This summer
has been one of the craziest summers of my life. I have only spent 30 hours inside the United
States in the past three months. I lived
in Sang’alo Kenya for two months before going to Catacamas, Honduras for
another month. As I’m sure you can
imagine, I have many experiences to share from the past three months. I have walked miles and miles down the red
dirt roads in Kenya. I have paddled 28
kilometers down the Nile River in Uganda.
I explored some ancient caves that were found in Honduras that have been
dated to times before the Mayan Indians.
I have eaten many things that I would never like to taste ever again,
and I also dream of eating Chapati with my friends in Kenya and Tortillas with
my friends in Honduras. I have stories
upon stories that I can’t wait to share as soon as I get back to my friends and
family.
After 88
days outside of the United States, I have had some of the best days of my life
as well as days when I just felt miserable and wanted to catch the next flight
home. There is one day that I vividly
remember from my time in Kenya. This was
a day that the Lord was speaking very clearly to me, and I will never forget
the things that he taught me through this experience.
It was a
Sunday morning in Kenya, and we were told that our friend Joseph was coming to
pick us up from a little store about a mile away from our house. We were told to be at the meeting place at
8:30 sharp, and after waking up with plenty of time to walk there, Joseph of
course he didn’t show up for about an hour after we got there. We knew that he was taking us to greet the
people at a new church, but other than that we had no idea what to expect. Our job that day was just to encourage our
brothers and sisters in Christ.
We had been
in Kenya long enough to know not to expect a fancy building or even a roof over
our heads, but when we got to the church, it was one of the most beautiful
places I’ve ever seen. It’s probably not
what you’re thinking, though. Remember
that I was in rural Kenya, so there were no stained glass windows or beautiful
buildings with incredible acoustics.
This church
building was made of sticks and mud. The
church pews were tiny little slivers of wood being held up by twigs, that I was
sure wouldn’t hold one person, much less me and my roommate. It was built on land that the church members
had bought with their own money. They
had plans to buy the surrounding land and build a larger more permanent
building. After talking with some of the
members, I was amazed to find out that their dreams for the church were bigger
than I would have dreamed for that specific church on my own. They want to build a school for orphans and a
place for families to live that don’t have a place to call their own. Their faith amazes me, and I know that God
will bless their plans.
There were
so many people crammed into that tiny mud building, simply because they all
loved the Lord. There were newborns and
90 year old men, and there were also two white college girls from America. Anywhere I went in Kenya, I almost
immediately spotted a baby, but instead of noticing the precious children that
Sunday, I first noticed a man’s feet. He
has probably never had shoes on his feet for a day in his life. His feet were swollen and cracking and made
my own feet hurt inside of my $105 Chacos.
Despite the pain that he had to have in his cracking and bleeding feet,
he was fully dressed with a smile.
The sermon
that morning was about love. Romans
13:1-3 talks about how we can do great things, but if we don’t have love then
everything we do is meaningless.
We can
speak in English, Kiswahili, Kalenjin, or even in the languages of angels, but
if we don’t have love it sounds like a resounding gong or clanging symbol, or
maybe even the annoying alarm clock that wakes me up every morning. I can have faith larger than a mustard seed;
one that will move mountains, but if I don’t have love, the size of my faith
will never be big enough. We can be
members of a church with a multi-million dollar yearly budget, but if we don’t
have love, what are we really preaching? Love never fails, for God is love. The love of God is complete and not lacking
anything.
During the
sermon, I couldn’t help but think of the man sitting across the aisle from
me. It struck me that Jesus loves that
man with no shoes just as much as he loves me.
Jesus didn’t just die for those who can afford to live in a mansion, or
even the ones that have clean running water.
He didn’t just die for the ones who can wear nice clothes to church on
Sunday mornings. He didn’t just die for
those who speak English. He didn’t only
die for the ones that have a refrigerator and a dish washer. He also died for that man that walked
barefoot for miles and miles to attend church with other believers.
Isn’t it cool
that a Church of Christ doesn’t have to have a kitchen in order to feed their
guests? Isn’t it cool that God understands the languages of praises even when I
can’t begin to pronounce the first word in the song book? I also think it’s cool that Kenyans are
always willing to pass their baby to the white girl three rows in front because
I can’t help but smile?
As
Christians we come together as one body every Sunday no matter what time zone
you live in, language you speak, or clothes you wear. We all meet together, whether publically or
in secret, in a house, a two story auditorium, a one room concrete building, a
beautiful cathedral with stained glass windows, mud hut, or under a tree to
praise the one true God. What a
privilege.
Every
Sunday in Kenya different groups of people from within the church walk to the
front to sing for the others in attendance.
It’s definitely awkward when its two girls singing by ourselves, but we
managed to make it through. There are a
limited number of songs where one of us doesn’t have to echo the other
one. This particular morning in the mud
and stick hut we sang “This World is not my Home”. To our surprise, some of the Kenyans even
sang along with us.
Neither
Christi and I, nor the Kenyans are at home on this earth. We are just passing through. The angels are beckoning us from Heavens open
door. I long for the same things that my
friends in Kenya long for. We long to be
with Jesus. Please be praying with me
that there will be more Kenyans in Heaven tomorrow than there would be if Jesus
were to come back today.
These
people aren’t just pictures that you see in commercials on TV or on Pinterest
with a sad statement reminding you that you will likely have food for dinner
tonight. These are my friends. They came to my house every night before
dinner just to talk to us because they thought I was funny. They begged me to teach more classes than I
could handle in a day. They kill spiders
for me and tell me not to be afraid of the bats that lived in our ceiling. We sat under the stars together and they
walked me back home because I was scared to walk by myself in the dark. They invited me into their homes and allowed
me to be a part of their lives. These
are real people and they are my friends.
Living in
Kenya for two months was a huge adjustment in almost every way possible but I
wouldn’t trade that experience for the world.
The place is beautiful, the people are incredibly kind, and I learned
every day how to walk closer with the Lord.
After
having time to reflect on the past three months of this journey, one of the
things that was made clear to me is that this world really is not my home. I will never feel completely comfortable in a
place where I may or may not speak the language. I will never feel at home knowing that I have
family living on the other side of the world.
The only time I will ever feel at home is when I am in the arms of the
Living God. He has gone to prepare a
place for me, and I know that because he has told me.
Now
that I know this, it is impossible for me to live my life without telling
others. It is hard for me to not love,
because I know that Jesus first loved me.
Join with me in declaring the love of God and the hope that we have in
him to all of the nations. Let’s go into
all the world, and show others the way home.
