A bit of this, a bit of that...

Tune in...

2011-04-25T03:29:00.002-04:00

Truthfully, I am becoming more and more horrible when it comes to multitasking. It feels like every day loses an hour or two.

Thus, from here on out, I am solely going to post on my other blog. I think it will make it more simple in this season of life. In another, this will be the focus again.

So tune in here- www.bethinkenya.wordpress.com

Strange...

2011-03-17T16:58:00.000-04:00

At around 9:30 this morning, my feet touched American soil for the first time in over a year. After roughly eighteen hour on a plane (sixteen of which were straight), I would not have cared if my feet were touching Timbucktwo let alone my own country.

For the past six or so hours, other than navigating additional flights and airports, my thoughts and emotions have been all over the board.

It would probably be wise for me to wait to write a blog after my visit home. You know, perhaps when my thoughts are more processed. Or when I have some sleep in my system.

But I guess we can consider this my off the cuff thoughts on returning to the US. Or we could consider it my best attempt to stay awake while I wait a few more hours for my last flight.

Simply put though, my two worlds are so different. It is strange.

While standing in line for customs, I felt overwhelmed by all of the white faces that I saw around me. White not at all being a bad thing. White simply being different than my normal atmosphere.

It was strange to feel overwhelmed by that.

And then I went into the bathroom and I really wanted to brush my teeth, as they were disgusting after such a long journey. I stood at the sink and felt this crisis inside me because I did not have a bottle of water. Without one, I did not know how to go about brushing my teeth.

Then I remembered that water in America is sanitary. That I could turn on the sink and not have to worry about what bacteria would come flowing out.

I have spent a year thinking about the sanitation of every drop of water that I use.

And so it felt strange to have clean, public water available to me at my disposal.

Then I overheard a woman behind me on my last flight saying that she would not wear anything but real diamonds for jewelry. You know, none of that fake crap.

Diamonds? I can count on two fingers how many times I have heard diamonds mentioned in Kenya.

I could rattle off even more examples of weird thoughts and feelings and emotions from my first few hours back in the States.

But like I said, it feels strange. Like one odd collision. That seems like the best way to describe it.

Perhaps I will have more to say after this short break Stateside. Until then, strange, strange, strange.

That is all I can utter.

In the belly of a furnace...

2011-03-08T01:55:00.000-05:00

CMF hosted their annual board meeting in Nairobi this year. So for the past few days, I have had the privilege of spending time with a good portion of the leadership of CMF.

On Sunday we went out to Joska for church. While we were on our two hours bus ride there, someone asked me what the biggest thing that I had learned over this past year was.

I certainly had to pause. What a tremendously huge question!

A million thoughts rushed to my mind as I tried to think of what I have learned in this year of being in Kenya. There have been so many lessons.

One lesson that stands out is how tremendous the story of Jesus is.

How overarching. How immense.

As you can see from yesterday, the idea of story is something that keeps coming up all around me.

It is a ridiculously simple notion to realize that life is not about me. That Kenya is not about me. That ministry is not about me.

And yet, this goes back to what I wrote about selfishness a while back. It is easy to think that I am the main character. It seems natural.

In other words, everything in me is bent towards believing that the earth does not revolve around the sun but that it revolves around me.

But what I have learned a thousand times over in this past year is that I am a part of a huge, epic narrative that literally has nothing to do with me.

I mean, the work going on in Mathare is astounding. Yes, I contribute to that work. However, the contribution seems so, so little in light of it all.

In all honesty, I know why I am here in the human sense. I know my role. I know my focus. I know all the reasoning behind coming to Kenya.

But in the divine sense, I have no idea why I am here. I see God moving and I feel absolutely unworthy and astonished to witness it. It makes me shake my head in wonder as to why Christ has graciously allowed me to be here with him.

I feel like I have just spent a year in the belly of a furnace.

What I mean by that is that I feel like I have learned all of these huge lessons that would have taken me five years to learn somewhere else. But instead the lessons have been jammed and intensified into one year.

Even with that, I wonder why. Why these lessons? Why now? Why is the learning curve so steep?

I will never know why I have been chosen to be here. I will never know why I have been granted such a beautiful life. I will never know or understand so many things.

What I can say about this past year though is that Jesus is alive. He is moving his hand across every corner of the world, gathering his people back to him. There is a giant resurrection movement taking place.

And as I have watched and continue to witness Mathare being resurrected, the realization that life truly is about Jesus is becoming firmer in my mind. The concrete is setting so to speak.

In allowing that understanding to solidify in my soul, it is as though Jesus is resurrecting the world and somehow in the process and in his goodness, he is resurrecting me as well. I am grateful for that.

And I am grateful that life is so much bigger than me, my own two hands.

In the belly of the furnace, I have learned and relearned the story of Jesus.

Again I say, how overarching. How immense.

And how very beautiful!

Story...

2011-03-06T01:58:00.000-05:00

I could read this book everyday while being here.

Are you living a great story with your life?

[vimeo 20593341 w=400 h=225]

What story are you telling? from Rhetorik Creative on Vimeo.

Staying in it...

2011-03-03T00:17:00.000-05:00

In about a week, I will have been in Kenya for an entire year. That is pretty mind blowing, to say the least.

And to be honest, I was feeling pretty good, perhaps even proud, about "making it" a year here. Because let me be honest, for as much as I was so anxious to get to Kenya, there was this small part of me that wondered if I was going to be able to do this.

It is the same feeling you get whenever you start something new. The flutter that comes with the first day of college. The nerves produced when starting a new job. The cluster of emotions that coincide with getting married.

"Can I actually do this? Do I have what it takes?" is a question that always comes to my mind.

Each month that has passed here has kind of been like a check point for me, a gauge of a sort.Two months, going strong. Five months, loving it. Eight months, slightly homesick. Ten months, finally feeling a groove. Almost a year, wondering if I should throw a party.

A friend recently took Erin and I to visit another fellow missionary. The woman, if I guess correctly, was probably between 70 and 80 years old. Give or take, I am horrible at guessing ages.

While having tea with her, I asked a question that is pretty typical to ask when meeting another missionary. I asked her, "So how long have you been in Africa?" I said Africa knowing that she originally served in the Congo before coming to Kenya.

She responded to my question by informing me that she went to the Congo in 1952.

Did she just say 1952?

After I picked my jaw off the floor, I did the math. It came to fifty nine years.

Fifty nine years of life in Africa as a missionary. Wow.

It is easy to feel proud about being here for a year. It is easy to feel like I have what it takes or that I have conquered some extraordinary thing. It is easy to feel like big stuff these days.

But gosh, I am humbled.

Because when I talk to a woman that has served Jesus for fifty nine years, be it in Africa or anywhere in the world, I realize that I have not even left a ripple in the Kingdom yet. I have not even hit the surface.

Yes, my first year in ministry has been beautiful and I think it should be celebrated. But perhaps I should not be celebrating "making it" for a year, but instead be celebrating "staying in it" for another year of service.

It is a gift to have this life. It is a gift to be able to do this. And that is something to throw a party about.

So in a week, I fully expect Erin and I to sit down with our favorite dessert here and blow out some candles in celebration for another year of life in Kenya.

In the words of one of my favorite songs, "It's gonna be wild. It's gonna be great. It's gonna be full of you [Jesus]."

And I am "staying in it."

Sacred...

2011-02-17T01:19:00.000-05:00

Because of what I am doing in life right now, I have never been able to see more clearly a connection between what I own and Christ’s generosity.

I think part of this awareness is in part due to doing ministry through the support of others. I literally never forget that. I cannot forget that I am only able to serve in Kenya because of those partnering with me. And I view support and Jesus providing for me as two things that go hand in hand.

But even outside of financial support, small things have made me recognize God’s goodness.

Yesterday a friend sent me four books that I have wanted to read.

A week before that, my family sent me some candy and a couple of movies.

The week before that, I got some hot chocolate and some awesome socks.

The week before that, candles and muffin mix.

A few birthday packages came in the mail.

Before that, more candles, some pictures, and some sheets.

Prior to that, someone left the same jeans that I tried on and wanted while I was still in the States. Just my size.

I had a professor in college that used to tell us all the time there was no different between what is sacred and what is secular. “Everything… everything is sacred,” he would say.

I guess I am starting to actually believe that.

Because whether it is candles and muffin mix coming in the mail, those things are no longer just random and fun gifts to have. Receiving those things literally makes me recognize Jesus being wonderful to me.

I receive something now and my line of thinking immediately goes to Christ. Christ gave me this thing. Christ bought me this dinner.

I wonder what would happen if I tried to hold on to this awareness for the rest of my life.

In the past, I think about how I used to view my money as something that I rightfully earned. It’s mine.

The things that I bought where items which I had the liberty to purchase. I can choose how I spend my income.

Some gives me something. They are a good person.

My recent prayer is that I would cement this awareness in my heart, the awareness that all things really do come from Jesus.

Because everything… everything is sacred. What I receive in the mail, the meal someone blessed me with, the money I used to take the bus, the support I receive each month, seeing the same man sitting on the corner every morning.

…everything is sacred.

Sheer glory...

2011-02-12T02:27:00.000-05:00

The other morning I thought to myself that my soul is like my coffee.

Not the taste. Not the color. Certainly not the sheer glory of the substance.

I make my coffee in a French press each morning. The problem is that the tiny, itty bitty washer (screw thing) which holds the press part of the contraption together got washed down our drain many months ago. Why are the most important things in life the easiest to lose?

So now I put the coffee grinds into my French press, pour water into the container, and then strain it by hand into my coffee cup.

I know. That sounds like a lot of work for one cup of coffee.

It is worth it.

Because after I add milk and sugar to my coffee and take my first few sips, the morning officially kicks off. And I become quite a happy woman in the process.

But somewhere near the middle of my cup, I start feeling full and I sometimes start feeling nauseous. I still like it though, so I keep drinking.

As I get closer to the bottom of my cup, the color of my coffee starts to change. There is less milk there, so the shade gets darker. But I still keep drinking.

The last few sips are terrible to be honest. The strainer that I use is not fine enough to catch all of the coffee grinds. So usually, my last gulp consists of undissolved sugar and undissolved grinds.

Nasty yes. But for some strange reason, I take that last gulp everyday and each time I kind of do a shake my head and scrunch my face like I am drinking cough medicine move.

But I think I drink the cup to the bottom because I view my coffee as a whole thing. As in, I am not thinking about the great part at the top, the alright part in the middle, and the nasty part at the bottom. To me, it is a cup of one thing, though clearly it has different parts.

The other morning when I got to the disgusting bottom of my cup, I did think of my soul.

Because basically, I can be great on the surface. Go a little deeper and I am an alright sort of human begin. But go to the bottom and…

Yep, it is disgusting at the bottom of my heart.

Being involved in fulltime ministry for the past eleven months has taught me quite a number of things. One thing that I have learned is that a lot of individuals put people in ministry up on a pedestal. Especially missionaries.

Missionaries are expected to be social, funny, and hospitable while being great spouses and parents while being incredibly effective in ministry. In the same way that some people look at their pastor with stars in their eyes, it happens to missionaries as well.

I am not saying that people in ministry should not be held to a higher standard. Anyone who is considered a leader should. However, the truth is that missionaries are quite ordinary people.

Ordinary servants.

It is easy to think that there must be something unique and special about people on the mission field. I think the temptation is to believe that God gave them a gift that the rest of us did not receive. A higher dose of the Holy Spirit or something. That must be why they are the ones serving in a different culture.

Yeah it is not true. Most of the problems that individuals and families struggle with in America exist here, just the shape of those problems can be a little different.

All of the problems in my character that I had before Kenya came with me here. Those problems followed me hard. And even newer problems have arisen in my life since I came into ministry.

My soul is nasty at the bottom. Leftover residue remains there just like my coffee cup.

And there will always be some form of grinds there until I leave this earth. Because I am never going to be a finished product, perfect all the way through.

But I do want to work to clean up the problem areas of my life. And I guess I am just writing to say that we need to kick the pedestal out from under the feet of our leaders, specifically our missionaries.

Because we are ordinary to the core my friends. And that is the sheer glory of it.

Our nature...

2011-02-09T01:10:00.001-05:00

I grew up in a Christian community. And so I grew up hearing that humans were born with a sinful nature. As in, we are apt to do wrong from the moment we enter this world to the moment we leave it.

I do not know how I feel about this belief anymore.

I think that perhaps I am questioning this worldview of mine because I am constantly experiencing the other end of human behavior. What I mean by that is that I am a part of a ministry that can only be a ministry through the goodness of others.

And there are lots of others. The work being done in Mathare pulls in over 700 visitors a year and there are over 4,500 children receiving an education through child sponsorship. That speaks of human generosity.

Not even everyone involved in this astounding work is a believer in Jesus. We have humanitarian grant groups and other people joining into our efforts to change the face of Kenya.

Humanitarian work alone makes me wonder about human nature. Because honestly, there are causes everywhere I turn which are changing the world, arguably for the better. Whether it is through TOMS shoes or Orphanage Outreach, good is being done.

And it is not always being done through the hands of those who know Jesus. Unbelieving hands are even doing more sometimes.

I guess that makes me think that people want to do good, like deep down there is something universally rewarding in doing good. And by doing good, specifically I mean by helping others.

I think the rewards or the motivations to help others differ across the board. For some, lending a hand is a human responsibility. For others, it is a paycheck. For me, it is a defining point of my faith.

But still, helping is admirable.

And I think the truth is that most people like doing it until they have a bad experience. Once helping someone backfires or once it personally costs an individual something that is when most people bow out. They think, “Well, I am never doing that again…”

I myself have experienced this.

When I went to school in Atlanta, there was a local ministry that did a lot of work on the worst street in the city. One thing that they did was a feeding program, which involved serving dinner at two different locations each evening. During my first year at ACC, I tried to get down there every Wednesday to help out with the feeding program.

So here we are, setting up tables, setting out food, when the people start showing up. I noticed that we usually saw the same faces every time. I am not sure if they came everyday or not.

Regardless though, we would set up the food, start serving. And then probably at least seven times out of ten, someone would complain. They would complain about being served lasagna again. Or they would tell you that you are a lousy rice scooper. Or some people would even say something personal about you.

Let me be honest. When these things would happen, I would be raging inside. My impulse would be to flip the tables over and start yelling. What I perceived as ingratitude or whatever you want to call it would make me want to say, “Well, I am never doing that again…”

So I truthfully think that is how it is with most people. We like helping until it hurts or the experience is negative and then we want to wash our hands of it.

And I get that. I had to make myself continue helping in Atlanta, regardless of what happened each week. Some days I have to make myself continue helping here.

