Farewell to Kenya....for now by Rudy Miller

Within a few hours Kate and I will be boarding our flight back to Norfolk. We are beginning to be concerned as to whether our plane will be on time, will we make our connections or get a comfortable seat. Our minds are already detaching from the reality of the past two months in Kenya.

Only our emotional good byes with Kenyan friends restores the reality of the present. We need to remind ourselves our friends are not getting on the homeward flight. No….they are staying to fight the good fight! Its times like this that makes us remember….

Mother Joyce greeting Emmanuel good morning in his new home, then changing his diaper.

Anita, at Mutomo Hospital, wondering how she will bring malnourished baby Mumbua back to health and keep her that way.

Ruth, Director of the Joy Home, receiving her third phone call of the day, pleading with her to please admit another at-risk child.

Simon’s impassioned prayer for his health.

Teacher Matrina rushing home to make a meal for several of the Allamano school children who have no meal or home for the evening.

Cliff, a medical officer in the Korogocho slum, trying to arrange a $3.00 bus fare for a patient needing life saving surgery at Nazareth Hospital.

Will we ever have the patience or fortitude of our Kenyan friends? Perhaps God is using these folks to change our hectic lives.

   

Mutumo's Children by Rudy Miller

For the past four years Kate and I have been drawn to Mutomo, Kenya. We are not certain why. It’s remote; 5 ½ hours from Nairobi, hot, arid and challenging to our U.S. comfort zone…..sporadic  electricity and no hot water! Yet we continue to return.

In the work of fighting HIV/AIDS Mutomo Hospital is famous. It has one of the highest percentages of children inflicted with HIV in Kenya.  841 children are under treatment at Mutomo;  47% of all their patients.

We began our visit to Mutomo Mission Hospital in the Pediatrics ward. Face after face, child after child cries for help. Duncan 6 months old, 5.0 lbs, Mary 1year old, 11 lbs. Seventeen children fill the ward struggling for life in the midst of malnutrition and HIV. We sat with the children and their guardians, we touched them but there was little we could do other than listen.

The next day we visited four homes and distributed food provided by Tree of Lives. All the sites were very remote and desolate. No food was obvious at any of the sites. Some folks were planting but the last harvest was long gone. At all homes couples were missing…..husbands or wives were dead or had left. Yet, there was an abundance of children, we greeted a total of 23 children. School was not a priority for those seeking only food or water for the day.

On our last evening we shared dinner with our Mutomo hosts. Anita, Sr. Mary and Sr. Bridget. Each are professional healthcare workers who manage the hospital. As each described their journey to Mutomo they all agreed they had only planned to stay 2 to 3 year.  Yet, 5 to 15 years later they were still there, hard at work, drawn by the same hand of our Lord who also draws us back!

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Lawrence by Dan Magee

A week ago Monday, I met Lawrence in the hospital while making rounds with Pastoral Counselor Vinton.  He was tiny and frail.  Having been born HIV+, he never had extended health, and was a regular patient in the hospital over the years.  

We met and talked for a few minutes.  The strength and determination behind his eyes shone through clearly.  He may be in here right now, like many times before, but he had things to do, and a life to get on with.  After we left, Vinton told me a little more about his situation, confirming that Lawrence took life in stride and did not let it get him down. 

A little later in the day, we were walking down a ward, and through the open space, we saw striding down the opposite ward a very purposeful column.  They turned out to be Lawrence’s main teacher, the school principal, and an armed guard escorting them (big rifle on his shoulder).  It turns out that there is a very strict schedule for the taking of end-of-term exams for the students here.  If the exams are not completed before the final date, there is no credit granted for that year’s work, and the student must take that year’s classes over again in order to proceed to the next level.

Lawrence is 17 years old.  The exams to be taken and passed would allow him to proceed to University level.  Vinton advised this is unusual progress for many students, a tribute to Lawrence’s academic ability and desire to succeed with his education.  Further he said, it is highly unusual for a student with Lawrence’s medical condition that took him out of school so often for treatment and recuperation at home and in the hospital, not to have been held back for a school year at any time.

We passed by the group a couple more times that day.  I took great interest in the work that went into creating a spot for Lawrence to take his exam.  The beds in his room all lay flat – no back support for him to sit up.  No desk surface for him to write his answers.  They moved from ward to ward and tried various pieces of furniture before he was finally propped into a sitting position with pen and book in hand. 

The next couple days at the hospital, we saw the group: Lawrence taking his exam, alone in the room, the guard keeping watch, the teacher or principal nearby.  Apparently, the exams took three full days to finish.  Vinton told me everyone receives the results of their exams when they are posted in the newspaper sometime in December or January.  Pass or fail, everybody knows; many before the students themselves. 

Last night, Vinton told me that Lawrence passed away over the weekend.  I cried.  

