Home Sweet Home

We are back in Kisumu, praise the Lord!!!! It was nice to have my pillow back and to get a good nights sleep. It's amazing how much better I feel about life when I'm rested, it's when I get tired that I seem to come undone. The good thing about Nairobi is it changed my perspective on Kisumu. It made me realize that this place has become more of a home to me than I ever realized. I was excited to get back to the very place that just a few weeks ago I wanted to leave. We had bible study today, some of the missionary women from Kisumu and the surrounding areas (some drive 45 min) come together once a week. We are going through Liz Curtis Higgs' book, "The Bad Girls of the Bible". It has been so good and the ladies in the bible study group are amazing women that have been in Africa for years. They are so patient with me when I cry and complain, and tell them I can't do this. They never seem to judge me, but rather they pray for me, hug me and give me amazing words of wisdom that keep me going. The Lord has blessed Kisumu with some incredibly wise women (I just wish all of you could meet them). Today we studied Lot's wife (Gen. 19) and honestly I saw myself in her. I have a hard time not looking back, not desiring the life that I came from. I have had a hard time letting go of everything that I know, and moving forward to a life I don't desire, but by God's grace I haven't yet turned into a pillar of salt.

Today I was up early and I was able to see the sunrise; Africa has the most amazing sunrises. As Dianne and I were driving, I was looking out the window at the effects of poverty. Disintegrating block buildings, trash lined roads, sidewalks that turned to rubble long ago. One of our friends calls it "the spirit of poverty", there is nothing pretty about it, you want to look away, but it is ever before you. It slaps you in the face every time you see a young boy lying on the sidewalk, sick with Malaria and unable to afford the medicine he needs. But, more than medicine, the thing that bothers me, is knowing that boy has no one who cares. No one that tucks him in at night or hugs him in the morning. No one that is happy when he comes home or worries about him when he is late. No one that encourages him to fight his way out of the poverty he sees all around him. I often wonder what life holds for these kids, the forgotten ones, the ones that will never know what it's like to have a consistent meal everyday (much less 3). What will they grow up to be like? Dianne started talking to me and pulled me out of my reverie, she pointed up to the sky. I looked up and instead of seeing the poverty of the land, I saw the artwork of the creator. The untouched beauty of God's creation contrasted to the filth of the city. As we drove the buildings obstructed my view, I could no longer see God's beautiful sky, but just that brief glimpse gave me hope. Hope to know that the same boy laying on the street, sick and alone, has a creator that cares. He has a Father that knows his name. I don't have any answers to this country's problems, I can't take all the unwanted children off the street, I can't even help all the ones that come to our gate in a day. I do know the one that can help. I serve a great and mighty God that has heard the cries of the African children and is brining up people and ministries to take care of them, Praise You Father. I serve a God that can take a self-absorbed mother of four and bring her to a country that has taught her more about herself than she ever cared to know. This land is not unlike my heart, I struggle with the "poverty of spirit". Sometimes I look at myself and all I see is the trash and dirt, but then God steps in and gives me a brief glimpse of himself and I am given HOPE.