But back to the sinful nature thing. I do not think we are born sinful, always choosing the wrong. Instead I am coming to think that there is something deep in the human heart that silently rejoices when we do something right.

I think that is why no one ever looks at an area with high rape statistics and says, “Well I really appreciate that side of town. Great things are happening there.” But it is why people watch “Extreme Home Makeover” and feel a sense of awe and wonder and just like that, they want to be a part of something good and bigger than themselves.

I think we are born selfish. Instead of calling it a sinful nature, I think there is a selfish nature in us from the start. I think that is what makes two year old children cling to their toys and forty year old men rob stores because they want that thing.

I think selfishness is the thing in us that tries to sideline our lives and veer us off course, especially from Jesus. Selfishness is what turns everything into a story in which I am the main character and everyone else was cast with no lines and no attention.

I am going to battle my whole life to put that selfish way in me to death. Everyone will. The motivation for me to do so is Jesus. For others, they have not discovered any reason to discard selfishness yet.

But despite that nature, it is marvelous to watch the will to do good still showing its face in the world. Because I think stronger than selfishness, there is an innate sense in the human spirit that we were made to bring beauty into our world.

And helping others is part of that beauty.

So when I see it happening, I think that perhaps we are not apt to do wrong, but made to do right from the moment we enter this world to the moment we leave it.

It is our nature.

Twists, kinks, and holes...

2011-02-04T02:55:00.000-05:00

I have realized that there is something flawed in the way I see God. Like my view of him still has some twists, kinks, and holes it in.

I am currently reading Donald Miller’s book, “Father Fiction,” in which Miller talks a lot about growing up without his dad and how much that has shaped him. But for those of us who grew up with a father, the book is still marvelous. A great deal of the material corresponds to God as our father.

So in reading this book, I have been thinking a lot about God as my dad. In Kenya, the Swahili word for father is “baba” and I have somehow grown to love that name. Often in my journal I begin writing by addressing God that way.

But it seems easy to call God baba, but harder to fully view him as that. Some days he seems as close to me as my best friend. And other days it feels like he is as far away as the stranger down the street. Yet I still find myself trying to balance and squeeze in all the identities that I know God to have into one person. My friend, my provider, my healer, my father, on and on.

I know I have yet to figure out his character though because of the way I sometimes find myself thinking. Like this week, I was thinking about something in the future and in my mind I was going through how I wanted the situation to turn out. So I uttered a short sentence of a prayer about what I wanted to see happen.

And do you know what my subsequent thought was? My next thought after my prayer was, “Well since I just said what I wanted, now I am not going to get it…”

That thought made me pause.

Because it means that some part of me has this idea that God does not delight in giving me what I want. Or it can even be implied that I think that God literally enjoys giving me the opposite of what I am asking for.

Now I think part of this thinking of mine is due to the fact that time has taught me that more often than not, I do not know what I really want or need. So now I sort of lean towards assuming that I am wrong about whatever thing I want to see happen. I am quite short sighted after all.

Still though, in the past I have even thought that if I pray about something, then it certainly will not happen simply because I prayed about it. So at times I have avoided praying about things because I just do not want the answer to be no or to receive an alternative solution.

With my own earthly father, my thinking is not so skewed. I know that if I was to tell him that I wanted to go to Crackle Barrel for lunch, he would not drive me to Red Lobster. I have never liked seafood. So my dad knows that I would hate eating at Red Lobster which means we would either eat at Crackle Barrel or perhaps think of an alternative solution that we would both enjoy. But he certainly would not disregard my wants.

This is all an age old analogy. I mean even Jesus talked of how our earthly fathers delight in giving us what we ask for and thus, our heavenly father must even more so delight in giving us the desires of our hearts.

I am just wondering when I began thinking that God will tell me no arbitrarily or that God will give me the opposite of what I want or that if I pray a desire, it will surely be canceled out.

Just last week, I wrote someone an e-mail about prayer. The person does not believe in Jesus and recently prayed but saw no intervention. So she was obviously frustrated. But I e-mailed her to simply encourage her about prayer. I said something about how sometimes we pray about something we want, but it is not what we really need. Thus, we receive no’s for Jesus, who has our best interest at heart.

But the truth is that I struggled to be convinced of that still and I have known Christ for quite some time.

And it is just funny how one day, one line of thinking, one light bulb moment can make you realize that there are twists, kinks, and holes in your thinking of God.

I found some in mine this week. There is a distortion in my soul as to how I view God as my father, my baba. And it seems like this is something that I need to work out.

The face of Jesus...

2011-01-31T02:08:00.002-05:00

If I am honest, I do not think I grew up proud to be an American. I mean, I was raised in the whole “God bless America,” phase and the 4^th of July was certainly a legitimate holiday in my childhood, and even adulthood. But America just seemed like what was normal, especially because I did not have much to compare it to other than a vacation here or there.

But then I came to Kenya as an intern and my view of America shifted. I found myself with a lot of anger and resentment in my heart. Because what I discovered was that my country is not what is normal. In so many ways, the United States is a very unique place. Socially, technologically, and economically, we tower above much of the greater known world.

We tower over Kenya in nearly every aspect. And so in 2008, my heart was crushed by the disparities between my home country and that of the Kenyan people.

I feel like I was angry with the American people for quite some time after my two month experience here. There was a deep cynicism in me. A deep criticism, especially in terms of the church.

In hindsight, cynicism and criticism do not and cannot propel change. No one changes the world through that. So I am not quite sure what I was thinking during that season of life. I think I really was not thinking. I was just feeling the turmoil that came with trying to reconcile my two worlds.

Coming back to Africa this time has further opened my eyes to my home country. I am not exaggerating when I say that I have met so many people here who talk about America as though it is Moses’ Promised Land. A place of perfection, milk and honey and million dollar homes and SUV’s. People here talk about America as though there is not a single problem there and often I try to enlighten them to some of the struggles of the country.

But I must admit, our problems are on a different scale in the States. Some would argue that we do not have legitimate difficulties at all. I will not say that, because I find that insensitive to the very real battles that some are standing in the midst of.

But again, there are differences. For example, Kenya did not get enough rain this past December and this January has been equally as dry. So because of that, we have a potential drought on our hands. I hear my friends at work talking about how their parents in rural Kenya are having their maize and beans die. It is slowly dying all over the country and unless rain comes soon, this will be a nationwide problem. Kenya will have to import crops and produce from other countries which will in effect cause prices to rise. And for an economy that struggles with a 50% unemployment rate, rising prices can be devastating to so many families and individuals.

That is a different scale of a problem than say a man in America in the midst of having his home foreclosed on because he cannot pay his mortgage anymore. Yet I wonder if the feelings are the same. Hopelessness. Desperation perhaps. The feeling that life is spinning out of control.

I do not know.

I know that I still have problems reconciling my two worlds. I wish it would black and white for me, but it is not.

I love the Kenyan people. And for the first time to my knowledge, I am realizing that I love the American people as well.

After living in a place that has no government infrastructure, no aid for people, I appreciate so many things about the way our government runs, from the legal and judicial system right up to the welfare system. Yes, you heard me. Welfare is a phenomenal concept when it is used appropriately.

Even others things about Kenya make me appreciate my own country. Security for example. I cannot walk anywhere here at night. Even driving past 9 p.m. is unadvisable. The fact that I could go to Walmart at 3 a.m. in America well even that speaks volumes of the level of safety we are so accustomed to having.

But more than infrastructure, more than security, more than any of small inconvenience or difference between Kenya and the United States, witnessing the sheer generosity of my own people has made me fall in love with America, maybe for the first time.

The cynicism and criticisms that I had toward the church have in some way been undone. Fill my office with over 2,000 Christmas gifts, with 99.9% of them coming from believers in the States, and yes. I sit convinced that while there are a lot of things going wrong in our world, our believing world, our American world, our Kenyan world, there some things going right, desperately right.

I continue to witness the goodness and the extravagant generosity of my country and I think I can say that I am proud to be an American because there are Americans who are changing the world for the sake of Jesus.

I shame myself for ever thinking that there is not one good and generous soul left in the States, even including myself.

I have been shown otherwise. And it makes me think of a story in 1 Kings 19:14-18 when Elijah the prophet tells God that he is the only one left who believes in all of Israel. And God lets him know that there are seven thousand in Israel who are still faithful.

To the faithful of my country, thank you for letting me discover pride in where I have come. And thank you for loving the people of where I am.

You show them, the 4,500 students being sponsored, the face of Jesus. But you also show me the face of Jesus as well.

"You can see Jesus in the eyes of the dying, the broken, and the lost. He came with ceaseless love for both one and the masses. Now we must do the same: stop for the one but believe for the multitudes. We are called to carry His glory, but first, we must lie down so that whole nations can come to Jesus. Revival has a face!"

Keep running...

2011-01-24T00:57:00.000-05:00

In the process of learning to run, yes some of us must be taught how to do it, I have learned a lot about my life with Jesus.

The whole concept of running being like a life with Christ is something that I was thinking about long before I picked up the practice.

As I said, Staci, one of my best friends, is a runner. One time she wrote me a long letter about how running was exactly like her faith. In running, there are short goals, like pass this tree. Then there are semi-long goals, like finish the run at that house. And then there are long goals, like be able to run every day for three months.

Faith can be the same. A short goal being pray this morning. A semi-long goal being pray for an hour straight each time. A long goal being making prayer a very natural part of life.

Staci also said something that I will not forget. She said that when you are running and you get to your destination, you feel wonderful. Like “Wahoo, I got to this house! I did it!” The world is perfect in that moment.

But then, five minutes after you have been there, you realize that things are wrong. Like your knees hurt or you still cannot breathe. And then suddenly, the utopia wears off and reality begins to sink in.

Life with Jesus is like that. I am absolutely certain of this.

Getting to Kenya was like getting to that house. “Wahoo, I got to Kenya! I did it!” Sheer euphoria until after being here I realized that I still have the same old crummy soul. The other side of the world cannot change that, no place can. My selfishness did not lessen, my impatience, every flaw in my character still existed and exists.

Furthermore, while I am running, I have realized that something is always wrong. Yesterday I took a run and my ankles hurt the whole time. The time before that I was having cramps in my shoulders. The time before that, the heat was killing me. Often when I am running, I think, “If this one problem would go away, I could run farther.”

The truth is though that there is always a problem. A run is never perfect. It always involves some sort of pain, some discomfort throughout the process. I have come to expect that some random thing will always bother me while I am running. It just cannot be faultless. Neither can my faith.

And neither can I be satisfied. I feel dissatisfied after almost every run. I wish I would have gone to five miles. Or I wish that my ankles had not hurt so badly. Or any other arbitrary thing leaves a sense of discontentment.

I am always longing for a different scenario.

I think that is a plague of the human condition. We are always longing for something else, never satisfied. If I just had this, then I would be happy. If I just went there, then I would enjoy life.

But it is like the house. You get that or you get there, and still satisfaction is missing or incomplete.

Staci actually is the perfect example of this. Early into college, she went to work at a Christian camp is the Appalachian mountains of Kentucky. She fell in love with the place, the kids, the ministry. She worked at the camp for several summers and each time after leaving, she would feel a deep sadness and longing.

While in school in Atlanta, where we met, it got to the point where she felt like she had to go back to Kentucky. So she dropped out of school and became a long term volunteer with the Christian Appalachia Project (CAP).

Now back in Kentucky, she missed her family in Georgia. Also, she began dating who is now her husband (they met at counselors at camp) and because he was a few hours away from her, she missed him too.

After a year with CAP, Staci moved back to Georgia in order to work and save before getting married to Brian. She missed Kentucky horribly. But she got to marry Brian and they spent their first year of marriage living in Georgia together. Now they were both missing Kentucky, and especially Brian as his entire family was there.

I talked to Staci two days ago. Brian and her will be moving back to Kentucky in one week. God has opened some huge doors for them and they have actually been given the opportunity to run the camp that stole both of their hearts and passions.

Staci is so excited but she also mentioned that she is going to greatly miss her family and this season of life. That longing to be where they are will press on her while she is away.

I say all of this to say that I think our hearts will never be satisfied because perhaps they were not made to be. I think we have a bottomless pit of longing and the truth is that longing and desire will always be there until we meet Jesus.

I think our longing for different scenarios is our human way of coping with the fact that we are a part from our maker.

I think the desire to meet the one who made me, who knows me inside and out, lives deep within the well of my soul and I think I express that desire in a thousand different ways. Even through my dissatisfaction, as odd as it seems.

The things of this world point to so much beyond this world. Even running points me to eternity.

And in some ways, I pray that I meet Jesus in the same condition that I am in when I finish a run. Sweaty, tired, sore, and desperately out of breathe.

I imagine that being the best way to hear some of the most sacred and coveted words in the world- “Well done, good and faithful servant…”

I think I want to keep running my friends.

From the couch...

2011-01-21T00:55:00.000-05:00

You know those people who love to run? Like the ones who can run five miles with ease or the ones who talk about the joys of getting a runners high?

Yeah. I am NOT one of those people.

I have always hated running, well at least for as long as I can remember. I have never experienced the high or the rush of energy that some people get from the activity. I think I have experienced the opposite. On quite a few occasions I was thought that I was going to have a runners die.

I also know people who always want to do something and never do it. You know, the person who wants to take a trip to some place and talks about it for ten years, but somehow never musters up what it takes to go, be it courage, money, or any other sort of thing.

Even me, I find that in myself. There are things I always say I want to do, but I never actually get up and do them. Like sign language for example. I have probably been saying for five years now that I would like to learn sign language. And have I made one concerted effort towards that desire? No.

At the same time, I decided a few years back that I did not want to be a person who always talks about doing something and never actually does it. Granted, sign language and a few other things are still hanging in the ballot, but as a whole, I want to be the kind of person who pursues my desires.

Now running, despite my strong loath of it, has been something that I have always wanted to do. I do not think I had the desire to in high school because I cannot think of ever wanting to be a runner. But probably since the beginning of college, I have been saying that I wish I was a runner. How you can hate something and yet want to be good at it, I have no clue.

In the past I would go through seasons where I would try to turn myself into a runner. But the scenario, of probably the five times that I tried, was that I would get myself mentally pumped up, head outside, get about 1/10^th of the way into a mile, think I was gonna die, and then walk the rest of the way home.

I literally remember a time in my junior year when I jumped on the treadmill and started running. I was breathing heavy and thought I was going to die, so I looked down imagining that I had run at least half a mile and the screen said .02. I turned the treadmill off immediately and walked back to my dorm room.

My best friend Erin is a runner. My best friend Staci is a runner. So you see that runners in my mind are legit people in this world.