Sounds of Nazareth by Rudy Miller

Nazareth Hospital comes alive at 7AM every morning. Evening medical staff gives way to the day shift, beds and medications are prepared and the outpatient department opens for business. Last week, as I walked by the hospital kitchen at 7AM, I was taken by a sound……the kitchen staff was  singing…..”What a friend we have in Jesus.”

Nazareth Hospital’s vision statement reads…”witnessing Christ through a healing ministry offering holistic care.” Yet, vision and song are only significant if the words are lived out in the lives of people. Most Kenyan’s view of Christianity is not bound by denomination. They see their relationship with Christ as relevant at 7AM as on Sunday morning. I believe that is incarnational living.

Every day three Pastoral Counselors begin their medical rounds at Nazareth Hospital.  Each counselor is trained to bring compassionate care to medical healing. I spoke with Vinton, one of the counselors, who spoke of a mother who had just lost her first baby at birth. A shock in any culture yet extremely significant in Kenya. Vinton calmly spoke of praying with the mother and her family and giving them the hope of future children and family. Although he was tempted to flee from the grief, he turned the moment into one of encouragement.

Five years ago Tree of Lives established and continues to financially support Pastoral Counseling at Nazareth Hospital. Recently the program has been expanded by training local church members to deal with grief and depression in the midst of hospitalizations.

The kitchen staff is not unique to Nazareth Hospital.  All departments begin their day with worship and prayer.  What an inspiration to the patients they serve and a true example to me of living out the Christian life.

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Children Raising Children by Jeanne Perin

It was a sunny day in the slum of Limuru yesterday. Betty and I were with Rachael, an HIV nurse, and Hannah, a Community Helper, a volunteer role vital to the work the clinic does in people’s homes. The four of us were  gingerly walking down a long, rocky, and clay-packed path with local children shouting “How are you?” at us.  As we neared the bottom of the incline, we came to a lovely garden where our client, Elizabeth, was hoeing. It was lush and meticulously kept and put our small backyard garden in Norfolk quite to shame.

She finished quickly when she saw us and led us around a building to her small apartment. What came into view around the corner was a tree with a ragged blanket under it where four distressed young children were seated. The oldest, about four, was holding and patting his 8-month-old or so little sister who was crying inconsolably. A younger brother sat next to him looking perplexed and unhappy while another baby girl sat crying with tears and more smeared on her face. Her pink jacket was wet with tears, the rest of her was soaked as well, and the entire sight made my heart stop and begin to break. My arms however, were immobilized. The impulse to pick up one of them was thwarted by the thought of getting wet and dirty if I touched them. I wasn’t up to their rescue, but fortunately,  Rachael and Hannah were. They each chose one and cleaned them as best they could. The smallest girl was tied on her big brother‘s back with a chukka  (all-purpose shawl ), and they gave the other girl to Elizabeth,  who was her neighbor, a familiar face. With the babies quiet, we convened in Elizabeth’s small but neat living room and Racheal conducted the interview, checking her progress with HIV and the ARV’s (antiretroviral) medications she is taking.

As has happened repeatedly since coming to Kenya, I’m humbled by my own inadequacy, the way I live out my own culture being too small to fully embrace a different one.  If humbling is what I need, as I suspect it is, then this experience was very constructive.  

And what about the children? Elizabeth told us that the parents left the three littlest ones in the care of the four-year-old.  The reason isn’t known, but it’s a common sight to see very young children put in charge of infants while the mom or both parents work or beg for food. The family is on my prayer list, and that’s the best I can do for them. Which brings me to the point of this blog – to be here effectively, we have to give up the notion to fix problems and instead, do what we can to help and not hurt and leave the rest to God. He doesn’t have a culture problem, and if I’m patient and trusting, he will help me grow out of mine.

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Dancing at Joy by Valena Hoy

I’ve always thought of Joy as an emotion that is experienced, but here in Kenya, it is a place you can actually encounter.  Last night I had an overnight at the Joy Home where 20 precious children with tragic histories have a bright future.

After helping cook dinner with the Mama’s for a bit, I ventured into the dining room where upbeat Christian music was playing and the children were dancing…and smiling…and laughing.  I had literally walked into a place…a location of Joy.

Victor, one of our young boys, bounced right in front of me and grabbed my hand…and we danced…and smiled….and laughed…in this place of Joy.

“The Joy of the Lord is our strength.” Nehemiah 8:10


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Songs of Praise for Kenyan Schools by Sally I'Anson

I can say with great assurance that my day, yesterday, spent walking through a Kenyan slum, was one of the best days of my life.  I was blessed over and over and over again.  Last, week I spent a day with Ann, from  the Holy Family Center and Jean, a community Health Worker in Kawaidah doing home visits in that community.  They arranged for me to go to two schools within the community.  This was a big favor as Mzungu are typically not invited. 

