Processing Today

The attack in Nairobi that began yesterday and continues into today hits close to home  Because, well, it is close to home.  We can hop in the car and be there in about 7 minutes.  Many, many times since moving here, we have hopped in the car and went to West Gate mall.  The mall is very upscale so we can only shop at the grocery store, purchase our monthly Internet, and maybe eat at a few of the cafes.  We shop there often because sometimes the grocery store sells Dr. Pepper.  If we are really lucky, it sells Kraft Mac 'n' Cheese!  We bought our appliances there.  We took our families and visiting friends there. It was one of the first places I drove to and frequented alone.  It never felt unsafe.  Never.

Yesterday that changed.  My heart hurts so much today as I try to make sense of something that does not make sense.  Today people are mourning the loss of a loved one.  Someone they likely said "see you later" to yesterday as they went off to go to the mall for a normal Saturday.  Others are in the hospital nursing wounds. Some will be released and able to go home to their families.  Some are critical.  Some will probably not make it.  And for those who escaped the mall, they now have to live with this trauma.  What started out as a normal, beautiful day in Nairobi will forever change the lives of so many.  In an instant.

My brain is spinning and my heart hurts so much as I cannot stop thinking about these things.  We keep watching the news and hearing helicopters flying over our home.  But what my heart knows is that God is still sovereign.  Today I get to choose to believe in that.  To trust in that.  In the midst of senseless killings, faith doesn't come as easy as it did the other day when I hung out with smiling, singing students.  Today I have to look around to see the evidence of God's love.

And you know what, I see it! 

-I see it in the guys outside our house who are selling sugar cane and roasted corn.  Just like any other Sunday.

-I see it in the number of people who are lining up to give blood to save the lives of strangers.

-I see it in the unity of Kenyans and those, like us, who live in Kenya. An unwillingness to back down even in the midst of tragedy.

-I see it in the mixture of sadness and strength in the eyes of the President.  Personally effected and unwavering, vowing to bring those who perpetrated this violence to justice.

-I see it as we watch the news and we see workers from the mall helping others to safety.  People  unknown to them before, but now united forever by this experience.

-I see it in people handing out free food and drinks to those who are near the mall.

-I see it in the prayers offered up from all over the world.

When I look around, I cannot help but see it.  Today we must rest in that.  We are thankful to reside in a place that will not let the evil of some destroy the hope of many.  We are so blessed by the way we continually see Kenyans unite together.  This nation is beautiful and strong.  We will remember the past, but look towards the future.  That is what Kenyans do.  

Today we lift up Kenya in prayer.  We believe in a God of all the nations.  The one we come from, the one we reside in, and all the other ones.  For us, our world was shaken up yesterday.  For others around the world, the fear that accompanies terrorism is somewhat a norm in their lives. We pray for them today and lift them to the God who cares.  

All knowing and all powerful, the hope of nations is in Him alone.  

Stories

Because of my(our) awesome job/life, I get to see people meet their sponsored kids for the first time or witness them seeing their kids again. I get to interact with people as they fall in love with Missions of Hope and the slums that surround. I get to hear and participate in conversations as they wrestle with tough questions.  Does my being here help?  Does it hurt?  What do I do with this experience when I go back to America?  How can this level of poverty exist?  Does it ever get easier to hear the stories of those living in Mathare Valley?

This week we were asked all these things.  And my answer to the last question was NO.  Although, somehow you get used to it some.  But not much.  Poverty sucks.  It is such a powerful tool of our broken world.  It robs people of hope.  Of their gifts and talents.  Their passions.  But we have come to know the stories that accompany poverty this severe.  We never accept them. They are never okay and we never get used to them.  But we know we are working in a ministry offering hope and  love and Jesus.  

In some ways, the stories are not as shocking as they once were, but they never settle well.  And sometimes, some stories haunt me.

The other day a little one came to meet her sponsor.  Describing her as adorable would be an understatement.  While we waited, she and I took silly faced pictures and laughed.  We counted to 10 in English and Kiswahili.  Then her sponsor came and I left the room.  In the hallway I met her mom briefly.  Then her social worker told me her story.  

My new little friend had been absent from school that day and her mother had to bring her to the center to meet her sponsor.  I asked if she was sick.  No, her mom is a commercial sex worker who didn't get up in time to get her off to school.  This story is not an unfamiliar one.  

I walked back into the room where she was hanging out with her sponsor.  Her smile lighting up her face.  She was delighted in the gifts she was given.  Gifts picked out with her in mind.  Although, the gifts were awesome, I think the smile came from love. Someone came all the way here to be with her.  To hug her.  To love on her.  To remind her that she is special.

Her smile stayed on my mind as we left work.  It lingered as we got home, ate dinner, watched TV.  When I took a shower, she and her mom were heavy on my heart.  I am sure her mom does not want to be a prostitute, but she does to survive.  To provide. I am guessing with every "customer"  she feels the trappings of poverty.  The hope being sucked away.  Her heart being pushed down deeper and deeper into what seems like an inescapable hole.

And her daughter, my friend, our student, does she know what mom does.  Does mom have to leave her at night to go earn money for the day?  Does she work from home?  

As the water rushed over me, tears streamed down my face.  I prayed for them.  I prayed for the others like them.  And then Jesus gently reminded me, like He always does that He is with them.  He see them.  He loves them. He left the perfection and glory of Heaven to travel this broken earth for them.  His death to redeem them.  And others like them. And me.  You too.

He reminds me that she is at Missions of Hope.  In school getting a great education. He reminds me of her social worker who has one of the biggest hearts of anyone I know.  He reminds me of a sponsor who loves her. He reminds me that I got to hug her and share some laughs with her.  

The stories never get easier to hear.  I don't want them to.  

In the despair and the ugly, there is Beauty and Hope. Grace and Love.  Smiles and laughter.  And Jesus. Always Jesus.