It was probably this July that I hit another, “I want to be a runner,” phase. This time though, instead of just going out with the intentions of running whole miles straight, I took a new approach.

Yes, I shamefully admit that I looked up a 5K running schedule. I believe the name was “The couch to a 5K.” That sounded close to what I needed.

So I followed the running plan. The first steps were pretty simply. Run for 60 seconds, walk for 90 for a half a hour. The next week, run for 90 seconds, walk for 90. On and on.

My record and standard these days is four miles. From the couch, it worked!

More to come…

A vapor...

2011-01-19T02:24:00.001-05:00

I think that the older I get, the more I realize that Psalms 39:5 holds a great deal of wisdom. The verse says, “You have made my life no longer than the width of my hand. My entire lifetime is just a moment to you; at best, each of us is but a breath.”

Life is but a breath. Or in the words of one of my favorite songs, “I am a vapor, at best a vapor.”

While I was getting ready this morning, somehow I began to think about my two years at community college. I was thinking about how when I started attending there, my intentions were to get a two year degree and be done with the bit.

I thought originally that if I was to go further than a two year degree that I would most likely attend another local university in Pennsylvania. To be honest, I did not conceive of much of a life outside of that.

And now, I am living in Kenya.

Some days I can see a distinct line as to how I ended up here. And other days I just want to scratch my head at the mystery of it all.

Up until now, the past seems like a remarkable blur and the thing that remains quite clear in the present.

And yet I know that in a very short time, the present, today and this season of life, will be part of the blur of what is behind me. Life just seems so quick in that sense.

A year seems like a sufficient amount of time in the beginning. January holds the air of possibility, of new beginnings, of a fresh start. But then it is summer and we realize that we did not do half, if not a quarter, of the things that we intended to in this new year. And then in is December and in a blink, a year has come and gone.

And not only do years come and go individually, but they also condense together. I think of college and I think of four years all running together in a tiny space of memory. Four years, 1460 days, and I have possibly a few hours of concrete recollections from all of that time.

These past ten months in Kenya feel like the fastest of my life. I cannot figure out if it is where I am that makes the months feel like they are passing so rapidly or if this is just a part of growing older. My grandmother has told me on several occasions that after the age of twenty one, life passes in an instant.

At twenty three, I already want it to slow down. I want to push my heels into time and slow, slow, slow down the pace. But since I know that is not possible, I think the only thing to do is to enjoy the present as much as I can.

Because if I try to enjoy the present as much as possible, if I make that a goal in my life, then the majority of my life will be full of wonderful and beautiful memories, even when those memories join the blur. The blur will be pleasant in some odd way.

At least then my life will be a breath of joy and hopefully, Lord willingly, a vapor that pleases that heart of Jesus.

I mean, I am a vapor. At my very best I am but a vapor.

A bag of flour...

2011-01-16T02:20:00.000-05:00

As far as blogging goes these days, my efforts are an epic failure. I cannot tell you how often I want to sit down and write about things. Writing truly does help me process. But nearly every time I aim to write, something crops up.

Today though, today I am quite determined to share some thoughts, though they are backlogged in my mind.

One thing that has been pressing on my heart since December is the whole idea of the Gospel.

I grew up in church. I have quite literally been hearing about the Gospel, the way of Jesus, for over two decades. And yet, there is a profound sense of mystery that remains around the concept.

I wrestle on a regular basis with the actions that Jesus would have me do. With the street kids, I wrestle. With the individuals on the side of the road who need a ride, I wrestle. With friends that need a little extra help, I wrestle.

So often it feels like I am saying no to the requests and needs of others. In all honesty, the feeling of always saying no sinks my soul.

In the back of my mind then is the enormous question, “What does the way of Jesus look like lived out?” I wonder if I am living the Gospel at all or if the Gospel is something that requires me to give to street children, pick up strangers, and assist friends in their times of needs. I imagine it is.

It is never always clear though. And I am not saying that I never do those things. Nor am I saying that I think I need to always do those things. I think that there is a Spirit in me for the very reason of discernment.

But I am saying that I do wonder how often I see the words of Christ come to characterize my actions and my very life. And again, I stand in mystery as to what the Gospel looks like.

This December, I think I got a glimpse of it. I think I saw Scripture come to life 2,000 years down the line.

In preparation for the holiday season, our organization made it a goal to give every child’s family a food basket for Christmas. With over 4,500 students, that is a hefty goal. The food baskets would include some basic necessities such as flour, oil, sugar, on and on. Our sponsors were extended the opportunity to give financially towards this goal.

Amazingly the goal was reached. With great joy, every family was given such a basket. And gosh, I wish you could have seen the faces of the mothers and fathers as they carried their food home. There was joy and gratitude in their eyes.

And as I watched for days as families came to pick up their food, I could not help but think of the story of Jesus feeding the multitudes, the five thousand. That surely would have been a miracle I would have liked to witness.

Somehow though, I did witness it, didn’t I? I saw it in this decade, in this time, in this season of life. It did not involve fish and bread being broken, but it was in fact the same sort of miracle.

I question what the Gospel is today and every once and a while I am quite certain that I see it. I see it through the hands of others, but truly, I also want to see it through the hands of me.

What is the Gospel, I ask? It can simply be a bag of flour, God answers.

Update as of December 13th...

2010-12-13T10:12:00.001-05:00

Dear friends and family,

Well the idea of writing you an update every month seems great in theory, but apparently it is not so great when it comes to application. So let me begin this update by apologizing for the amount of time that has passed since I wrote last.

Where do I even begin? These past few months have felt like a whirlwind all around me. I sit here truly astonished that it is the middle of December and that nine months have already passed since I arrived in Kenya. It feels as though 2011 will be here in the blink of an eye and I wonder if the feeling of time passing quickly is just another part of growing up.

I have grown one year older since the last time I wrote but other than celebrating my birthday, so many other things have happened. Over the past several months, I have spent an increased amount of time working directly with the child sponsorship program. Between September and November, this involved going to several schools to help take updated photos of the children. Additionally, I have had the joy of playing a role in celebrating the birthdays of our students by taking pictures and of course enjoying some cake.

Furthermore, with the coming of the December holiday, term letters to sponsors were due to go out. Thus, in October, Erin and I had a training session and discussion with all of the social workers and the teachers to prepare for the outgoing letter. We were able to brainstorm some holiday themes and ideas to include in the Christmas cards, of which we were all excited about. Following our session, the children went hard to work on writing their sponsors. Once they finished doing so, Erin and I with the assistance of the social workers went through every letter to ensure that each child had written. With over 4,000 letters, this certainly took some time. Thus you can only imagine the smiles we had on our faces when we finally finished and closed the suitcases carrying cards back to America.

Moreover in October, Erin and I were given the responsibility of handling gifts and the thank you notes. This is new role for us and it primarily requires us to process all of the mail that the children receive as well as ensure that sponsors are receiving thank you notes back from their children. We spent several weeks in November processing hundreds of gifts and letters and as soon as we finished that, December ushered itself in.

This month we received thirteen fifty pound duffle bags of gifts and letters for our children. So far the total number of Christmas gifts we have processed is somewhere around 1,300 and we are expecting even more in January. It makes me so excited to see this love and generosity extended to our students this holiday season. But oh my, you can only imagine what our office looked like swimming with all of those gifts! Perhaps you can imagine an explosion happening in the post office…

So needless to say, these past few months have been incredibly full and busy. Aside from what I wrote above, I think of our class eight students finishing their exams and the talent show we had with them afterwards. Furthermore, I think of the social work retreat, the schools Christmas parties, and the staff party we just had. I think of two dear apprentices that left last week and the tears we shed over their departure. Additionally, I think of dressing up on Halloween and of going away for Thanksgiving with a cluster of American families. And so many other small things come to mind.

As for my heart, I feel as though it has gone through much in this fall/winter season. In all honesty, I have felt myself hit a wall of a sort. Emotionally, I have felt tired and full from the past nine months of being in ministry in a place that so often breaks my heart. Furthermore, in my first holiday season away from home, I find myself wanting to wake up with my family on Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Years. Moreover, I have friends getting married and friends starting families and it is in the moment that I hear of such that I just want to be with them.

It is in this season that I have had perhaps my first realization that there are some sacrifices involved in all of this. Since being here, I cannot tell you how many people have come up to me and said something in terms of “Wow, you are sacrificing so much to be here.” Truthfully, in the past I have always said something about how it does not feel like a sacrifice to be where I love.

Because really, I love Kenya. I love joining into what Jesus is doing here. So up until now I have thought that it is not much of a sacrifice to be where I love, doing what I love.

However the weight of sacrifice is coming through in different ways than I anticipated. It is not in terms of no longer having a car or not having the small things that make life in America so much more convenient. Instead I am talking about sacrifice in the sense that I am missing out on the lives of the people that I love and in some ways they are missing out on my life as well.

This all has made me think about the story in the Bible of King David buying the threshing floor to build an altar. To summarize, King David goes to buy the land and the owner wants him to take it for free. David responds to this offer with, “No, I’ve got to buy it from you for a good price. I’m not going to offer God, my God, sacrifices that are no sacrifice.”

I keep reminding myself of the same thing.

For in coming to reality, in realizing the sacrifices of being in Kenya, I recognize that it is the sacrifices that add meaning to this journey and to my character. Because like David, I do not want to offer God something that costs me nothing.

And already I can tell you that in whatever this costs and in whatever I feel I am missing, I would not change a thing. I know I am right where I am supposed to be and that is one thing that I cannot communicate enough.

So amidst the busyness and amidst all of the emotions that I have experienced as of late, all is well. I am growing, I am learning, and as always, I am so thankful for the role you play in all of this.

In conclusion, thank you for reading this incredibly long update. Thank you for your support and every prayer you cast my way. And may your celebrations of the coming of Jesus be full of joy, laughter, beauty, and the presence of those you hold most dear.

All my love and appreciation,

Bethany

Doable...

2010-12-05T09:15:00.000-05:00

I have been thinking a lot about what I wrote last. Over these past few weeks, I have continued to pray that I faint not and that I keep up.

And gosh, I just have so many thoughts about being here lately.

Obviously one of my first thoughts right now is that this is hard. It is harder than I originally anticipated.

I think most of this is just reality coming to the surface.

Like realizing that it is December and Christmas seems more significant than it ever has in the past. This is the first year that I’m realizing that I genuinely do enjoy being with my family during the holidays. I miss the silly traditions and the hectic holiday schedule of traveling from this side of the family to the other. And I have never had to miss such things before because they have always been there.

Or realizing that I was not there for one of my best friend’s weddings in May and now she is expecting her first child. Seeing a picture of her tiny baby bump made me want to cry because I suddenly am so aware that I am not going to be around to journey through that stage of life with her.

You know, I have traveled to the other side of the world and the pace of life here is nonstop and sometimes I forget that life has continued on without me back in the States. And it is not until I see my family celebrating holidays or my friends getting married or my friends starting their own families (yikes!) that I realize that nothing stopped when I came to Kenya.

Life is moving where I am.

Life is moving where I have come from.

And I guess that this is also perhaps my first realization that there are sacrifices involved in all of this.

Since being here, I cannot tell you how many people have come up to me and said something in terms of “Wow, you are sacrificing so much to be here.” Truthfully, in the past I have always said something about how it does not feel like a sacrifice to be where I love.

Because really, I love Kenya. I love joining into what Jesus is doing here. So up until now I have thought that it is not much of a sacrifice to be where I love, doing what I love.

Instead I am talking about sacrifice in the sense that I am missing out on the lives of the people that I love and in some ways they are missing out on my life as well.

I do not mean the overarching details of our lives. Technology allows for that thankfully. But I mean the nitty gritty, the fine details, of everyday life and growing up. There is no way to truly produce that.

David responds to this offer with, “No, I’ve got to buy it from you for a good price. I’m not going to offer God, my God, sacrifices that are no sacrifice.”

I keep reminding myself of the same thing.

For in coming to reality, in realizing the sacrifices of being in Kenya, I recognize that it is the sacrifices that add meaning to this journey and to my character.

Because like David, I do not want to offer God something that costs me nothing.

And already I can tell you that in whatever this costs and in whatever I feel I am missing, I would not change a thing. I know I am right where I am supposed to be.

And that just makes fainting not and keeping up all the more doable.

P.S. Thank you for all of your prayers! I felt… I feel… every one of them.

Keep up...

2010-11-14T07:41:00.000-05:00

So often I feel like I share the utter joys of being here. The kids. The singing, the dancing. Loving what I do. On and on.

I think that’s because the joys are so easy to talk about off hand. Additionally, the heartbreak of certain things and situations is easy for me to speak about because that is something that never really leaves me.

What is hard for me to talk about is the hard parts of this journey. The personal difficulties you could call them.

Oh this path with Jesus is grounded and wrapped in joys and blessings; however that is not to overlook the hardness of the trail. Somehow I think this is something that missionaries do not really have an outlet for sharing about.

In utter honesty, the season that I am finding myself in here in Kenya is a difficult one. The initial buzz of getting here and the busyness of the summer months have worn off. Only now does it feel like some kind of rhythm and routine is being established.

In that rhythm and in the very ordinary getting up and going to work each day, I am finding myself experiencing emotional tiredness and even some homesickness as the holidays are approaching. I have been here for over eight months now and it feels as though all of those months of emotions have culminated and decided to crash down.

And so life as of late feels like the crashing down.

Things are happening and I am seeing situations that should tear my heart apart and yet I feel like I have no place in my heart to put those situations because it already feels so full.

I cannot find space in my emotions to grieve over a fire that recently swept through Mathare because I have yet to take the time to grieve over things from March or May or the month before last.

This is my first time in full time ministry and sometimes I forget that I am in ministry at all because it all feels natural. I spent two years in college hearing about life in ministry and even personal care while in ministry and somehow I missed the boat on actually applying that stuff.

But let me declare now that I can see that burnout is very real and very possible. I can conceive of how it’s likely to go and go and give and give until there literally is nothing left in the soul of a person.

And in this season of difficulty, I am realizing that I need to get on the personal care boat and I need to sit down and take the time to figure out what will keep me from burning out and even from getting to the point where I am this emotionally full.

Because I truly cannot imagine feeling numb and dead to the place which once brought my heart to life. I must not allow that to happen.

So my friends, I am sharing that I am wrestling with what it means to take care of myself in this journey. Maybe it means more alone time or maybe a pleasurable hobby. I do not know the what the solution is. But please pray with me that I am guided in my quest.

I think of the words of a song I heard recently. It said, “Oh my soul, faint not. Oh my soul, please keep up. Faint not.”

And that is my prayer these days.

Faint not and keep up. Amen.