As Ann and I wound our way deep into the community to meet Jean her cell phone rang.  The ring tone is Michael Bolton’s remake of “Lean on Me.”  To each other’s  surprise we both began singing loudly and clapping to the beat and smiling broadly while tipping our faces up to soak in the sunshine and fun we were having together in spite of the grim realities of our surroundings.  I knew right then God was with us and was asking us to lean on him in his strength and glory no matter what we would encounter.

I was welcomed warmly by the deputy headmaster at the brand new Kawaidah Primary School.  He allowed me to observe part of a grade 8 English lesson and all of a grade 8 social studies lesson on the sources of revenue for the Kenyan government.  The classroom was large and the students were attentive, respectful and smartly dressed in their gray and blue uniforms and leather school shoes.  What I enjoyed most about the civics lesson was the teacher constantly and quite enthusiastically asking the students after each of his statements “Isn’t it?”  and “Are we together on this?” It was quite funny.  After exiting the classroom building into the school yard I was swarmed by more than one hundred elementary aged students pushing and squirming to get a hand close enough so that I could touch it.  I felt like God was dumping a full bucket of his love straight on the top of my head.  I was laughing and smiling at these children and marveling at their fascination with my skin and hair. 

My new sisters in Christ and I then headed for the Joy Pot Primary School in the heart of the slum.  It is a private school costing 600 shillings per month (roughly $6).  Students must provide their own uniforms and pay fees for books (which they can share).  This school was started by one man and began with only grades 1-3.  It became very popular quickly and parents asked him to add grades 4-7 right away.  The Joy Pot school is nothing more than a series of blue corrugated metal roofed wooden shacks strung together on a patch of dirt.  I estimated each classroom to be not more than 10’ x 10’ and classes ranged from 22 to 42 students in grade 2.  The students sat quietly smiling 2 or 3 to a narrow bench attached to a 8” board used for a writing surface.  Their uniforms were tattered and they kept their sweaters and hats on despite the stifling heat. 

In each of the 3 classes  I visited the students would greet me in unison then the teacher would have me come up to sit or stand next to her so they could sing me one or two Christian songs, followed by the teacher presenting a 5 minute lesson and then students would answer a question or two about the teaching.  I tried hard not to cry in front of the students when they sang because it was just so incredibly moving and beautiful with each child singing as loudly as they could and using the hand motions to act out the words.  

In this particular school they have a ritual that when a student gets an answer correct the teacher often says, “Let’s give him a clap.”  Then along with a clapping pattern the students say the following in unison “Give him a nice clap. And another one. And another one. You are the best. The  best of all.”  Adorably, the child who is being sung to stands and swishes his hips to the beat.  As my grandmother  used to say, “I felt as if I had died and gone to heaven.”  They saw how thrilled I was with this song that they sang it to me and I danced for them and laughed at them laughing at me.  Again, I felt God’s love poured over me .

The day ended sitting and chatting with my sisters on a bench located on a muddy ditch outside of a “shop.”  I was so happy sipping from a straw  in my filthy Sprite bottle eating Kenyan buns with a plastic bag on my hand knowing that God was protecting us and allowing us to appreciate the wonderful teaching and learning here in Kenya.

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Since I've Landed...by Iva Robinett

I am mentally and spiritually many more miles (kilometers) ahead of a “tourist.”  The Tree of Lives graciously provides the opportunity to link lives that are geographically and culturally diverse.  It is a vision trip about being and learning.  It is not a trip about, “fixing,” what could be considered an uncomfortable existence by most American standards.

There are many more lives here touched by the stigma and ravages of HIV/AIDS (more recently cancer) and material poverty.  The statistics are staggering—over 15 x’s that of North and South America.  I had to ask myself, “What is the glue that holds this vibrant culture together?  What gives an African a, seemingly, greater capacity to deal with this plague of death and dying of their young, yet have the capacity to be joyful, gentle and patiently accepting?”

When Lillian, the pastoral counselor, was asked this question, she answered, “the sense of community and faith.”  The young mother Ann she counseled this morning, who tragically lost both her newborn twins over the last four days, was immediately grieving over the community’s loss, not her loss.  The death of the young man Lawrence was the Nazareth and Holy Family Center’s loss. 

Death is the one indisputable fact of life that binds all of humanity.  Africans embrace the belief not only in community to ease this burden but in their faith in the resurrection and the assurance of God’s love.  A bible verse hanging in Lillian’s office is Matthew 5:3-11, with Be Happy Always, next to it.  It may not be a Westerner’s interpretation.  Another verse was, “ God gives people what they need—poverty that I might be wise.” 

Africans embrace the agony and ecstasy of life.  Or, as Pastor Jim is helping us Americans to see,  despite the agony, they are really LIVING life. 

The Africans are praying for you.

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I Pray a Blessing on You by Valena Hoy

“…I pray a blessing on you and your family.”

The riches and abundance of God’s Kingdom are found in surprising places.  I was made rich today through the poorest woman I have ever had the pleasure of visiting.  Her name is Lois.

