funeral - a huge celebration with singing, dancing, and massive plates of food!
• playing games, singing, and teaching at two primary schools - the girls are always fascinated with my long hair and like to braid it and stroke it for hours
• praying healing (both spiritual and physical) over Denayo - an elderly man paralyzed in the left side of his body
• having fellowship each night with the local people around the campfire - LOTS of traditional Maasai singing and sharing of testimonies
• hours and hours of waiting (we truly learned the meaning of "African time" this week!) during which we were able to read, journal, and talk lots
• STUNNING mountainous views and gorgeous landscapes that reminded me weirdly of the mountains at home!
• playing volleyball at the school and again the next day with the locals - them vs. the "Mzungus" (white people) (...we got killed both times, of course)
• walking to the wildlife park about 2 miles from our campsite - we've now seen a number of antelope, zebras, warthogs, flamingos, some hippos from a little ways away, and a few beautiful giraffes (I'm still crossing my fingers for a lion and an elephant sighting in the next few weeks though!)

On a slight tangent, I also want to take a second in this blog to brag on my incredible, fantastic, insanely awesome team. We're more than halfway through the trip now, and consequently already freaking out about having to leave each other in a month, and making plans for how and when we will visit each other after that :). We have grown into a family, a unified body, one in the Lord. I love them like they are my brothers and sisters (which they are!) and we laugh together and cry together and joke and play and pray together. This past week we wrote each other letters of encouragement and love - one to a different person each day - and as we spent many hours together around the campfire, we formed new bonds and new appreciation for one another. We chased away livestock, we made friendship bracelets, we had Harry Potter duels with African sticks (don't judge - we had to find ways to entertain ourselves!), we snuck into the "kitchen" (two tarps strung together) to get peanut butter for dessert, we played Mafia and sang funny songs and shared favorite memories.

Yesterday we returned home to Kijabe, tired and drained and beyond disgusting (8 days without a shower!) and celebrated the Fourth of July with a huge American-style feast - burgers, french fries, and mac and cheese (which our Kenyan friends who joined us found very weird and rather gross). And now we will be staying put in Kijabe for the remaining 3 1/2 weeks! We will be working at Kijabe Hospital and teaching in a number of schools, so please pray for our time here and the relationships that we already have and those that will be formed.

Much love and Mungu akubariki (God bless!),
Bethany

Honesty

Written on July 2nd:

Today I felt like my heart was on a roller coaster - I experienced such a wide array of emotion and thoughts in just one day that I feel tired and spent. To be perfectly honest though, I needed today. I was slowly starting to believe the lie that the compassion I once so strongly felt in my heart for the oppressed - for the world's victims of injustice - had somehow faded away, petered out...maybe even all but died. I knew down deep that I still have SUCH a heart for the hurting, such passion to drive away and fight against injustice, but I think I expected to feel that intensity every second of every day here in Kenya, and it just wasn't happening. Don't get me wrong, I have absolutely been feeling the weight of poverty and oppression - it's everywhere you turn. But it hits you in such mass quantities here that it is almost as if the sheer force of it all numbs you to it. I couldn't take it all in at once or process it all at one time, because if I had and if I did I think my heart would have exploded by about day 2. So instead, I think it's almost as if I have allowed myself to be affected by it just as much as my fragile heart can handle before it bursts. And honestly, I had been keeping it all pretty well in control until now - neatly emotional but not too messy - until today. Today, my heart burst a little bit.

We were in the Maasai village going house to house as usual, talking to those we encountered and praying with people. It was hot and nearing lunchtime and I was starting to wish I'd brought along my water bottle instead of leaving the extra weight back at the campsite. And then we came across Mary. She was sitting on a stump outside her home and something about the expression on her face told me she was hurting, but I didn't think much of it at first. I wasn't paying complete attention as our translator Francis talked to her for a little bit in Swahili, and then all of sudden I half-heard him say with wide eyes, "Mary has lost 7 children." I actually thought for a moment I had heard him wrong. I looked over at Mary, who had tears streaming down her face. I felt my heart shatter, and I lost control of the emotion that had been building up inside of me for so long. And in that moment, I finally understood what it meant for God to be the only one we can count on, the only one we can rely on, turn to, plead with, fall on, cry out for in our times of deepest, deepest sorrow and need. And our team (the 4 of us - me, Matt, Claire, and Emily) did the only thing we could do, offered literally the only thing we could offer this woman that has the potential to bring healing: we prayed. We prayed healing and restoration over her wounded and broken heart, and we prayed the enemy OUT of her home. I felt Jesus weeping with us as we wept and I felt His presence come into that place, more strongly than I have felt in ages.

And then this afternoon, there was the little girl I fell completely in love with. I don't know where she came from, or where her parents were, or even what her name was. But she was standing there, very quiet and very still, among the swarm of screaming, jumping children watching our volleyball game with the locals in the village. She couldn't have been more than a year old, and I didn't hear her say one word for the whole hour that I stood there holding her. She was wearing a coat at least 5 sizes too big for her and she didn't have on any shoes. The second I had her in my arms, I didn't want to let her go. She seemed unresponsive and expressionless at first, and I worried that she might be very ill or just plain terrified of me. But then, I stretched out my hand to her with my palm open, and she looked first at me, and then at my hand, and slowly, gently, she put her hand in mine. I could feel my broken heart from earlier today melt back to whole. I held her to my body, as close as I could, trying to squeeze as much love into her as was supernaturally possible. I knew I wouldn't have very long with her, so I began praying over her, that God would grow her strong and healthy and that she would be deeply blessed throughout her whole life. I slid my dirty friendship bracelet off my own wrist and tied it onto hers, knowing that although one of her siblings would probably take it from her once they discovered it, I still felt like for a few hours, we could be connected, and she would have a little piece of me. That silent, still, beautiful child took hold of my heart the moment she took hold of my hand. And I don't even know her name, but both our names are written on God's heart, and for just an hour our lives intersected - and for those brief moments with her I will be eternally grateful.

The sweet joy I felt holding that child stood in stark contrast to the pain I felt earlier today when we shared in the sorrow of Mary's extreme loss. But somehow God used those two completely different emotions in me to help me realize and reconcile the deep, searing beauty of a place like Kenya - a place filled with both desperation and hope, despair and resilience, immeasurable pain and immeasurable love. As I wondered why I wasn't feeling that weight that I always feel pulling on my heart when faced with depictions of injustice and oppression, I realized that the reason I feel differently here is that this country is in no way dead to pain and poverty; it is, in fact, the opposite: it is ALIVE in the midst of those things. Kenya is teeming and overflowing with beauty, hope, hospitality, love, and a joy rooted in the Lord that is unparalleled by any I have seen ever before. And because I have been striving for years now to live a life of joy - to choose joy when it may be easier to be consumed by grief - I know that this is the perfect place for me to be.