260 days...

2010-10-29T04:05:00.005-04:00

On June 16th, 2011, my 101 project will end.

As of now, that means I have 260 days left to complete what I set out to do. With that in mind, it seems like an update is in order.

Thus, to begin, I slashed out number three which is to create a Kenya scrapbook. The beauty about this being my list is that I can decide when I think something has been done.

So here is the thing about this task. Truthfully, I am never going to sit down and make a scrapbook. When I set out to do this objective, I thought that I could be that person. Two years down the line and I am secure in that fact that I am not and will never be a scrapbooker.

This is just a fact.

I am however, a blogger, as you know. And because of that, I feel as though I have made an online scrapbook for Kenya a hundred times over. Between pictures on my Facebook and writing about Kenya, I would say that the journey has been pretty well recorded.

So paper scrapbook, no. Digital, oh yes. Mission complete then.

Also complete is number eighteen which is to create a budget that I use for a year. I feel like I can go ahead and declare that this has been done because I am living on a year long budget in Kenya. This much goes for rent. This much goes for transport. Shoot, Erin and I even have the envelope system working in our house.

I have become a believer in the envelopes my friend! I wanted to be a budgeter and now I am. Bam! Done.

Okay and number ninety four is to design the walls of a room. Erin and I have nestled ourselves into our first apartment together and so far, two walls have been designed. A vision wall and a wall of hope. More designs are pending in the future.

So I have used 741 days of my 1001.

Already, I see some problems occurring with some tasks on my list that require me to well... be in America. However, I am not crossing those things off as impossible just yet.

Anything can happen in 260 days. This much I know!

Perspective...

2010-10-28T02:38:00.001-04:00

Perspective in life truly means everything.

I recently celebrated my twenty third birthday. The older I get (and I am not saying that I am old) the more I realize the birthdays are these tiny things that occur throughout the course of a year. I find mine becoming less about what I actually do on that day and more about what I am doing with my life.

I could not help but pause the other day and ask myself, “Is this what I thought I would be doing by this age? Am I on course with Jesus at twenty three?” I will not go into my answers.

But I will say that when I was younger, birthdays meant everything. THE DAY itself meant everything. As a child you do not really think about what you are doing in life. I think you just kind of note that it is your day. A day that can be all about you.

I thought birthdays were like that everywhere. Celebrated. A highlighted date on the calender.

I recently started helping our students celebrate their birthdays here in Mathare. You see, all of these students have sponsors. Sponsors pay monthly. However, sponsors have the option to give a little extra money around the time of their child’s birthday. And when that happens, we go out, buy a cake and throw a class party.

I love my job, I love my life because I get to go to these class parties and participate in the festivities. It involves cutting the cake, eating the cake, giving the child gifts, and of course taking pictures for their sponsors.

Last week, prior to my own birthday, I was assisting one of our social workers with four class parties. We would go to the class, find the birthday boy or girl, pull them into the hall and explain to them what was about to happen.

Daniel, the social worker, would begin with every student by asking them when their birthday was.

“When is your birthday?”

Nothing. No response.

These beautiful children do not know when their birthdays are. Their parents never tell them. They never have had a birthday party before in their lives.

So we tell them that we are celebrating their birthday right now, that day, and we remind them to ask their parents when their birthday is when they go home.

I remember growing up and my biggest concern every birthday was whether or not I would get the gift that I wanted. Would my friends be able to come over? Would my mom remember my favorite kind of cake?

Me. My birthdays were all about me as a child.

Culturally I cannot even conceive of not knowing when my birthday is. I have known since I was at least four years old.

But imagine knowing that you are turning thirteen but having no idea when in a month that actually happens.

I sit now and realize that birthdays, birthday parties, birthday gifts… those things are kind of a luxury of the affluent. What I associate with a birthday might not be so common and so ordinary after all.

In fact, I wonder how much of the rest of the world can spout out when they were born and I wonder if I was born in Mathare in Nairobi, Kenya if I would be noting this year that my life would already be halfway over.

The life expectancy here is the age of 45.

Perspective is everything as I said in the beginning.

Ordinary...

2010-10-21T07:28:00.004-04:00

I just sat at my desk and chuckled to myself a little bit because I realized that those days of posting blogs on a regular basis are conclusively over. I used to want to post a few times a week and if I did not, I felt like some kind of a blogger failure. The truth is that now I will be content if I have time to post every two weeks.

Things have been busy.

But that does not mean that there have not been thoughts rolling around in this head of mine. There are always thoughts. There are always words.

I have been thinking lately of how romantic the idea of coming to Kenya sounds. It really is a romantic idea. I feel as if I should stand tall and say, "Why yes, I did ship myself off to Kenya in my early twenties..."

I have had people look at me as though I have moved to the moon. It seems bizarre and intriguing all at the same time that I would choose to use my life in this way.

I must confess, even I have at times felt like I am doing the coolest thing ever in life. I have been guilty of pride and I mean it is pretty idealistic. Coming here has literally been my best attempt to "go out and change the world." It seems like most people my age have that desire instilled in there somewhere.

Here is the thing though. This "epic" adventure that I have landed myself is really is pretty ordinary. Kenya sounds romantic and you would think that it is a roller coaster ride with a lot of fun dips and turns. And I am not saying that serving Jesus here is not fun or enjoyable. I love it and please see that.

But I am saying that life here is really just like life anywhere. I am seven months into my stay here and I can say that with such certainty. I wake up, I work, I go home to dirty dishes and piles of laundry. I sleep and I do the same thing the next day.

There are good days and there are absolutely terrible days. There are times when I can clearly see Jesus working through me and other times when I question if I am doing anything at all. Some days I am content with everything about Kenya and other days I would sell my left arm for a trip to Walmart, as silly as that sounds.

But I guess what I am saying is that it is not this epic and romantic life here. It is normal. Very ordinary. And to be truthful, it is hard. Some days I feel like I am getting a dagger stabbed into my chest.

Those are the days when I see young children at the end of my driveway digging through our trash for something to eat... or the days when I am met by the same glue boys right outside of work... or when I realize that I have been walking past the same homeless man now for over a month.

Yeah.

The dream of doing some extraordinary or living this epic life has been washed out of my mind. I realize that life wherever you are becomes ordinary and I use that word in the best sense of the term.

I think life becomes ordinary when it stops being about doing "big" things or accomplishing so much or being this Christian rock star of a sort.

At some point, and this is where I am at, life and loving Jesus and serving others starts becoming about doing the same things everyday over and over and over again. It is like my life has stopped becoming about doing something for a year and it has become about doing something for a long time. It is no longer about short spurts. It is about the steady plodding into a ministry.

That is how I view life here now. Not epic, not even romantic anymore. I view this as an ordinary life with a lot of plowing and sticking with it.

I think Mother Teresa was exactly right when she said, "I do not pray for success. I pray for faithfulness."

So yes, I pray for faithfulness in the most ordinary of ways. I pray for faithfulness and I pray we take our trash out before we get overtaken by ants. And I pray that after ten years, I can maybe begin to think that I've just begun to change the world by the tiniest of fractions.

In the meantime though... ordinary. It's all ordinary. And I love it.

A chance...

2010-10-04T05:25:00.002-04:00

Erin and I are working on a project right now with our class eight students. They are all in the process of writing brief life stories, which they will send to a variety of high schools all over Kenya. Consider these their high school applications and consider us typers and editors alike.

I am taking a five minute breaking from typing just because I want to share with you a piece of this last life story I just read. It is so moving.

“…My twin siblings joined school increasing the amount of fees to be paid by my father, a casual worker in the construction industry. My mother, a vegetable vender, could only support the family with food for a day. My father always suffered bone aches from hard work for his age. The job he does is not permanent, making him become jobless even for two or more weeks.

The head teacher in school was tired of listening to my mother’s pleas and her promises of just mere words. I had to stay at home not just a home, but a pathetic single-roomed sheet house. I recall vividly when I would accompany my mother, barefooted all the way to “Marikiti,” a market in the city center, to look for food.

The bare earth got hot and burned my feet… so painful. At Marakiti, we would pick smashed fruits and dumped vegetables for food. I would carry my sister, the lastborn, and my mother would carry the food to keep us going.

Most painfully, all my elder brothers and a sister had dropped out of school and one of them became a thief. He was quite a bright boy but peer pressure had overcome him.

That was not all. In 2007, my family was affected (by the post-election violent). Our only house, an excuse not to pay rent was brought down. Everything was stolen when no exemption of my books and uniforms. We were left with nothing but just the clothes on our bodies. No work… no learning… no food.

Thank God because we were taken to an Internationally Displaced People camp at Mathare Depot. Those who were lucky managed to get rooms in the police bar and the rest in tents were left to the mercy of the weather. I stopped schooling for a while. We received aids of clothing and a little food for the time till 2008 in the month of December. I had joined school in March 2008.

In 2009, while in class seven, the school fees was increased to eighty dollars per term, which was the “dream money” of my low paid father. Was this something my father could afford? He could not even manage to earn thirty dollars a month. I had to stay at home for two weeks.

It was then that I was taken fully sponsored and supported by Missions of Hope and put in a good learning environment. In this boarding school, I have relieved my parents and at the same time given them great hope since I am the eldest one in school. I have learnt to forget my past and focus on the bright future ahead of me. My goals are on paper, well set; only waiting for a chance for activation.

I believe I can do it, if only given the chance.”

Do you hear that? The goals these children have are well set. They can do it if we give them a chance…

I think we would all agree Simon in eighth grade deserves a chance.

New season...

2010-09-24T05:19:00.003-04:00

One thing that I have been thinking about lately is how much of who I am is really about the things that I love and orient my life around.

What I mean is that so much of what I enjoy is no longer a part of my life here in Kenya.

Let me give you some examples.

I love the season of fall. Like truly, madly, deeply love the season. I love the temperature. I love the colors of the leaves changing. I love all of the festivities that go along with it. I could go on and on.

And if I am honest, I feel like I love Jesus a little bit more in the fall. I know that sounds funny, but it is like when I walk outside of my door in that season, I am immediately swept up in a wave of love. And that wave always makes me stand in marveled wonder of the greatness and creativity of God.

There is no fall season in Kenya. We have a summer season, which takes up the majority of the year. Then we have a three month winter season, which is probably not winter as you know it to be. And then we have two or so months of rain, which generally means wet nights and hot days.

But no fall.

Now I know it feels silly to say that fall is like a part of my identity, but I am telling you it is. It feels like fall is a part of my soul.

So without my favorite season and all of the things that I associate with it, I find myself wondering if I am the same woman as before. It is like that part of what I delight in is missing now.

More than just a season, other things that I love are missing too.

Riding my bike comes straight to my mind. Like a long ride on my bike... I might start drooling.

Furthermore, security is an issue here. Thus, those late night runs to places like Waffle House or IHop cannot happen. It is just not safe. And not to mention, 24 hour establishments do not really exist in Nairobi, especially not restaurants.

More, I have always enjoyed just hopping in my car and taking a drive. Give me a back country road, a good CD and I am one happy lady, even by myself. Now there are several problems with this when applied to Kenya.

First and again, security. Second, I have no car. And third, I would most likely get lost and land myself somewhere near the boarder of Tanzania. That would surely be a disaster.

But I guess it is just interesting to have different parts of myself go away. Interests and hobbies have faded that at one time where of great importance. So I suppose that I myself am the same, the core of me is the same, with or without what I like and enjoy.

It also seems like it is just time to find new things that are in Kenya to love and orient myself around. I think I can start with drinking chai and visiting new places in downtown Nairobi. Those types of interests will surely make up for something.

You know, it is not fall, but it is a new season my friends!

Little video...

2010-09-23T00:38:00.002-04:00

I thought this song was so adorable! It made me want to go eat mangoes or something...

Enjoy this little video from the cutest kids in the world!

The great reversal, the greater reversal...

2010-09-22T03:23:00.001-04:00

It has been too long since I have written anything. I have been burning to write but it seems like the days are full and the hours are short.

I recently was involved in a role reversal experience. You see, my parents just spent two weeks with Erin and myself here in Kenya. And well, the tables were turned.

I spent so many years of my childhood having my mom and dad drive me around, plan my day, feed and take care of me. I got to do all such things during their visit. In fact, on more than one occasion they referred to it as “babysitting the parents.”

But it was not babysitting. Yes, I took care of my parents while they were in Nairobi… but it was not babysitting.

It was crazy to be honest though. I mean, I endlessly sit in the wonder of the fact that I am living in Kenya right now. Some days I can trace a clear line as to how I ended up here again. Other days I have no earthly idea what brought me back to Mathare.

So truthfully, I had many many moments during my parent’s visit where I was pretty certain that I was dreaming that they were here.

I mean, two years ago I came home from Kenya and my heart was forever changed. Since then, I have talked to my family until being blue in the face about this place. But did I ever think that they would come and see for themselves? No because I did not even think that I would be back!

So the great reversal has ended. My parents are back Stateside and I remain here, continuing in the beautiful work that Jesus has given me.

What can I say about the experience?

I can say that my family will now understand a part of my heart that they were incapable of understanding before. They have seen this place with their own eyes. They have touched the people with their own hands. And they have heard the sound of need in Mathare.

The sound of need here penetrates the soul. I have seen it change people all summer long. Each and every visitor walks away from Mathare as a different person than who they came in as.

I think that’s one of the most extraordinary things about helping people. I cannot help but think that God was a genius when he decided to change and bless those who help others. It often seems as though that blessing of change is as powerful as the help itself.

This is an even greater reversal.

Thus, with great confidence and joy, I write that my parents came. They have since gone. And I know they will be changed.

I know they have been changed. I believe that they have walked away from Mathare as two different people than when they came. And I can hardly wait to see the manifestations of the things that Jesus revealed to them while they were here.

Update as of August 25th...

2010-08-25T06:43:00.000-04:00

Dear friends and family,

Joska is our boarding school. Nearly an hour drive from the heart of Mathare, the school sits under a canopy of clouds, in between mountains, and surrounded by maize fields. Roughly six hundred students attend there. Most of them are children who needed “evacuated” out of the slums, so to speak.

While at Joska, the students learn a variety of songs and dances, which they love to share with anyone who visits the school. It certainly always moves me to see these students laughing, dancing, and worshipping Jesus through artful expression. I usually sit in my seat with tears in my eyes.

Last year Joska had its first graduating class of eighth grade students. In Kenya, class eight pupils must take national exams which will determine their admittance into a high school. It is similar to how American students apply to attend colleges. Thus, making it to high school is a significant achievement, and even more significant for students who have grown up in the slums of Mathare.