When Lois saw Alice (a staff member at Holy Family Center) and me she immediately stood up from her dinner preparations and invited us into her home, a humble shack with outside walls and roof made of corrugated tin. 

We walked through the entrance of her home and took our seats in one of the cleanest dirt floor rooms I have ever seen. We barely fit into the space and the smell of smoke from the cooking fire through the feedbag walls fragranced the air.

Lois proceeded to share that her 14-year-old son has been helping her remember to take her HIV and TB medications.  She expressed how blessed she was to have such wonderful support from her family.  Even though I only understood what Alice translated, the gentle tone of Lois’ voice and humble presence captured my heart. 

We encouraged Lois to continue her faithful regime of medication along with a well balanced diet so that she would stay strong and less vulnerable to infections and disease.  As I sat in her simple and modest home, I was overwhelmed with gratitude to experience the richness in Lois’ life.  

As our time with her came to a close, I prayed for Lois and her family.  When I finished, Lois began talking again and Alice translated.  Lois said, “I thank you so very much for coming, I pray a blessing on you and your family.” 

As she spoke I felt an unexpected shower of blessing as I received riches beyond measure from a sister in Christ, who owns so little but lives abundantly in humility and love.

My cup overflows.

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Taking Off My Shoes by Jeanne Perin

“ How can you walk a mile in someone else’s shoes unless 

you take your own shoes off?”

This question posed and inspired by Pastor Jim from the book, Walk a Mile in My Shoes by Trevor Hudson, has been going through my head since arriving in Kenya Monday morning. In that night’s devotion, Jim suggested that to get the most from our pilgrimage, we should take daily time to reflect and journal, describing the new experiences and asking questions of ourselves that bubble up. The one that came to me almost immediately after our evening was, “How do I take off my own shoes?” Literally, of course, it’s simple, but what does it mean spiritually, in the context in which I am now? How do I take off my own shoes and walk in the shoes of these beautiful people that God loves the same as he loves me? What can I do to enable relationship that is both healthy and helpfully compassionate?

The answer began to take shape in light of the contrasts between my own and the Kenyan culture when frustration and humility arose as I was confronted with my own brokenness at the same time as seeing the varied brokenness in this country.

Since, to put it mildly, I don’t have very pretty feet, taking off my  own shoes  spiritually and in this place means exposing something or things of myself that I don’t like. There are several that have become apparent in the travel and early days here.

First, the 36 hours on planes and in airports coming here showed me how wedded I am to the comfort and self-control of my culture. Hours spent sitting cramped in the economy section of four different airplanes, cold water showers after arriving, lost luggage, muddy red clay on my shoes, all jolted me into recognition of this dependence.

Being quick to judge is another failing of mine that reared its ugly head in these first days. Betty, my travel companion, and I were able to see the preemies at Nazareth Hospital in the complex where we’re staying. Two moms were there holding their newborns. Purity was joyfully welcoming her new baby, while Lois, sitting with one baby in her arms and its twin in the nearby incubator, looked a bit strained and tired.

Not thinking anything of it, I spoke to both and encouraged them about the new development in their lives, remembering the joy I felt when Dave’s and my own daughters were born. Later, during that evening’s devotion when I was describing our visit to the team, it came as a shock to me when Jim told us that twins born in Kenya, especially in rural areas where we are, are considered a curse and in years past, were not allowed to live. Although these babies won’t be killed, they face a future stigma because of superstition.

There’s plenty more evidence of my own brokenness, but these dominate in the current circumstances and are sufficient to pull me out of any feelings of superiority or tendencies to patronize.  In the remaining week and a half, I will strive, with God’s faithful help, to just be here as the broken person I am, walking in God’s love and grace, praying for him to show me how best to relate and asking Him how best to continue after the trip is over, to walk gracefully with these people and the many others Tree of Lives seeks to serve.


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Go Fly a Kite by Don Johnston

It is so nice being back in Kenya.  Last year I spent a lot of time with the school here called the Alamono School.  I’ve never seen such motivation to learn.  Last year my wife Cheryll and I were teaching 3rd grade when lunchtime was announced.  Lunch is usually the only meal that these kids get in a day.  The whole class refused to go to lunch because they wanted to learn more.  We had to walk out of the class to get them to go to lunch after several extensions of the lesson.  You can imagine how endearing these students are to us.  

We stopped over during their lunch on Monday.  We were mobbed.  I felt like a rock star with everyone calling our names and wanting to shake our hand.  One student wanted to show me a kit that he made.  (Insert photo of a student with a kite).  Before long we had 7 students flying home made kites.  

Steve Corbett and Brian Fikkert talk in their book When Helping Hurts that the Western notions of poverty is that it’s about lack of money or possessions.  I know I frequently describe the people here to others back home by what they don’t have (lack of toilets, running water, and electricity).   Corbett and Fikkert say that poverty is really about not having choices to affect one’s life.  I worry about the future of these kids.  Will they have choices to realize their potential or will they be stuck in a poverty cycle like their parents with having to work in the tea fields for $1.25 a day.   

