Not long ago we were traveling from Nairobi to Tenwek mission hospital. The trip takes almost four hours, so about half way we take a break to stretch our legs, refuel and grab something to drink. I had a Coke light in my hand and was enjoying the absolute breathtaking scenery of the Rift Valley. You could see for miles–beautiful Acacia trees, grasslands, an occasional Masaii herding his cattle and goats. I was simply soaking in the beauty of God’s creation and reflecting on how good He has been to me, when a massive bus (the size of our Greyhound buses) pulled RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME totally blocking my view. This was slightly aggravating, but when I began to study the bus, to my surprise there were several bigger-than-life-size pictures of my brother plastered all over the side of this bus. His gaze was prayerfully towards the heavens, his hands clasped together in an angelic pose. As I reflect on this event, I began to ponder this question: he is 9000 miles away, he knows exactly when I’m stopped at a petrol station and he somehow arranges to have this bus interrupt my personal meditaions and obstruct my view with four of his pictures. Here’s my question: how does he do it? It’s one thing to poke fun at me in front of a national and international audience, but the complex logistics of this particular prank are still beyond me.

This past week I went to Nakuru to drop off “my babies” at the African Gospel Church Baby Center. I must admit it was one of the most difficult days I have had on the mission field- ever. I have had a lump in my throat and empty place in my heart since but because so many of you encouraged me, prayed for the triplets and asked about their future, I wanted to let you know where ‘our’ babies have gone.
It was very hard to let them go after weeks of investing my time, my energy and my love. I had grown very attached, and like any mother knew each of their little individual cries. I could not only tell their cries from one another but could distinguish between the hunger cry and the sleepy whimper from the dirty diaper scream. I had figured out that Ben was too big to be next to Lydia but Caleb loved the comfort of his big brother next to him. I felt like I knew them intimately as my own children. While the challenges of triplets were new to me, the instincts of mothering, loving and nurturing little babies were not. Every parent, whether natural or not, knows the depths of the love you feel for your children.
I am reminded that if I loved them that much and grew to know them that well, how much more deeply He must love and care for us. If we love with an imperfect human love-what love He lavishes on us as a perfect Heavenly Father. They were ‘fostered’ into my family for just a few short weeks and He has adopted us as His own forever. They were formed in someone else womb, yet I loved them like my own and He is the one who has formed us all and knows every hair on our head.
The Baby Center is a wonderfully clean, safe and warm place. There is plenty of food, clothes, diapers and essentials but mostly love. The workers are Christian, good and caring and if I had to leave them anywhere I am glad it could be there with them. All the children there are under three and waiting to be fostered and ultimately adopted. Already an American missionary there has emailed me a picture and an update of how Benjamin, Lydia and Caleb are doing. I am thankful for that.
I did not take any pictures that day. I wanted to preserve all the sweet pictures in my mind of the weeks before when God gave me a glimpse into His own heart for His children. While the triplets are not physically in my care, I still feel a great burden to care for them through prayer. Will you continue to pray for all 31 children left at the baby center? You can call three by name. ~Jenn

Scientists tell us that smells and scents can trigger powerful memories. I know this is especially true for me—smells bring back such vivid, “full color” pictures in my mind. When I smell the cologne that my dad wore, it is as if I can see his face, hear his voice and feel his embrace. I still have my grandfather’s shaving brush, when I put the bristles next to my face, I can still see myself as a little 6 year old boy, intently watching him mix the shaving cream, lather up and shave at the sink and mirror in his tiny work shed. My grandmother’s home was a combination of the most pleasant smells you could imagine—pies baking in the oven, beans boiling on the stove, coffee gently percolating. One of my favorites though is the smell of a hospital—something about that clean, distinct aroma speaks deeply to the calling I have as a physician. I love the smell of our cows in the back pasture and the smell of horses when they have been sweating, when you take off their saddles and the smell of fresh hay in our barn. Johnson’s baby powder will always bring back precious memories of tenderly holding the five little babies that God blessed me with. I love the smell of the people here in rural Kenya—the smell of the outdoors and charcoal fires and hard work and the animals they tend to. I love one particular kind of soap that we use here in Africa—Imperial Leather. I take some home with me when I return to the U.S.—when I wash my face, it reminds me of the people of Africa that I so love, and the incredible memories I have of working here in rural Kenya at Tenwek mission hospital and it always makes me long to return.
I was thinking about the scripture…we are the aroma of Christ. I hope that when people see me and interact with me… the aroma of my life somehow makes Jesus just a little more clear and attractive to them and creates a memory of Him that they won’t ever forget.