I feel such pride when I think of our thirty six high school students who came from Joska. Nationally, Kenyan students are currently on an August break. Thus this past month, some staff, Erin and I were able to gather with our high schoolers for a week of camp in Joska.

On one particular evening of the camp, we hosted a talent show. I wish, I wish, I wish that you could have seen these kids. They began to sing all of the songs that they grew up singing at Joska. And then they began to dance. I sat and watched them step and spin to a song called, “I Am Not Forgotten.”

The words are powerful, saying, “…I am not forgotten. God knows my name. He knows my name. Father to the fatherless, friend to the friendless, hope for the hopeless, He knows my name…” Is that not the point of all of this? The point being that through time and love and investment into these children we can raise up a new generation in Mathare. It can and will be a generation that knows through this ministry and their sponsors and you that they are loved and not forgotten in this world.

Again, I wish you could have seen the light in these students’ eyes and the life in their bones. That is but a taste of what this past month has held for me. Without writing you a novel, I will simply say that the work here is ever expanding and ever bearing witness of what Jesus is doing in the slums.

Lastly, I want to include something in this update that I was been praying about for some time now. Though hard to believe, Erin and I are nearing our six month marker in Kenya. In light of coming to Mathare with the intentions of serving for one year, my commitment is already half way over. But let me be completely honest with you, I do not believe that one year is going to be enough time.

Thus for the past few months, Erin and I have been praying with the missionaries, discussing with CMF, and wrestling ourselves with what the future holds past our one year commitment. With great joy, I share with you that every road is leading us to more of Kenya. I am so certain of this. And in light of Christ’s prompting for us to stay longer, Erin and I are presently going through the process of affiliating with CMF as missionary associates.

So why am I telling you this? I am sharing this with you because you have been a part of this journey from the very beginning. I would love for you to remain a part of this journey with me, with us, as we pursue continued service. Changes will come as we affiliate and as we work out the finer details of staying. If I am honest, I feel slightly overwhelmed by what will need to happen in order for us to prolong our service, specifically in terms of financial support. Yet I know that Jesus is in control and thus far, the path has been so clear. But I do ask that you pray about these changes with us. And I in turn would love to keep you up to date on all that is taking place. It is truly so, so exciting.

Today must be the day of songs because in terms of staying in Kenya, some lyrics come to my mind. The words say, “…as I traveled blind listening to a whispering in my ear, soft but getting stronger, telling me the only purpose of my being here is to stay a bit longer.”

Like God’s voice in the wind speaking to Elijah, I can hear him saying that perhaps the only purpose of my being here is to stay a bit longer. And so I shall.

Until next time,
Bethany

Falling off...

2010-08-19T02:40:00.000-04:00

This morning while I was journaling, I was thinking about how for my first two years of college, I was working over forty hours a week. My expenses as an individual where pretty low, which meant that with each paycheck I had a set amount that I allowed myself to use for shopping.

Shopping for clothing. Shopping for shoes. Shopping for whatever I wanted.

GAP was my favorite store. I was there so often that I could tell immediately when a new season line was being introduced.

I was thinking about this morning because I can see so clearly how far I have fallen out of this. What I mean is that I basically have idea clue what is in style let alone what is in season in a particular store.

Visitors on this side will mention artists that I have never heard of. Or they will say a new brand that is all the rage right now. Or they will use a word that I do not know the meaning of.

I feel out of it.

I am out of it.

Out of fashion. Out of music. Out of the culture of my own generation.

It feels good to be out of it though. Somehow I feel a sense of freedom in my new found ignorance.

It makes it so that I can more focus on things I think are important, more important dare I say. Things like this place, the people around me, the relationships that I am invested in, the woman that I am, the woman that I am becoming. On and on.

Falling off the map of culture, so to speak, makes me feel as though I have never been this enlightened.

Falling off turns out to be falling into what matters.

A few machines down...

2010-08-13T07:51:00.001-04:00

I realize now and again that I am living in a culture that is pretty different than the one that I grew up in. It may sound ridiculous, but a lot of days though I am slightly aware that I am living in a different culture, I am not that aware.

But then something happens and I say to myself, “Oh yeah. I am not in America anymore… but I am still an American.”

Having been in Kenya now for more than five months, I have observed and learned many things that differentiate between my culture and that of this country.

One thing that I have come to realize is that I come from a culture of machines. We have machines to do nearly everything for us.

Washing machines for clothes. Dishwashers for our plates. Vacuum cleaners for our floors. Lawn mowers for our yards. On and on.

We have machines that do the tasks which we are capable of doing ourselves in other ways. But the machines save us the time though.

Here in Kenya, people hand-wash their clothing in buckets. They wash their dishes the old fashioned way. They sweep their floor with brooms often made of branches. And they cut their grass using a machete.

I have grown up in a culture with the machine mindset and sometimes I do not even realize that I still carry that mindset until something happens.

Like the other day, Erin and I were going to play a game with some of our high school students. To do so, we made a circle with the chairs that were in the room.

As the students came in to play the game, I noticed that all of them were looking for something to wipe their seats. I took note of the condition of my seat and could see that it was in fact covered in dust and dirt. I sat in it anyway.

Now why was I not concerned with sitting in it regardless of it’s cleanliness? Because I have a washing machine available to me here. Because I have always had a washing machine available to me.

But try hand washing dirty jeans once and you will understand why individuals in this culture look at their seats before using them.

I have done it and I have such respect for the handwashers in this world… and most people are handwashers.

I have such respect for every task done without a machine in this world. Because I assure you, the no machine life makes everything take a little bit longer.

But I wonder if taking longer to do things would help the American culture appreciate time in a new way. And I wonder if we did not have machines, if we would appreciate what God has made us capable of doing ourselves.

In other words, I wonder if we used our hands more, if we would love our hands more. Would we love our God given abilities, our God given selves more?

I wonder and I realize again that I am not in America anymore, but I am still very much an American. I am a few machines down and learning the whole way through.

Learn on my friends. Maybe give up one machine this week or something. I dare you to try.

The glue boys...

2010-08-02T01:20:00.001-04:00

Glue boys are one of the hardest things to witness in the slums.

They are these boys (predominately) who live on the streets. Most of the time when you see them, they are wearing many layers of clothing, all torn and dirty. Trash and mud are caked all over them.

And if looking at their physical conditions was not difficult enough, observing them high is far worse.

You see, we call them glue boys because they inhale solvent based glues which make them high. The glue is usually kept in small bottles that they place in their shirt sleeves. They will keep a stick in the bottle to stir the glue, causing it to release even more fumes.

So I see these boys all over the slums. Some are as young as five. Some are as old as twenty. They walk around with their bottles up to their noses. They walk around high and disillusioned. Sometimes I even see them sleeping with a bottle attached to their lips.

When I was an intern here, I used to get so frustrated with these kids. They would come up to me everyday to ask me for money and food. My temper would flair inside as I thought about how they were willing to spend money on glue to get high and yet they had the audacity to ask me for money. It made no sense to me.

Only after returning home did I learn what the effects of sniffing glue are. Inhaling glue makes the body warm. It stifles hunger pains. And it relieves physical sensation.

So it basically numbs these boys from any and everything. And how can I blame them for wanting to be numb from life on the streets?

I no longer look at these boys and judge them, especially when they ask me for something.

Now I look at them and oh, it hurts…

This morning I turned onto the road where our main school sits. I was not on the street for more than a minute before I noticed three glue boys huddled around a fire together.Keeping warm. Trying to survive.

I see those same three boys all the time. Certainly every week. Almost everyday.

Glue boys should not be the familiar faces that I recognize in this world. They should not be who I consider my neighbors at my place of work. They just should not be.

And gosh, I believe one day in Kenya, they will not be.

But until then, that is why I am where I am, serving with who I am serving with. We aim to reach orphaned and vulnerable children in the slums of Mathare.

Pray for us to reach that goal. To reach even the glue boys.

A world of grey...

2010-07-28T04:43:00.000-04:00

On Saturday morning, I sat for a while and tried to count how many times on Friday I had been asked for something. I counted two glue boys in the morning. Three children at the fruit stand in the afternoon.

And then there was a young girl Friday evening.

I was driving, looking to my right to see if the road was clear for me to pull out. Literally in less than five seconds, I turned to look to my left only to find this girl standing next to Erin’s window.

It startled me. She appeared out of nowhere and she doing the standard hand to mouth motion begging for food.

Erin and I looked at one another and we both simultaneously groaned and did the “I don’t know what to do right now,” sound. That sound has become so familiar.

Erin asked me to look at the girl’s cheeks. She asked, “But her cheeks look okay right?” I looked and said that I thought they did. And then I pulled out from the parking lot.

But oh how pulling away from that parking lot just tore at my heart.

You see, we have started to stare at the cheeks of children. We stare at their cheeks to note if we can see a sunken in face or a full face. It is some sort of way of determining how badly the condition of the child actually is.

Driving away from that situation, I turned to Erin and said that I never imagined that we would be living a life in which we would have to ask one another if we have looked at the cheeks of needy children.

I honestly hate that we have to ask one another that. I hate that the issue of helping people in need is grey. I want the answers to situations to be black and white.

It is though I want there to be a manual that says when I should give and when I should withhold. Because even though I want to give to literally every single child that I see in need, I simply cannot.

But boy, a checklist would be helpful because on days like Friday when I am approached by six children, the grey issues of this world wash over me like a flood.

In thinking about all of this and in wrestling with how to know when I can help someone, it occurred to me that for as much as I hate staring at the cheekbones of children, Jesus must hate that infinitely more.

For as much as it hurts my heart that my sister has to turn to me and ask me if I have looked, I can hardly imagine how much it hurts the heart of Christ that his world is in such a state.

Staring at faces, judging needs, I know this was not what he intended for his people. Not in Kenya. Not in Mathare. Not anywhere.

I just pray that the Spirit speaks to me and prompts me when to give, what to give, and how to give. Though the cheek check works for some things, it is no full proof test.

And like I said, I want this to be black and white. But grey. I am living in a world of grey.

It never gets easier my friends.

Recess...

2010-07-23T00:18:00.001-04:00

Not much has changed over the years. Recess is still one of my favorite times of the day.

Loving their recess.

Update as of July 23rd...

2010-07-23T00:12:00.001-04:00

Dear friends,

I sat down to write in my journal this morning and I realized that it is already past the middle of July. I truly wonder where the time is going.

Since my last update, life has felt like a whirlwind. We are midway through our busy summer and so far a lot of wonderful things have been happening in Mathare during this season. Since June, our ministry has hosted dental clinics, medical clinics, vacation Bible schools, evangelism campaigns and much more. Just this morning we had a team of over eighty people perform an evangelism skit in the slums. I assure you, it was humbling and moving to see the Gospel of Jesus being translated from English to Swahili in a community that desperately needs his hope.

In addition to witnessing and participating in the activities of our short-term teams, Erin and I have been able to continue helping with the child sponsorship program. We were given the opportunity to gather with all of the social workers and the teachers to brainstorm ways in which the letters of our children can be improved. I am excited for the new ideas that we collectively came up with. The kids are currently writing their next letter and after reviewing some drafts I can already see such a difference in the quality of the content. Once the letters are in the hands of our supporters, we are hoping to receive some feedback regarding the changes we are implementing.

Furthermore, in the past month, my involvement in counseling here has greatly increased. Erin and I have been visiting our boarding school, Joska, at least once a week to do individual and group counseling sessions. I must admit, doing counseling still is something that surprises me. Though counseling was my major in college, I came to Kenya fully expecting not to use my degree. Thus, to find that it is such a tremendous need in the lives of our 4,000 students is encouraging but also overwhelming.

When I hear from a young girl that her father comes home drunk every evening to beat her mother or when I hear from a small boy that there is never food in his house, I do not always know what to say. In so many ways, my life experiences pale in comparison to some of our students. And though in many regards I feel unequipped to guide and counsel these young souls, I do trust that Jesus will anoint and use my ears and my lips as I pursue counseling in Kenya. I pray often that simply being friends with the children might make some difference.

Aside from the work aspect of my time, I feel as though I am still learning and experiencing so much. As of late, I have been meditating on Jesus’ words in Matthew 9 where he said, “The harvest is great, but the workers are few. So pray to the Lord who is in charge of the harvest; ask him to send more workers into his fields.” As I think about this passage and as I recognize that it is already July, I note that the work in Mathare is nowhere near close to being over. My list of projects and tasks and objectives will never come to completion. It never should because there is always a few more ways that Christ can be using me. Thus in my meditations, I do not necessarily ask that Christ would send more workers into the fields here, though that would be a blessing, but instead I find myself frequently asking God to keep sending me back into the fields of Mathare. I pray that each day I am returning to Mathare with fresh fire in my eyes and fresh passion in my spirit.

To sum up this update then, perhaps the simplest and the best thing that I can share is one of my favorite quotes. It says “I slept and dreamt that life was joy. I awoke and found that life was service. I acted and behold, service is joy.”

Thank you for allowing me to live a life of service, which is joy.
Until next time,
Bethany

Some prayer requests-

Please pray for the ministry’s staff as well the missionaries. In such a busy season, pray that they experience divine rest and renewed motivation.

Please pray for our students and the battles they are facing at home on a daily basis. Such battles can seem unfathomable and insurmountable and yet there is hope in their futures.

Please pray for Kenya as a country. There is an election being held in August which involves a new constitution being implemented. Pray for civil rest in whatever the outcome of the election might be.

Please pray for Erin and I as we continue to serve here. We are over four months in and the harvest is plenty.

And a praise… we have a new team member, Justine, who has committed herself to staying at least one year to act as a liaison between the short-term American teams and the ministry here. It is great to have another set of hands in this work.

Worth it...

2010-07-19T01:13:00.000-04:00

Life on this side is crazy. Busy. More busy than I anticipated.

I want to write often. I always have thoughts floating in my head. I desire to share them with everyone I meet. But time leaves me and I am learning that it is better to be living a brilliant, busy, and messy life rather than sitting at my computer and rattling out all of my thoughts. And seeing how I am a thinker, I have a lot.

For now, while I have a few minutes, I would love to share some of life’s most recent thoughts.

I am sitting in an office at work right now. I woke up around 4:45, left home around 6, boarding two matatus (public buses) and arrived at work close to 6:50 am.

Though I am certainly not an early person, there is something about the morning trek that I am growing to love. Or maybe like is a better work. Regardless, leaving my house in the dark and walking into the slums as the sun is rising, well there seems to be something holy about that.

There is something also holy about serving among people who are trying their best to serve Jesus. To find him. To live in pursuit of him.