These kids have two things that can equip them to break this poverty cycle here in Kenya… education and their faith.  I think I'll go back tomorrow and do my own kite design with them.  I saw some bubble wrap laying around that could make a great kite.

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Brian by Sally I'Anson

I learned about Brian soon after my arrival. A family member had brought him to the hospital a few days earlier and the doctors did not think he would survive more than 3-5 days. He looked to be roughly 10 or 11 years old and suffering from AIDS tuberculosis. Before our dinner I went over to the pediatric unit to introduce myself and make a pipe cleaner and bead bracelet with him. He was lying in bed with a black knit cap on and pajamas with grey bib ski overalls on top. Even with all of his clothing he was painfully emaciated. He had been having trouble keeping his AIDS medication down. However, her had been able to eat a hardboiled egg for dinner so we were both happy about that! I cried myself to sleep that night praying Brian would be alive the next morning. He was! I made a silly red heart out of construction paper and wrote “God Loves You” on the inside along with a picture of a cross and some stickers. We taped it over his bed where he could see it. The next morning I went over to see Brian and we did a Noah’s Ark puzzle and made a leather bracelet with plastic beads made from drinking straws and he showed me a picture he had made for me of a lake and dock located near his home. Later that morning when we went on rounds with the pastoral counselors in the pediatric unit Brian’s bed was empty. I felt bereft and worried that he had required more medical attention and had been moved or worse yet, “gone on to glory”. The student nurses quickly assured me that he was discharged to go home with his father and they were headed over to the Holy Family Center. He was there sitting quietly on a bench while the staff was doing paperwork with the father.  We sat there for a minute together then he followed me around the circle to say “good bye”. We hugged and had our picture taken together.

As I write this I continue to weep for Brian and know that it is not only the jet lag that has kept me from sleeping since I arrived. Despite his infections and frailty, I am overwhelmed with a desire to cuddle and hold Brian in my arms and whisper words of encouragement and hope and share my love and God’s love with him. I am afraid he will be cold or hungry at home without me. Having only known him for three days, I miss him terribly and pray for his healing and peace.

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My Heroes by Rudy Miller

It’s October….World Series time in the States. In Kenya sport fans are focused on Soccer or the Rugby World Cup. Yet all sport fans seem to have their heroes.  Although some for only a season.

As yesterday evolved at Nazareth Hospital, God continued to bring heroes into my path. I have known Sister Alphena for several years. She is the administrative nurse at Nazareth Hospital. Yesterday she organized a medical camp for 300 patients at the Riuru Clinic. With a gentle spirit yet a firm grasp on a medical crew of 15 Alphena made each patient comfortable. From diagnoses of Typhoid Fever to Diabetes, I saw the respect each patient received.

Michael stopped by our home to speak with Pastor Jim and myself. Michael is the director of HFC and has the ultimate responsibility for 4200 HIV/AIDS patients and a medical staff of over 50. Michael explains that medical oversight is important, “but each patient needs to realize your compassionate caring for their health and that of their family.”

Teacher Matrina was on her way home from the Allamano School. Her day was finished yet she wanted to be certain her female students received the reusable feminine hygiene product and soap brought by the visitors. Yet, her greatest concern was for the spiritual well being of her students. She prayed that each student might have a better understanding of their relationship with other and with God. Right on….Matrina.

We ended our day with Alice. At the age of 14 Alice has never had a complete book to read….not one. Yesterday we gave her a 105 page book .…Tales of Africa. She finished it in one day and described, accurately, what she had read. Tonight she borrowed her second book, Black Beauty, and offered to be responsible for distributing and collecting three other books to several children. A librarian in a town without a library?

I realize the world may never cheer for the Teacher Matrinas or the Alices of Kenya, yet God reminds me daily that these folks will still be striving to complete their calling long after the cameras and visitors depart. They are my Heroes.  



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Where Are You by Iva Robinett

Pastor Jim wanted his newly arrived pilgrims to ponder the first question of the bible--
Where are you? Today I am in Kenya at Nazareth Hospital because there is a time and season for all things.  After today, I know it is time for me to be here.  What a spectacular setting for God’s work!  Kenya is astounding beauty of a bountiful nature against the back drop of the astounding poverty of physical and social needs.  But, after spending just one day at the hospital, no poverty of spirit or lack of joy was shown by the patients and staff.

Many thanks to Lolleen, a beautiful 25-year-old dietitian, who was this initiate’s first-day guide.  She graciously gave me every opportunity to speak to patients.  She interpreted in Swahili for those who did not understand my English—often the 3^rd language for most. 

Many thanks to Michael.  who stood up in front of the diabetes clinic and confidently translated information provided on diet, medication and foot care.  He was complimented for presenting like a teacher.  He then said he was a teacher.

