We have some very good friends here–James and Faith (names changed). They are both Kenyan, they have been married to each other for several years now and suffice it to say James and Faith are very much “in love”. When they are together, they have that “look” of deep admiration and love and devotion for each other. She waits on him hand and foot, he is always so tender and kind and gentle with her. Interestingly,they married each other despite the fact they were from different tribes—something not always looked upon favorably here. In this culture, one of the things a wife always wants to give her husband is children, despite years of trying, Faith is yet to conceive. In a culture where emotional connection is rarely demonstrated, James goes out of his way to express the love he has for his wife. In a culture where the role of a wife can sometimes be seen as “beneath” her husband or the wife can almost be seen as a “possession”, James uses every opportunity to respect and honor and elevate his wife.

Not long ago over lunch Faith began to recount to us how incredibly good and kind and generous James has been to her since their marriage. She related that recently James unexpectedly announced that he had to make a trip to Nairobi for the day. When he returned later in the evening he excitedly told her that he had a gift for her and beckoned her outdoors. Surprised she walked outside to find that James had bought her a brand new car (he had been secretly saving for a long time). But Faith protested, “James, you know I don’t know how to drive!” “No worries Faith, that’s why I am sending you to driving school next week” he countered. Then Faith asked a very interesting question: “but James, no women drive cars out here, why would you do this?”, James’ reply caught her off guard…”You are my wife, I love you, I want people to know you are free”.

So when I see Faith driving along the pot hole riddled highways and byways of this area of western Kenya, to me, it is a testimony to a husband who loves his wife…across tribal lines, even though his wife has yet to give him children,to a husband who is kind and generous and tender with his wife, a husband who loves sacrificially, and a husband who wants his wife to be free.

And then I thought about what Jesus (the Bridegroom) did for us (His bride)…how He reached out across “tribal lines” to bring us into His family, how He is so good to us, how He gives to us when we are underserving, how He loves us tenderly and sacrificially and how He too came to set us free.
~Paul

It’s been almost three months since we set foot in Africa. This trip has absolutely flown by; I don’t know where all the time went! As this trip comes to an end I can’t help but think back on our time here—all the adventures, all the lives that have been touched and the people who have been healed. We have seen God do some amazing things this trip from the people helped and healed at the hospital through my dad’s surgery to the orphans that we helped my mom care for. As I began to think about our time here, something troubled me and for the longest time I couldn’t put my finger on it. Finally, I realized that I was frustrated because of all the great things God has done here, none of them directly involved me. This made me so upset! We are on a mission trip and we are supposed to be making an impact, but as far as I could see, I didn’t do any of it. My mom organized all the care for the orphans while my dad worked hard in the hospital all day. People were being touched and lives were being changed, but it didn’t seem like I was a part of it. Sure, I went to the orphanages and sometimes helped out in the hospital but I didn’t think this added up to much. I selfishly thought to myself, “Good grief! I’m on a mission trip and when we get home people are going to bombard me with questions about the projects we were a part of and I’ll have nothing to say! I don’t have any interesting stories or any fascinating surgeries to report on. What will I say?” Thinking and praying on this, God really began to help me better understand why I’m here (in Kenya).

God showed me that my assignment on this mission trip is one of the most important that I could have been given. My mission and my assignment is to be a cheerleader—cheering my dad on and supporting him in what he knows God has called him to do. It may sound simple, it certainly isn’t very “glamorous”, but this is what God asked me to do this trip. As I thought more about it, everything would be different if I or one of my siblings had a problem with coming here to Kenya. What would happen if I constantly complained about being here all the time or complained about the food or accommodations or the lack of friends or the comforts of home? It would be incredibly hard on my dad and he wouldn’t be able to fulfill, to the fullest, what God has called him to do.

At first, I didn’t think this was fair! How come He got to have all the “glory” of actually being one on one doing all the important work on the mission field? Why does he get to experience all the cool stories? Why is he the one who gets to lead all the people to Jesus? I will be honest, I was jealous! It didn’t seem right to me, I was making a sacrifice just like he was…so what’s the deal?

Well, just this past weekend I spent my 14th birthday in Nairobi with my parents. We had tons of fun, getting away from the mission compound and hospital. We laughed and did a whole lot of talking! As we were talking I was sharing with my parents these feelings and through their encouragement and loving acceptance of my feelings, I realized so much! I began to realize that being a support to others in ministry isn’t so bad. My dad told me the story we all know so well, the story of Moses and the Israelites battle against the Amalekites. As the story goes, Joshua was leading the Israelites in battle against the Amalekites. As long as Moses held his staff in the air, the Israelites would be winning but whenever it he lowered his hands the enemy would have the advantage. I’m sure after hours of holding his staff in the air, Moses grew tired and weary. His arms grew wobbly and unstable. He couldn’t let his arms down or the Amalekites would win! But then along came Aaron and Hur to help Moses, to hold his hands in the air. I can imagine this image so vividly! Moses, being an old man, probably somewhat frail and feeble grew weary of holding his heavy staff above his head. Aaron and (especially) Hur, I imagine to be strong young men, tall and masculine. Surely they wanted the excitement and the adventure of being down in the heat of the battle. Instead, Aaron and Hur had to set aside their chance to be brave in battle and instead take a supporting role holding up Moses’ arms.

This makes me cry as I write because this story so well paints the picture of the last 3 months for me. How frustrated and jealous I was that my Moses and my Joshua, my dad and mom, were in the middle of the so apparent mission God set for them. I didn’t like that I didn’t have clear mission like them! But then my view was altered by the grace of God! He showed me that my mission was being an Aaron and a Hur. My mission is to lift up my dad’s arms when he grows weary. My mission is being in second place. I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else but where God wants me.

Georgia

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