As I sit and write this, I can hear my Kenyan brothers and sisters singing. In a beautiful melody they cry out, “Come and rest. Holy Spirit, come and rest. We welcome you to come and rest.”

Imagine that sound pouring out from a small classroom onto the dusty paths of the Mathare slums. Yes, it is beautiful.

Also beautiful is the fact that we are halfway through the summer. So far, June and July have been stacked with short-term teams ranging from as small as five people to as large as one-hundred people. Last week alone we had six teams present at one time.

In having all of these people come and experience and help Mathare, I find myself thinking of Nehemiah. In the third chapter, there is a list of people and families who have contributed to rebuilding the wall of Jerusalem.

It is an entire chapter of names and places. So and so worked on this section of the wall, they laid beams, set up its doors, on and on.

In reading this and in seeing so many people come to this ministry this summer, I cannot help but realize that God takes notices of how his people are serving.

In Nehemiah, he recorded the work of the Israelite’s hands. And with every single individual who is coming to the slums and doing something, whether it is helping with a VBS or completing a building project, all the work is being noted.

And though we are not rebuilding a physical wall here, I believe we are rebuilding something.

We are rebuilding a people group. We are striving to lift up and restore the people of Kenya.

It is tiring to work to rebuild something that is not as physically traceable as a city wall, but oh it is worth it.

Even with waking up at 4:45, it is worth it. It is worth it.

Allow me to say it once more… it is worth it.

Update time...

2010-07-09T07:44:00.002-04:00

So my 101 list has been on my mind lately. You see, there are sixteen interns here in Kenya this summer. They are what I was in 2008. I do not know if that makes sense.

Anyway, point is, a lot of them are coming up with some six months to-do lists. Or a 20 things in 20 days list. Or a fasting list, which involves fasting something different each month. That one sounds pretty awesome to me.

And all this list talk has made me think of my own list and where I am on the journey. It is update time.

Some more recent accomplishments on my 101 include number thirteen- read through the Bible again cover to cover. It was beautiful to finish, especially having read through the Scriptures in the Message version this time around.

Also, number seventy six- spend a day taking 200+ pictures. Turned out to be quite an easy thing to do while I am in living in the mystical and lovely land of Kenya.

And I have more work ahead of me on this venture. Watch out list, I am coming to get the best of you.

Separation anxiety...

2010-07-02T07:37:00.001-04:00

There are all these different stages in culture shock. The romantic stage, the realization stage, the rejection stage, and lastly the readjustment stage.

I have been in Kenya now for what is just shy of four months. It feels like a day.

Lately I have been sitting and trying to figure out if I am actually going through the waves of culture shock.

I do not really think that I am. Does that put me in the romantic stage?

My argument in believing that I am in no stage at all is that so much of my life here just feels like that... life. Because whether I am here or still in America, there are good days and there are bad days. The bad days are the closest thing to any form of rejection that I experience. And even still, I am deeply in love with this place.

Furthermore, I think about picking up and moving to another culture and I recognize that being able to is nothing short of a gift from Jesus. The ability to separate.

When I was in kindergarten, my parents switched my school midway throughout the year. Doing so threw me into some weird phase of separation anxiety where I would cry every morning as my mom dropped me off at my new kindergarten.

I laugh when I think about crying on the steps of my elementary school building. I laugh because I recognize that this is not kindergarten anymore and throughout the years it seems as through Jesus had been preparing for me to leave home all along.

And so here I am. Four months into Kenya.

I do not think about life here romantically, as though everything is perfect on this side. Nor do I plunge into the depths of rejecting the differences in our cultures.

I simply find myself living here day in and day out, good and bad, beautiful and messy. And I praise Christ that there is no more separation anxiety left in my being.

Pray after me...

2010-06-25T03:01:00.001-04:00

In Kenya, a lot of worship and prayer is done by leading. For example, an individual may get up in front of a crowd and say one line of a song and then the audience will repeat the same line.

And at Pangani, our biggest school, every Friday morning is what we call “flag day.” The entire student body and the staff get together and raise the Kenyan flag on the pole that sits in our yard. The teachers and the students interchangeably lead worship and prayers, most of which are for their country.

This morning, I found myself overhearing the prayers for their country.

The teacher shouted, “No more poverty.”

… 1,000 students echoed in prayer, “No more poverty.”

The teacher shouted, “No more hunger.”

… 1,000 students echoed in prayer, “No more hunger.” More prayers.

Have you ever heard the voices of 1,000 children praying? I assure you that it is one of the most moving utterances that would ever fall on your ears.

And in hearing them pray those words this morning, I thought to myself that surely if the people and children of this country can ask for such a huge thing of Jesus, then surely so can I.

So maybe you can pray after me, “No more poverty. No more hunger…”

Salvation...

2010-06-19T04:20:00.002-04:00

There was this one particular night at school that I can recall so clearly. It was a Sunday night. I was sitting in our Sunday evening chapel service.

The student body was outside. It was probably around September or October as it was at least a few months since I had returned back from Kenya in 2008.

I sat down and someone was singing a song and I just started to cry. I mean, cry. The kind when you do not want anyone to see you because you are embarrassed.

I was crying for Kenya, the people of Mathare.

That night I begged Jesus to come back and end the suffering for the people of the world. Not just the people in Africa, but for the entire earth. For the hungry, for those who lack clean drinking world, for those suffering from diseases…

“Just end the pain,” I whispered over and over again.

I walked away from such an evening unsure of when the end would come upon humanity. I am still unsure obviously. But I also walked away knowing that perhaps I could help people while we all wait for that second return of Christ, for the world to be put back to right.

Now in Kenya again, I still see things that break my heart and make me long for a new heaven and earth. Some days, in all honestly, the goodness of God can become muted by the noise of all of the terrible circumstances of Mathare.

It is not difficult at all for me to understand why people loss faith in God over the state of our world. Anyone can look to whatever country or continent they choose and say, “What kind of God would allow these things to happen on earth?”

However a few weeks ago I stumbled across a passage that has since changed my perspective and become engrained on my heart. In the Message version, 2 Peter 3:15 says, “Interpret the Master’s patient restraint for what it is: salvation.”

So as I literally serve in a community that struggles to have even life’s most basic necessities- food, water, and shelter- as I watch them need healthcare and sanitation, as I just see the crushing oppression of poverty take place before my very eyes, I have ceased begging Jesus to come back.

My spirit groans but I do realize that by waiting, he is in fact saving more of us, myself included. Though I anxiously await his return, I trust his timing. And mostly, his goodness in such timing.

Thus my friend, daily I cling to the railing of a building that gives me a staggering view of the slums. And instead of saying, “Just end the pain,” I find myself whispering, “I interpret your waiting for salvation.”

Salvation.

Salvation.

Salvation.

That is a powerful world.

I say over and over again and I let it sink into the core of my being.

This morning...

2010-06-11T05:29:00.001-04:00

This is the sound of the future of Mathare worshiping Jesus this morning.

Could there be a better way to start my day? I think not!

I want the one in the blue...

2010-06-07T11:13:00.001-04:00

Taking some of our adorable nursery students home from school. They walk quite a distance everyday otherwise...

Two year anniversary...

2010-06-06T03:49:00.000-04:00

The first time that I walked through the Mathare slums, it was with a social worker named Raphael. He led me through Area One of Mathare, talking me through the living conditions of the people and explaining the struggles and trials of the community there.

I do not think I will ever forget my first walk through of Mathare. The sights. The sounds. The smells. Literally every sense you have is affected by the environment.

My summer as an intern here quite obviously changed my life. The change did not happen quickly, but gradually. It has been like an undercurrent, unseen things and Christ slowly pulling me back to Kenya.

On Friday, a new set of summer interns arrived. Sixteen of them.

I had the opportunity to go with three of the interns on their first walk through of Mathare. Knowing how the first time through the community can be so overwhelming, I felt for them. I recalled my own first emotions in the slums.

Doing this walk through with the interns meant so much to me. I looked to my left and saw Raphael leading them. I asked him if he remember that he was the first person who led me through Mathare.

Little did either of us know then that I would be standing in the same place just two years later. Raphael is no stranger leading me anymore. He has become my brother, my friend, and my co-laborer in our efforts to change the face of Kenya.

Thus in sentiment, I say happy two year anniversary to Mathare.Two years ago I was seeing you, walking through you for the first time. I was forever changed and your people have been imprinted on my heart.

And I celebrate the fact that we are together again. So happy two year anniversary…

Update as of May 31st...

2010-05-31T05:55:00.000-04:00

Dear friends and family,

A friend of mine used to tell me that he knew when he was happy when he would catch himself smiling right before drifting off to sleep. Smiling without choosing to do so. Smiling in the dark. Smiling in an empty room.

Furthermore, my professor in college used to say that he had never worked a day in his life. You see, he enjoyed what he was doing so much that it never felt like work. Instead it felt like a joy.

Thus I begin my update by sharing this with you only to say that I frequently go to bed smiling. And I almost always wake up with the feeling of joy in my heart. I truly love what I am doing.

That is not to say that some things in Kenya are not hard. Both Erin and I have begun counseling some of our students and often their struggles feel crushing. Some have lost their parents. Some have been abused. Some are simply confused. My heart goes out to them and every once and a while I simply sit and allow myself to feel sad on their behalf. I remind myself that even Jesus allowed himself to feel sad, demonstrated by the tears he shed over the death of his friend.

So I let myself feel sad, but not for too long and not without the intentions of getting up again and continuing to help. Helping the people here has and continues to be the desire of my heart.

Counseling is one way that we have been assisting and will continue to assist MoHI in this coming month. In fact, Wednesday and Thursdays have been deemed specific days for counseling in our main school as well as our boarding school. And with over 4,000 students spread throughout our ministry, counseling stands to be a tremendous need here. Thus I foresee this becoming an even larger part of our role and time in Mathare.

Moreover, composing transformational stories has taken flight and is well on its way. Every time I have the opportunity to sit down and listen to a testimony of one of the beautiful people of Mathare, I feel such a sense of honor. Their lives, their struggles, and their victories demonstrate so clearly the power of Jesus to break chains and overcome obstacles. I take these life stories and hold them as though they are pearls, for they are so valuable.

Often I imagine that this is what we will do with Jesus once we get to heaven; sit and tell him the story of our lives. And in the words of author Donald Miller, “I just hope I have something good to say…”

With your help and all in the name of Christ, I think I will have something good to tell Jesus when I get to heaven. I can start by telling him that I went to bed smiling and waking up with joy in my spirit. I think he will know exactly what I mean by that.

So please know that you are a part of the story that I am creating for myself and I cannot thank you enough. Therefore, my best attempt to show you my appreciation is simply to share with you the details of my life here. In doing so, I hope you realize that such details are tied to your own life and thus your own story with Jesus. I have a funny feeling that we are all going to have something good to say when we get to heaven.

And until next time, I do ask for prayer for our students in all of the battles that they are facing at home and in school. Furthermore, please be praying for our staff as we are soon to enter our busy season with over a hundred short-term teams passing through Mathare this summer. And lastly, I would ask for your prayers over what has been termed team Berin (Erin and I). We pray to be useful and effective for Jesus, especially in counseling.

Thank you, thank you, thank you,

Bethany Wangeci

Mission-nary...

2010-05-30T02:21:00.001-04:00

When I think about a missionary…

… the image that comes to my mind is a woman wearing a long pleated shirt, a ruffled shirt, and bonnet on her braided hair. She is tightly clutching the Bible to her chest and perhaps she has the rosary wrapped around her wrist. I also see a man in a suit wearing a skinny black tie. His face is bright red with sunburn from whatever unique climate he has moved his family into. And he too is carrying his Bible like it is not allowed to leave his hands.

Really, that is what I think of.

Mission-nary. That is the way it sounds in my head. Like two words. And it feels like two massive expressions coming out of my mouth.

Yet the missionaries that I know and have the privilege of working alongside seem so unlike the stereotype that I have somehow developed in my years of faith.

Rather, they are real and living people. They struggle and wrestle and have problems just like the rest of us. Living with them is a mess, but a beautiful one. They do not just wear skirts and ties. And some days, believe it or not, I do not see them carrying their Bibles at all. Gasp!

I do however see epic amounts of faith in them. Sometimes I roll over in my bed in the middle of the night and I can hear them uttering prayers to the God of the universe.

I look at my watch, gaze at my ceiling in amazement and note that my faith is still so small in comparison to theirs.

Standing next to them makes me see who I want to become and Lord willing, who I am becoming even today. They make me want to be a better lover of Jesus and I hope that you are surrounded by people who create the same desire in your own heart.

People have begun to ask me if I consider myself a missionary now and I immediately think no. A missionary? No, not me.

I have yet to truly think of myself as one, perhaps because I do not own a pleated skirt.

No, but in all seriousness, I do not know what exactly I consider myself other than someone who has found a place where the world’s deep need and my deep gladness have intersected.

And thinking of a “Mission-nary” in that sense does not seem so big and massive anymore. Instead it seems natural and a lot of other people that I know could say the same thing about their lives and they are much closer to home.

Thus, in that sense, we could all be considered missionaries in a way. We could and can and should be living lives with epic amounts of faith and the desire to love Jesus best.

It is time to change the way I think about the term. So let’s all be missionaries then.

Eliud...

2010-05-24T04:47:00.001-04:00

You have met Lillian. Now I am please to introduce her little brother, Eliud.

Like Lillian, my team fell in love with Eliud during the summer of 2008. A couple on my team went as far as to become Eliud’s sponsor.

Also like Lillian, when I returned in March, I kept seeing Eliud but from what I could tell, he was not in school yet.

My joy could not be contained when I bumped into him on Friday. He was in his school uniform and running with some boys to class.

Few and very few things in my life feel as rewarding as seeing the life of a child change. From 2008 to now.

Sponsorship is changing Eliud’s life. Thank you Jesus. And thank you Tim and Alicia for the sacrifices you make for this boy. I assure you, it is making all the difference!

“…stop for the one, believe for the multitudes…”

Four year old words...

2010-05-15T07:28:00.000-04:00

I live with a four year old named David who likes to pray a lot. It is pretty adorable and sometimes I find myself peaking out from behind my fingers just so I can watch him utter the words.

At dinner, he thanks God for breakfast.

Sometimes he thanks God for the oranges.

Other times he thanks God for his “family’s.”

Always, always, always, he says something along the lines of, “Jesus, love us. And you love us. Love us. And we love you Jesus.”

The other night I found myself laying in bed praying. Without even thinking about it, I said the same words that so often come out of the mouth of little David.

“Jesus, love us. And you love us. Love us. And we love you Jesus.”

I never thought that so few words could sum up the entire point of life. The point of my life.

Beautiful four year old words.

Meet Lillian...