Many thanks to Samuel, a newly diagnosed young man with type 1 diabetes. He is an orphan, works and studies, and now he is learning how to give himself two injections of insulin.  He credited his courage and “fortunate circumstances,” towards his faith in God.

Many thanks to the HIV(+) mothers, who showed the fortitude to get tested for a healthy baby, despite facing the stigma of being positive and possibly losing an HIV(-) husband.  They say they are living “positively,” controlling a chronic disease.  Say prayers for Elizabeth and baby, who is feeling guilty for not getting tested soon enough to prevent probable transmission to her 4-day old infant.

Where am I?  Tomorrow will be another answer.


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So What Does the First Day on the African Continent Feel Like? by Dan Magee

So what does the first day on the African continent feel like?  Will there be a resemblance to the various parts of it that I’ve heard about over the years?  Will I be able to gain everything from the pilgrimage that God has placed here for me? 

It’s really important to me to turn a personal corner on this journey, to reach out for that personal relationship with God and not care who knows it; in fact, to let people know that’s exactly why I’m here.   I want to strip everything down to the essentials of a Christ-centered life, to honor those things of God and for God and in God, and to move through each day with a complete and joyful reliance on Him, particularly during the difficult times.

Today flowed naturally, with walks all over the compound and little visits with many of the people who make up the hospital and family community at Nazareth Hospital.  The walk to and through the tea fields was amazing.  We can hear about beauty; it’s altogether different to experience it directly. 

Meeting Nguvu and walking with him and his friends replaced the reports we receive in worship on Sunday mornings.  We’ve heard about the porch kids many times.  But building airplanes and helping to drive the joyous chaos alongside them made me as happy as I’ve been in a long time.

God’s presence is here – in each pinch of 2 leaves and a bud.  He is here in our evening devotion and our plan for tomorrow.  We looked at Genesis 3 this evening: God called to the man, “Where are you?”  Tonight I knew.


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You See That Mountain?

“You see that mountain, Pastor? I want to climb it.”

Moses, a fourth grader at Good Shepherd, a boarding school reserved for some of the brightest in Kenya, began his life a far way off from privilege. Born to parents who pick tea all day long for about $2, Moses got a late start in school, beginning first grade at age 9, in our Allamano School, which targets those whose lives, simply put, haven’t always been that pretty. 

But now one of twelve “scholars” who show incredible ability, drawn out by the generosity of others from a nation far away, Moses studies …  studies … studies … and dreams of climbing the Abedare Mountains, looming as a giant dare over both Good Shepherd and this little determined fireball.

 “You see that mountain, Pastor? I want to climb it.”

He gazes and sees another height, yet unreached, dreaming of climbing. And as we talk, his eyes full of challenge, I’m reminded that mountains are, in so many ways, all this little boy has ever faced.  Yet, so far, not a one has slowed him down.   

“You see that mountain, Pastor? I want to climb it.” 

When the time comes to part, I whisper, “Moses you remember Psalm 121? That’s your song…”

“You see that mountain, Pastor? I want to climb it.”

As I drive away, down this dusty rutted road, I make a mental note: The next time I come visit Moses, remember to bring my hiking boots.

“I lift my eyes to the hills. Where does my help come from? It comes from the Lord…”

Psalm 121:1

God is good…so very good.  


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Medical Time at the Joy Home

Kate and I arrived at the Joy Home as 17 children were returning from a day at school.  Faces, names and personalities are beginning to become more familiar. Moses is a spokesman, David is the silent charmer and Naomi is a mature young lady. Naomi, an 11 year old, has recently entered the Joy Home. Currently we are having a difficult time finding her a school.  She is HIV+ and as with many children, she is suffering with the stigma of the disease.

As the children arrived home they quickly changed from their school uniforms into play clothes.  The Moms were ready for them with a cup of porridge and a banana for each child. Caring for and raising 20 children is a 24/7 challenge for these women……endless piles of laundry and plates of food! At 6:30 pm, just prior to dinner, the call went out “medical time”.  All of the children seem to work together to encourage the 11 HIV+ children as they moved into the dining room area to receive their antiretroviral mediation.  This ritual is repeated every morning at 6:30 am. I noticed Naomi moved quickly. There are no HIV stigmas at the Joy Home. Perhaps her maturity, beyond her years makes, this process a life giving reality. Naomi is one of the children on Second Line treatment due to adherence issues. Hopefully, this will successfully combat the virus.

Morning wakeup call at the Joy Home is 5:30 am. Children put on their uniforms in anticipation of the day, have breakfast and begin their walk to school by 6:30am. Naomi was outfitted today in a pretty white dress, no school uniform. She seemed anxious to begin another day of school interviews; perhaps this will be the day. Most Joy Home children have not been able to attend school on a regular basis due to their unstable family situations.

P.S. We learned late today that Naomi has been admitted to class 6 at the John Boscoe School in Ngarariga. We continue to thank God for ever victory we have been privileged to be a part of at the Joy Home.

You can help support this great cause. Visit www.treeoflives.org to learn more.  To donate now, visit <https://app.etapestry.com/hosted/TreeofLives/OnlineDonation.html> 

It Takes a Village to Solve a Puzzle by Jim Wood

October 20 is Kenyatta Day, sort of the equivalent of the 4^th of July for Americans. Named after Kenya’s first President, Jomo Kenyatta, a revered Freedom Fighter, today the current President will make a grand speech in the capital of Nairobi, flags will furl, soldiers will parade in towns large and small, businesses will be closed, those who can afford it will return to their homelands and share a barbequed goat or two with extended family.

For those who populate my front porch this morning, it is a bit different. Granted, their parents, mostly tea pickers who work for less than  $2 a day, will not be plucking tea but neither will they be paid.  So rather than the smell of charred meat, their families will have a few fewer beans in their pots tonight. In a way, it seems that true independence is yet to arrive, at least in this part of my world.

So my porch kids arrive almost as early as the morning rains; schools are closed and they have nowhere else to go, nothing much to celebrate, other than a “free” day. And this is my commitment to them, in some small way, to help them feel the fresh breeze of freedom. James can sit in a grown-up chair, cross his legs like he sees the old men do, and read the morning newspaper. Alice can sit on my wood box, bundle herself with a tattered wrap and watch the younger kids run. Zecharias can leisurely twist the wire he pulled from the heap this morning, as the artist within creates a beautiful metallic bird.  Then every hour or so they will collect themselves, boys and girls, the young and the younger, as a community of freedom and submit their solitary wills to the communal project of a 100 piece puzzle.  As I watch, I’m reminded of how Psalm 133 opens, “ How good and pleasant it is when God’s children live together in unity!”  

So this Kenyatta Day. Though I don’t smell flame-broiled goat, I breath in something so much sweeter, the aroma of hope - hope in and for a new generation, one which perhaps just might be able to work together more cooperatively than mine, even if only once in an hour or so, so that, in unity, they may solve some of the puzzles we have left to them.

This rainy glorious holiday, I thank Jesus for the joy of witnessing a little hope unfurl amidst a dozen young puzzle solvers.  Happy Independence Day. 

Anastasia by Jim Wood

The privilege of watching a baby take her first steps is one of God’s rich bonuses. Such was the gift for my first day back in Africa. Anastasia, a gorgeous little 20-month old, took her first steps at the Joy Home, in Ngarariga, Kenya at 3:53 Eastern Africa Time.  And when she did the heavens opened up… her entire family rejoiced, women smiled, children clapped and this white man, as usual, cried.

You see, Anastasia has a special story, one in which her first steps are an immense leap forward.

The fourth born girl to a single mom dying with AIDS, Anastasia was orphaned just weeks after her birth. Her grandmother tried her level best to take care of four grandchildren, all under the age of six. Each day she would find a neighbor to tend the older ones and then strap little Anastasia on her back, as she headed to a local rock quarry, where for ten hours a day she would chip larger rocks into smaller and smaller ones, when, at the end of the day, she would pocket about $1.50.  Then she would make the long trek back home, where Anastasia was untied from her back bundle and placed in a cardboard box while grand mom cooked and tended the older children. 

Strapped on her grandmother’s back, or laid in a box nearly all of her hours for well more than a year, Anastasia’s body never thrived and her little legs never matured.  Then the $1.50 quarried a day went away when grand mom, herself with AIDS, became ill. Things got worse and worse…until it appeared that death perhaps would visit this home once again.

But today, Anastasia, 20 months old, her once tiny body enriched by good food, unformed legs strengthened by physical therapy, spirit built by the love of an adoptive new mom and aunties and sisters and brothers at the Joy Home, took her first step…and then another…and another…and…

…and when she did, this crying white man saw the heavens opened and witnessed, first-hand, the smile of Christ.

Only He knows where her next steps will lead her but, based on the heavenly smile witnessed today, I have the feeling they are leading her into an awesome future.

In Him,

Jim 

PS: In case you couldn’t tell, it was a great first day in Kenya. 

"Friday - School's Out!" by Rudy Miller

Whether in the US or Kenya, Friday marks a special day for children. The start of their weekend!

This past Friday afternoon, Kate and I visited the Joy Home as the children returned from school. I suspect they were surprised to see visitors but they were quick to greet us with many handshakes. The boys were boys, showing us their newest Karate moves, followed by their ladder climbing skills. We recognized several familiar faces…..Moses from Holy Family Center and Michael from the Allamano School. Over one half of the children at the Joy Home are  HIV+ and most are full orphans.

The boys wanted to show off their bedrooms and specifically they wanted us to see their personal shelf of clothing…..several   shirts and socks.  They were all smiles! It later occurred to us that this might be the first t time these children have had their own space and clothing. Sometimes what we take for granted is a treasure at the Joy Home.