2010-05-12T07:12:00.001-04:00

Lillian is a little girl that I spent a lot of time with during my summer here in 2008.

At that point, she was not in school, though she was well past the age of starting. Instead she spent her days running around, hanging from swing sets as you see her.

When I came back to Mathare this time, I kept seeing Lillian around. But still... she was not in school.

I wish you could have been with me last week. The students came back from break on Monday. And with them came Lillian.

Seeing her for the first time in a school uniform... well there are no words for that.

But here she is. Meet Lillian.

Even here...

2010-05-10T06:37:00.002-04:00

I posted this video a long time ago. Somehow it seems so much more meaningful while I am in Kenya. For me, it means more.

Because I quite literally step over the bodies of people everyday that I am capable of helping. I step over them on my way to buy fruit and to buy nuts. To buy things that I do not necessarily need.

So know that I am doing my own wresting. This video is about me.

I am finding my own "eight dollar hot dog." Even here.

The plans...

2010-05-03T03:54:00.000-04:00

One of my favorite bands sings this song called “Come Away.” A key line in the song is, “It’s gonna be wild. It’s gonna be great. It’s gonna be full of You.”

And I am finding that to be true. A life with Jesus is wild and great and full of Him.

My teammate Meredith shared with me a few weeks ago how she had been meditating on Jeremiah 29:11. It’s a pretty popular verse in the Christian arena.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Or as the Message says it, “I’ll show up and take care of you as I promised and bring you back home. I know what I’m doing. I have it all planned out- plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for.”

Meredith made the point that we often read that verse and think that it was written in the future context. Like what happens in the future will be good. Full of hope. What our heart desires.

The plans in the future very well may be that.

But she said something that has been sticking with me since our conversation. Meredith said that she was beginning to think of Jeremiah 29:11 in the context of now.

Now God knows what he’s doing. Now He has it all planned out. Now He is taking care of me, not abandoning me, working to give me the future and things that I hope for.

“These are the plans,” she said.

And I can attest to that. I feel like I am living the plan. Living the life of remarkable goodness.

I will not deny that things here can be tough. My heart breaks in new ways all the time. But regardless, these- serving in Kenya, Nairobi, Mathare, here- these are the plans God has for me. For me now.

It is wild here, it is great here, and it is full of Him here, now, today.

These are the plans.

2008 to 2010...

2010-04-24T05:31:00.001-04:00

Seeing the same children after two years makes my life. 2008 to 2010.

Oh yes!

My match...

2010-04-22T02:12:00.000-04:00

Ok, so I am slightly stubborn.

If you ask those closest to me, I kind of hate admitting that I was wrong about something. And I hate quitting a task almost equally as much.

But I know when I have met my match, and this picture a day posting is my match.

Yeah, posting every single picture from my Project 365 sounds absolutely great in theory...but then I moved to Kenya where the internet moves slow as molasses and the electric goes out every few minutes.

I am in over my head with all these posts and picture uploads. So I have to quit.

I know, I know. You are probably going to cry yourself to sleep tonight.

The upside is that you can still follow the project on Facebook my friends. The pictures will still make it there.

I refuse to be that wrong, at least yet anyway.

A glimpse...

2010-04-20T04:03:00.001-04:00

Dear friends and family,

I plan on writing you a full update within the next week or so. In the
meantime, I wanted to share with you a little video that I took at one
of the schools. It is a glimpse of the beautiful sponsored children
that I see everyday. It is a glimpse into the ministry that your
support has allowed me to be a part of.

I cannot express enough gratitude to you for letting me be here! So
may the faces and names of these children be thank you enough.

36 faces...

2010-04-20T02:10:00.002-04:00

High school in Kenya is not like high school in America. You do not just finish eighth grade here and proceed immediately into ninth grade. Instead you have to place into high school.

It is basically like getting into college.

A student takes tests and applies to various high schools. Admittance is limited and only the brightest teenagers of the country are selected.

So as you can imagine, it is a big deal for any student to get into high school here. It is an even bigger deal for a student in the slums to get into high school. Statistically the odds are stacked even higher against such children.

I cannot express to you enough just how important child sponsorship is. No words or pictures can really demonstrate the difference that as little as $30 a month can make in Kenya or so many other countries for that matter.

$30 a month in Mathare pays for school fees, two yearly school uniforms, and a daily portion of food for lunch. It provides the education that a child would receive from Kenya’s public school system should the family be capable of affording school.

But so many children’s families cannot afford Kenya’s public schooling.

There is this saying in Mathare that a child can look up and see his or her future. The cycle of poverty can be almost inescapable.

Yet the longer I am here, the more convinced I am that education plays a crucial role in ending poverty. If you can provide a child in poverty with an education, then you immediately raise that child’s probability of getting out.

On Friday, I spent some time with 36 high school students who come from Mathare. Some of the students have been with Missions of Hope since it began in 2003. Some of them were in middle school when I was last here in 2008.

All of them are a part of something tremendously big. They are the first set of students we (CMF and Missions of Hope) have had reach high school.

And when I look around the slums and feel discouraged, I think of these students who are bettering themselves, who are making it, because of education, because of $30 a month, because of Jesus.

These kids personify hope to me. Hope is alive in Mathare. It lives in 36 faces.

Look up. This is the future of Kenya.

Day 31...

2010-04-15T03:48:00.001-04:00

April 8th, 2010. Day 31. The flu was my one month celebration. Flu food includes homemade pineapple juice and porridge. Yum.

Day 30...

2010-04-14T03:41:00.001-04:00

April 7th, 2010. Day 30. Sister carrying her brother. Beautiful.

My position...

2010-04-13T11:06:00.000-04:00

I think it would be impossible for me to be here and not at some point question my position in life. Honestly, it is probably the question that has rattled my soul the most.

It continues to rattle my soul.

I mean, I'm American. I'm white. I'm from an upper middle class family. All of that means that I'm educated. I'm healthy. I'm able to do things like go to Kenya.

And in terms of being a female in the world at large, I come from the best circumstance possible.

Why was I given this position in life?

I was driving at night the other day. It was my first time driving at night in Kenya. The roads and driving regulations (or lack thereof) are confusing enough in the daylight. And so the night only made everything seem even more hazy.

But there was one part about driving at night that remains clearly ingrained in my mind.

The children. The night kids.

I got to this one roundabout and I turned my head to see if there was any traffic coming. Two seconds later there were three children standing next to my car window begging me for money. Pounding on my window.

Why wasn't I born that child? Why didn't I grow up pounding on the windows of cars passing through roundabouts?

I do not know. So much of my life suddenly seems unchosen. It all seems given.

I do not know why I am who I am. And I know that I will never know. But I still feel rattled by my position, by my sheer fortune in this world.

I literally look around me in Kenya at the street kids, the widows, the sick, the crippled, the prostitutes, the rich, everyone and whisper, "It could have been me."

It only seems right to use my life, my position, to help my fellow created beings who are in lesser positions in life. It only seems right.

Day 29...

2010-04-13T03:37:00.001-04:00

April 26th, 2010. Day 29. I am fairly certain this is the stairway to heaven.

Day 28...

2010-04-12T03:29:00.001-04:00

April 5th, 2010. Day 28. Family talent show. Dance party finale. This is how I imagine heaven.

Day 27...

2010-04-11T03:27:00.000-04:00

April 4th, 2010. Day 27. Sunday nap time.

Stopping and believing...

2010-04-10T09:57:00.000-04:00

My friend e-mailed me a quote that has been on rotate in my mind for a week or so now.

She quoted,” You can see Jesus in the eyes of the dying, the broken, and the lost. He came with ceaseless love for both one and the masses. Now we must do the same: stop for the one but believe for the multitudes. We are called to carry His glory, but first, we must lie down so that whole nations can come to Jesus. Revival has a face!”

That quotes moves me so much.

One thing that I have been processing through is how to help here. The slums can be overwhelming.

And when glue boys and hungry children are running up to me and asking me for food or money or both, sometimes I do not know what to do. Obviously I cannot feed everyone. Obviously I do not have money for everyone.

But sometimes I have enough for one.

Sometimes I get to stop for the one and believe for the multitudes.

Those are my favorite kind of days here in Kenya. The stopping and believing days.

I hope you find those kinds of days wherever you are too. Because revival has a face and I think we can be a part of it somehow.

Amen.

Day 26...

2010-04-10T03:24:00.001-04:00

April 3rd, 2010. Day 26. Shave my head in Kenya. Why not? T.I.A.

Day 25...

2010-04-09T03:20:00.002-04:00

April 2nd, 2010. Day 25. TOMS in Kenya. It's only right.

Day 24...

2010-04-06T02:34:00.000-04:00

April 1st, 2010. Day 24. Girl growing up.

Day 23...

2010-04-05T02:32:00.001-04:00

March 31st, 2010. Day 23. My sister and I looking rough after a long day.

Day 22...

2010-04-04T02:29:00.002-04:00

March 30th, 2010. Day 22. Some Baba Ndogo students.

Day 21...

2010-04-03T02:26:00.001-04:00

March 29th, 2010. Day 21. Numbers. We are all worth so much more.

Ugly beautiful...

2010-04-03T01:52:00.001-04:00

To be honest, the slums never get easier to see. Even outside of the physical circumstances of the slums- the smells and the sights- the stories that arise out of Mathare can be so heart breaking.

There are heavy burdens all around me in this place.

Sometimes I have moments when I feel this immense sadness about what is going in the world. Hungry children. Sick fathers. Widowed mothers.

These things are not just happening in Kenya. I know they are happening in India, Russia, Chile, America, on and on.

Everywhere.Such ugly things.

I was praying about the things that bring sadness to my heart the other day. Just talking about them with Jesus.

And I am find myself learning over and over again that the world will give me a thousand reasons why I should not believe in Jesus, why I should not believe that God is in control.

Reasons like hungry children and sick father and widowed mothers.

I have even heard people say before that no good God would allow such suffering to go on in the world.

But as I feel sad and as I pray, I come back to the place of recognizing that none of these things were in God’s plan. No amount of pain or suffering is in his will.

It is just that we have walked so far east of the garden of Eden. And things like hunger, sickness, and destitution are the terrible side effects of the sin that have taken us farther and farther away.

Thus I find myself saying quite often, “God, even when all the world can show me is ugly, I still find you beautiful.”

The world is an ugly beautiful place my friends.

Day 20...

2010-04-02T10:19:00.003-04:00

March 28th, 2010. Day 20. The mosquito net that covers me every night.

Day 19...

2010-04-01T10:16:00.001-04:00

March 27th, 2010. Day 19. Raphael and Rebecca. My first Kenyan wedding.

Day 18...

2010-03-31T10:11:00.001-04:00

March 26th, 2010. Day 18. My desk at work covered with the beautiful letters of sponsored children.

Day 17...

2010-03-30T14:11:00.000-04:00

March 25th, 2010. Day 17. Beautiful boy.

Day 16...

2010-03-29T14:10:00.001-04:00

March 24th, 2010. Day 16. Heads are always in front of my view of the road.

Day 15...

2010-03-28T12:16:00.000-04:00

March 23rd, 2010. Day 15. Some students on their way to recess.

Day 14...

2010-03-27T12:13:00.000-04:00

March 22nd, 2010. Day 14. Where I work from everyday- transforming the valley of darkness into the mountain of God!

Day 13...

2010-03-26T10:12:00.002-04:00

March 21st, 2010. Day 13. My first day driving our Voxy in Nairobi. Different side steering wheel, different side of the road. Watch out Kenya!

Day 11...

2010-03-25T16:29:00.002-04:00

March 19th, 2010. Day 11. Victory turns eleven.

Rain...

2010-03-25T11:45:00.000-04:00

I had a conversation yesterday with Erin and two missionaries- Keith Ham and Doug Kurz.

Doug was telling us how his family ended up serving in Kenya. And he remarked that God works in mysterious ways.

Keith coupled this thought by talking about how people sometimes want God to be logical. And he is not. Sometimes God makes no sense. Sometimes the ways he works makes no sense.

You see, it is the beginning of rainy season in Kenya right now. Last night, it poured for over twelve hours.

And in the slums, the ground is made of mud. The roads are twisted and ravines run through every village. Homes are made of tin and tarp.

As you can imagine, rain literally can be devastating.

Yet at the same time, I know that there are farmers in rural Africa who are praying for rain for their crops. They need as much rain as possible.

How can rain bring both life and death? How can God hear both requests for much rain and requests for no rain?

I do not know.

God, Christ, continues to baffle me. His logic, his ways, his methods, are so far beyond my mind.This makes me wrestle to continue to understand him and specifically his goodness.

Rain in Mathare makes me wrestle with his goodness. And faith spurs me to believe in it even when logic cannot be applied.

Day 10...

2010-03-24T16:21:00.003-04:00

March 18th, 2010. Day 10. Fellow apprentice Meredith's homemade dreadlocks, courtesy and labor of Erin Titus.

Day 9...

2010-03-23T13:47:00.001-04:00

March 17th, 2010. Day 9. Kenya countryside from my window seat.

Grace and grace...

2010-03-23T13:17:00.002-04:00

The first picture was taken during my visit to Missions of Hope in 2008.

The second picture is the current appearance of the same building.

As you can see, much is happening in Kenya.

And though I can easily point to physical things- buildings and streets- to demonstrate that God is moving in Kenya, I know that even more is happening in the spiritual realm.

I witnessed a woman named Grace come to Jesus today.

That is something that neither time nor improvement can overshadow. It is something that neither moth nor rust can destroy.

Thank you God for Grace and grace.

Day 8...

2010-03-22T13:43:00.002-04:00

March 16th, 2010. Day 8. My upward view from the Indian Ocean.

Day 7...

2010-03-21T13:38:00.001-04:00

March 15th, 2010. Day 7. The Indian Ocean in Mombasa.

Alive...

2010-03-20T04:52:00.001-04:00

The Gospel of Jesus is alive in this place. It is alive in a way that I have not always experienced myself.

I tagged along on some home visits these past few days in Mathare. Home visits generally entail going along with a social worker into the slums to see the parents of the children who are attending the Missions of Hope schools.

The faces and the stories from just this past week are swirling around in my head.

There was a woman who lost her husband less than a month ago. She must now be the sole caretaker of herself and her three children.

There was another woman who lost her husband. She must also take care of herself and her five children.

There was a little five year old girl is mute.

There was a little boy who was missing from school because he knee was completely swollen.

There was a woman my age who was formally a prostitute. Her sister passed away and so now she is responsible for providing for her two nephews and her own child. A twenty two year old woman.

These stories can be staggering. And yet they are more the norm than the exception here in Kenya.