The girls were giggly and especially proud of their bunk beds. The beds were neatly made and their names where written prominently   on their storage cabinets. Many children in Kenya, especially orphans, sleep on the floor or several to a bed… these bunk beds are truly a treasure.

Three Moms were busy in the kitchen preparing mokimoke (mashed potatoes, beans and corn) and mandazi (a donut like treat) for Friday night dinner. Each of the Moms have completed 12 weeks of training including nutritional instruction.  In order to combat the side effects of a weakened immune system in many of the children proper nutrition is essential.

We wanted to stay for dinner but needed to leave. We promised to return this week and spend the night with them…our first sleepover. 

"Happiness is in Doing" by Rudy Miller

A poster on the wall of the pediatric ward of Nazareth Hospital reads “Happiness is in doing”. I’m not certain those words are meant to encourage the Nazareth staff, patients or visitors. Perhaps all.

Kate and I were visiting the pediatric ward to see a child from the Joy Home. Michael B. was admitted to the hospital on Monday. He is struggling with TB, pneumonia, shingles and a low CD4 (white blood cell) count. Michael is HIV+. Although he is only 11 years old he and his younger brother are full orphans who were living alone before being admitted to the Joy Home. We also learned Michael has a friend at Nazareth, Brian.  Brian is 8 years old and is struggling with AIDS. Michael has become Brian’s encourager! When we visited Brian it was clear his disease had progressed….he is extremely weak, malnourished and dehydrated. But, there was Michael at Brian’s side.  I’m not certain what Michael said…..but he was there.

As we looked around this ward of beautiful children, all HIV+ thru no fault of their own, there was a pretty little girl hiding under the covers of her bed. As she peeked out, we thought we recognized her, yes, it was Habiba. We last saw Habiba in 2010. At that time we learned she was being abused and in the midst of a terrible living environment. Last week her uncle brought her to Nazareth Hospital. Because she no longer takes her Anti Retro Viral medications her health is failing. Will her mother or uncle return for her? It is unclear. Yet, the Tree of Lives Love Account will at least make certain Habiba’s medical needs are provided.

Our visit ended with a reminder of the tremendous needs of Kenyan children yet a promise of hope. Perhaps our experience was best described by Paul when he described our God as the God of all comfort who comforts us in all our afflictions so that we may be able to comfort others.

A Bumpy and Dusty Road by Rudy Miller

Every sunrise finds Mary, 32 and a mother of four children, fearful.  Mary is a widow who lives with HIV along with two of her children. A glance around her small plot in Mutomo, Kenya, tells it all. Stunted, wilted, devoid of rain the hardened soil testifies to Mary’s fears.

Kate and I were first invited to visit Mutomo in 2008. We knew very little of that area in East Africa. We do remember our host’s warnings…."please bring water and cabbages…..dress lightly and be prepared to eat dust"! Quickly we discovered Mutomo was a five hour drive, by a four wheel drive vehicle, from Nairobi. Did I say…..a bumpy and dusty road?

In the midst of crippling poverty and a four year famine stands Mutomo Mission Hospital. The hospital serves a population of 50,000 people within a 15 mile radius. Because of the lack of transportation and poverty most folks are extremely ill on arrival to the hospital. Mortality rates are high.

Yet, Mary is a “Poster Patient” for the hospital. We have visited Mary for several years and find that her and her children’s health have improved. She loves to greet us with a dance and many hugs. Something about that human touch draws us together and validates our relationship as God’s family. Tree of Lives has been able to supply her children with nutritious supplemental food and we were able to help with tuition to allow her daughter to remain in school.

When we think about seeing Mary in a few weeks we are reminded we cannot cure her of her disease. We cannot guarantee it will rain this season. But, we can offer her the one thing we have the power to offer, the gift of our very self.

Anticipation! by Rudy Miller

As Kate and I prepare to depart for Kenya we certainly have anticipation. Though this is our 10^th trip we are often focused on….have we packed everything we will need?....will the flight connections be on time?....tickets?....passport? Certainly these are important concerns but that’s not why we’re going.

We really do look forward to reuniting with family; our Kenyan family. Let me introduce you.

Four years ago we met Joseph one of Holy Family Center’s 4200 HIV+ patients. When we visited his home, all 100 square feet, we realized he was a widower raising three teenagers in addition to struggling with health issues from living with HIV/AIDS.

Yet Joseph was smiling. What was I not seeing?

Outside of Joseph’s home was his own Kiosk. A small booth where he sold essentials as eggs, salt and sugar to other villagers. In describing his business Joseph was very familiar with revenue, profit and loss yet on a micro scale. But there was something else.

We spotted Joseph’s Bible, well worn, on the top of his shop counter. He caught my glance and was quick to give God the credit for being his refuge and provider.

As happens so often in Kenya I probably was of little encouragement to Joseph yet God spoke to me through this dear man. A giant of faith who has learned to live every day knowing that his suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. God’s word came alive that day!