But the light is this- the Gospel is practical and livable in Mathare.

God becomes father, husband, provider, lover, on and on here. The words of, "Give us this day our daily bread," literally mean something.

And the people know it. They know the beautiful truth that the Word of God can be so simple in application and encouragement.

Where in my own life I have scratched my head and pondered over what daily bread can possibly mean, the people here have deep understanding.

It means rice in the morning. It means rent at the end of the week.

There is skin on the Bible in this place. There is weight in it's words.

The Gospel is alive and I am coming more to life because of it.

Day 6...

2010-03-20T00:07:00.000-04:00

March 14th, 2010. Day 6. The drive to the coast of Mombasa.

Day 5...

2010-03-19T00:02:00.003-04:00

March 13th, 2010. Day 5. My first African sunburn.

Anywhere else...

2010-03-18T14:39:00.000-04:00

It is hard to imagine being anywhere else other than here. Kenya somehow feels like one of the most natural decisions that I have ever made in my life.

I think back to when I went to college. If I recall correctly, it took me a few month to feel as though I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

With one week into my time in Kenya, I can say most assuredly, this is exactly where I am supposed to be.

Even so, this first week has been like a whirlwind all around me.

As I mentioned last, the hand of God is so evident in the slums of Mathare. Coming back to the same area after two years has been the most meaningful thing to me thus far.

In the life of a community where the majority of the people live on less an a dollar a day, small improvements are actually huge. Change, no matter how miniscule, can be quite massive.

Thus, for example, there was one particular road my team and I used everyday in the summer of 2008. The road was piled high with trash and waste.

I walked on the same road on Thursday. And it is clear. The road has very little trash on it.

This change blew me away. Silly it may seem. But this is only but a example of how the physical conditions of the slums are improving.

I know, it is just one road. But if ten more roads were cleaned up. And then ten more, just imagine how quickly this could change the physical layout of Mathare.

Even outside of the physical environment of Mathare, there is a rich and thriving spirit of hope in the valley.

I sat in the home – a tin shack- of a woman who is the single mother of five children. She is struggle under the responsibilities of raising her family by herself. She shared with us that each day she gives her burdens to God and just trusts that he will provide.

And by the light in her eyes, I can see that God is providing for her and her children. Child sponsorship is one such example of how God is meeting the needs of the Kenyan people.

Thus, I write with a light in my own eyes. I am seeing new and old things here with each passing day. More, I am seeing new and old sides of the character of God in so many circumstances.

So again I say, it is hard to imagine being anywhere else other than here.

Number 11...

2010-03-18T14:08:00.003-04:00

A picture will soon be posted... but in the meantime, I am quite happy to report that number eleven on my 101 list is officially completed!

I saw Kenya's ocean. The Indian Ocean.

What a beautiful completion. It only took four days in Africa to do so.

Day 4...

2010-03-18T02:52:00.000-04:00

March 12, 2010. Day 4. The view of the slums from the Mission of Hope Center.

Day 3...

2010-03-17T02:50:00.000-04:00

March 11, 2010. Day 3. My view from Faith's soccer field.

Day 2...

2010-03-16T02:47:00.002-04:00

March 10, 2010. Day 2. Flying over the Atlantic ocean.

Day 1...

2010-03-15T02:40:00.000-04:00

So as I mentioned, Project 365 is something that I wanted to do when I got to Kenya. And seeing as how that is the case, it is time to begin posting my pictures.

Again, the goal is a picture a day for a year. And I am also going to try and post each photo, although there will probably be a week difference between when the picture is taken and posted.

Thus, my first picture.

March 9th, 2010. Day 1. My last day in America.

Number ten...

2010-03-13T00:20:00.002-05:00

Drum roll please.

Number ten on my 101 list- Go back to the continent of Africa...

DONE.

So yes, I am in Kenya and loving it. More to come!

From the air...

2010-03-10T18:15:00.000-05:00

Favor..

2010-03-08T18:11:00.001-05:00

This is a small glimpse of the explosion that comes with packing for a year of life in another country.

But my bags are closed now and my heart is in this place of readiness.

I wish I could describe every emotion that I am feeling on my last day in America. Joy and sadness, anxiousness and peace. On and on.

Mostly though, I am feeling waves of gratitude wash over me.

I remember talking to a friend who described the day after she got engaged. She said she was riding her bike and just crying. Crying because she did not know how she had become so favored by God to receive such a husband.

I have always remembered her telling me that story for some reason. Her crying because of her favor left this weird sort of mark on me.

And last night, when I was laying in bed, I got choked up. I had tears in my eyes because of the immense amount of favor that I feel.

Because it is nothing short of an honor to go and serve in Kenya. It is nothing short an extraordinary gift from heaven.

It humbles me. Truly.

So on the eve of my departure, I feel this weight of gratitude to Jesus for the adventure that lies before me. And I feel a swell of gratitude for those who have made Kenya possible for me.

I say to my supporters one sentence that has been rattling in my heart for many months now.It is written on the back of one of my favorite books.

I say to you, “I am what I am because of who we all are.”

And I thank you for letting me be who I am, who I was created to be for both myself and for Kenya.

With joy and excitement, I can finally declare that the next time you hear from me, Erin and I will be in Kenya.

Until then, may His favor find you all!
Bethany

P.S. Many of you have been asking for my mailing address. Thank you in advance for the mail!

PO Box 59322
00200 City Square
Nairobi, Kenya
East Africa

Greater than luck...

2010-03-07T06:54:00.002-05:00

I have been thinking a bit about the life that I used to think that I wanted. Because honestly, Kenya was not it.

I looked in my high school yearbook for what I wrote as my future plans. I said, "Attend a college and earn a degree that will lead me into a ministry. Marry, have kids, and live out God's amazing will." Sounds like a solid answer.

But if I am honest with myself, my idea of God's will included being married by now, having my first child by twenty three or twenty four, buying a house in Atlanta or general southeastern area, getting my dream Land Rover, and being in a position where I could choose whether I wanted to work or not. Those were my real future plans after high school.

And on Friday night as I was driving through the city of Atlanta -which is quite beautiful when illuminated- I had this moment with Jesus.

I said to him, "Jesus, you did not give me the life that I thought that I wanted... You gave me the life that I thought I could never have. The life that I was incapable of conceiving of as even a high school student."

My life quite literally blows my mind, not in the sense that it makes me feel larger. It makes me feel quite small. It makes me feel humbled and unworthy and thankful all at the same time.

And I am so aware in this moment that I am guided by a force that is far greater than luck.

Four days...

2010-03-05T00:19:00.000-05:00

So managing to leave for Kenya, getting ready that is, is a process in and of itself.

I have had a lot of people ask me these past few days if I am completely packed. I keep giving everyone the same answers and so it occurred to me that perhaps I should be writing about even these small details.

Thus is random fashion, here is a run-down of life right now.

My room has two suitcases sitting in it. They are both about 3/4's full. I have not weighed either of them yet, so I do not know where I stand on my fifty pound limits.

How am I packing for a year? Mainly I am bringing a lot of t-shirts (they are my favorite and I wear them everyday) and a lot of clothing that can be layered for every season. Shirts are definitely my number one priority.

Otherwise, my items are similar to what you would bring on any normal trip- a couple pairs of pants, a couple skirts, a bathing suit. Stuff like that.

So am I packed? Maybe 75%. I have a pile of more t-shirts and more things that I would like to include in my suitcase if I can manage the weight. If not, those things will stay home.

Other than packing, I write to you from Atlanta, which means that I made a little road trip down to visit my college and my friends.

Having not been at school since I graduated, it is certainly a unique experience. The good news is that I do not feel like I should be here anymore. The bad news is that I do not feel like I should be here anymore.

Odd, I know. But I think there is always a certain weirdness to a place when you return and realize that nothing is the same. And in a very great way, nothing is the same here.

Regardless though, coming to Atlanta is something that I do consider part of my leaving process. I have been able to meet and visit and pray with certain people. And I am finding that doing so before I leave is just making me feel all the more ready.

And so the list of things to do, both packing wise and friend/family/life wise, is growing increasingly shorter.

Soon, as in four days, there will be nothing left to do but leave.

Change...

2010-03-01T17:12:00.003-05:00

One task on my 101 list is to read through the Bible again cover to cover. I am still currently working on this objective.

But today was some sort of milestone in my quest. You see, I started reading the Old Testament sometime in the summer. I cracked Genesis probably around July. And today I hit the New Testament. The book of Matthew.

I do not have that great of a memory at all. I think Donald Miller was right when he said, "The saddest thing about life is you don't remember half of it. You don't even remember half of half of it. Not even a tiny percentage, if you want to know the truth."

I use that quote to point out that I forget most things.

Yet I have a pecicular memory regarding the Old Testament. I remember at some point in middle school saying something along the lines of, "We should just throw out the Old Testament. We do not live by those rules anymore anyway."

I specifically remember telling that to someone, although I forget who.

I do not share when I start this task or how far along I am in it to blow my own horn or anything like that. I only write this post because I realize that I am growing up and that is always worth writing about.

Because I am not so infantile anymore to think so little of the Old Testament. In fact, as I have journeyed with Jesus, I have only grown to love this portion of the Bible more and more. It is so significant to my faith.

The Old Testament is like the opening scenes to the play that I currently acting in. Without it, I would not know the context of my role.

I am so thankful that I do know my role in the play that is still going on. I am so thankful that I serve a God that is a masterful story teller and that he thought enough to leave me a piece of the story to read.

So I am reading and more than reading, I am finding myself on every page along the way. As a result, I am changing as I pursue this objective.

And I am beginning to think that change is real meaning behind not only this 101 business but this Bible business as well.

100%

2010-02-27T09:56:00.002-05:00

GREAT news came yesterday!

Erin and I are now both at 100% in support for Kenya.

This is huge, epic, massive.

I will be writing to you from Nairobi in as soon as ten days.

Check out more details here!

Failed attempts...

2010-02-23T08:48:00.002-05:00

I have yet to see anyone share their failed attempts at making those darn trendy "jump" photos. But here is a few for some laughs at our ridiculousness.

Different, new, good...

2010-02-21T20:22:00.004-05:00

I want to be the type of person that has my hands in a couple of different pots at the same time. What I mean is that I like people who are always trying new things and pursuing unique hobbies.

So obviously, my 101 list is one such pot that I have put my hand in. I keep you guys pretty up to date on it, because it is an interesting task to pursue. Well at least it is interesting for me.

Thus, some new pots are in the works folks. Why I feel like I am giving you a sales pitch right now I do not know.

Regardless, one of my up and coming projects (which I pray daily will start soon) is what some people refer to as "Project 365". I tried to find out the origins of the project as well as a main website for it, but I was unsuccessful in that endeavor.

Anyway, the gist of Project 365 is taking a picture every day for an entire year. I know a couple of people who are currently doing the project and I have certainly enjoyed viewing their handiwork.

I got kind of upset when I discovered the idea because it was after January 1st and I thought to myself, "Great, now I have to wait until next January until I can begin..."

But then I was struck with a genius thought which was that I could start my Project 365 on my first day in Kenya. It is going to be perfect as far as timing... you know cause I plan to be there for a year and all.

So like I said, I pray frequently that I can start this new project soon because that means I will be in Kenya. And that will be one good pot to have my hand in.

I hope you are as ready as me for this different, new, good pot- endeavor.

Part five...

2010-02-17T09:08:00.006-05:00

How did Kenya become part of my life? Some days I am not even sure. Other days I am able to put together a semi-lucid picture of how my soul was captured by the continent of Africa.

As I said, when I became friends with Jesus, a lot of things started changing.

I mentioned that I took off the fall semester of my sophomore year to take a missions trip. The objective was fourteen days in South Africa. The only problem was that the trip was canceled two weeks prior to our departure for a variety of reasons.

I am sure you can imagine how disappointed I was. I felt like I had been obedient to doing something for Jesus for the first time in my spiritual life. And it did not work out.

And not only did the trip not work out, but neither did my plan to graduate that coming spring. Long story short, not being able to graduate from my current school is what lead me to transfer to Atlanta.

It is my first semester in Atlanta and a few of my friends have heard about how I was supposed to go to South Africa but never got to. They also know that ever since then I have been burning to have the opportunity to go to Africa.

Thus when CMF came to my school and set up a table for their summer internships, my friend Amanda naturally felt that she should get me a brochure.

I mulled over the brochure. It was a full summer internship. Possible countries included Ethiopia, Ivory Coast, Kenya, Thailand, China, Mexico, and Chile.

I applied for it and marked Kenya as my first choice of the countries. I told myself that if I was accepted on the team that I was going, that Jesus wanted me to go.

I got accepted. So I am going.

And so without delving into all of the details of my summer, amazing is the best and somehow the least of words that I can use to describe my time in Kenya. It is the most beautiful place in the world and somehow one of the most desperate places at the same time.

Even now, I cannot think of the best way to speak about Kenya.

This I do know though- I have never seen more of the heart of Christ in my life than I did in my short two months in Africa.

So I came home and I returned to school. And I plunged headlong into being a Campus Life Minister and finishing up my senior year of classes.

Yet despite staying so busy, I felt like I was drowning as I tried to wrap my mind around how a culture like America can exist at the same time as a culture like Kenya.

And I remember just crying at a Sunday night service at school. Crying for the people of Africa. Crying over my own breaking heart. Crying and begging Jesus to come back and end the suffering of the world.

You see, I spent my summer in Kenya praying that God would break my heart for what breaks His and God honored my request. I thought then that I was participating in an internship which would help me change Africa when in fact time has revealed that Africa has changed me.

Africa changed me.

It changed the way I buy things. It changed the way I see people. It changed the things that I want. It changed the entire course of my life.

It is as though I have seen the worst pain in the world and I shake my fist at God asking him why he would allow such things to happen. And I have heard God whisper back to me the very same question.

Going back now is my response to the question. I must go back because of how I have been changed.

But more than just having my own heart and character be changed, my relationship with Christ has been transformed because of Kenya. Sometimes it feels like the two go hand in hand.

Because Jesus was my friend before Kenya. And since Kenya, he has become so much more.

It is as though Jesus and I are engaged now.

I attempt to make no decision without him. I want to go where he is. I long to spend the rest of my life in pursuit of him. I am wrapped up in what he is doing in this world. And I am willing to leave my own family and friends if it means that I am closer to him.

And so my story is much of a journey with Jesus. He went from being like my neighbor to my secret friend to my real friend to my fiance.

I can only pray that I will live a life in which it is as though I am married to Jesus.

Thus this is the last piece to share for now. My story only continues. And I can only pray that you find your own story wrapped up in the story of Jesus.

He is the story.