Christmas in July

The kids enjoyed a meal of fish,
chicken, greens, tomato salad,
chapati (flat bread) and soda.

Christmas in July is always a big hit with the kids.  In this part of Kenya, people don’t celebrate Christmas with big celebrations or gifts opting just for a big meal, but here, the kids get a big dinner, the message of why we celebrate Christmas, and presents.  The children’s sponsors sent extra money last month so they could each receive a gift and go on a field trip.

Opening presents

Posing with cool new sunglasses and knitted hats

           

Having fun on the playground at the arcade

Bumper cars!

Spinning tea cups

Fun at the pool

This monkey is one of about 30 that were
surrounding the picnic area at the hotel where
we had lunch; the bolder ones tried to steal
our lunches--they were unsuccessful.

Reflections by Jimmy Marr, Living Hope board member

July 4, 2013: I thought this day would never  arrive.  I was so excited about going to Kenya to see first-hand how God was working through Living Hope.  When we finally arrived at the airport, Sherwood and Bethany picked us up to take us to the orphanage.  On our drive to the orphanage, I about wet my pants twice because of the way everyone drives.  Let me say, riding on the roads in Kenya solved my fears of riding with my 15 year-old daughter. 

I know God’s command for his people is to care for widows and orphans and I am excited to actually do this ministry.  The kids were amazing; I loved playing soccer with them and doing night time devotions.  This all confirmed to me that God has called me to serve orphans and widows. 

One thing God showed me during my stay at The Hope Center is, this place is very nice and God has blessed it through many people.  However, the work there is far from being done.  There is much more work to be done still.

Although the Hope Center is great and God is blessing, the village is suffering.  I met many widows whose homes were falling apart.  Also, as we played soccer at the Hope Center, twenty or so kids lined up at the fence wanting to play.  People are having to walk miles to get water to drink.  The church is so packed that no one else can come   inside.  Many people do not have Bibles so they can understand what Christ has called them to do and become.  I sense God wanting us to help the      Kenyans reach and help other Kenyans.  

I think we should build a community well on the Church property.  The Church can give both living waters and real water.  They are both needed in this community.  We also need to help the Kenyans to enlarge the church and build homes for widows. 

I really enjoyed seeing the work God has done, and I know he is not finished there.  We need to pray and be willing to sell whatever we have to help our brothers and sisters in Christ just as they did in the book of Acts.  It is when we become one and full of love for each other that people will see God is real.

"Evone" by CMPC Team Co-leader Bethany Batusic

After mission trips many people will describe their experience as “challenging,” “eye-opening,” or maybe you have heard the classic: “life changing.”  After spending two-and-a-half weeks in Kenya and being blessed enough to be invited to The Hope Center, I would describe my experience in one small word, “Evone.”

Evone is the name of one of the orphans who challenged me, opened my eyes, and changed my life.  Only about four feet tall, eight years old, and a shy disposition, Evone made this trip to Kenya something I can never forget.

You see, Evone’s entire English vocabulary consists of yes, we are fine, hairbrush, school, and football.  My Swahili vocabulary consists of football and rafiki, meaning friend, which I know thanks to Disney’s The Lion King.

Although we could not use our mouths to communicate, we could use pictures, hand motions, facial expressions, and laughter.  Most evenings you would find Evone sitting next to me on my bed either brushing my hair or drawing pictures.  In what I would consider a terrible interpretation of my family through hand-drawn pictures, she could understand.  We would sit next to each other swapping pictures and that is how we communicated.  As all of the other girls were around singing, dancing, doing homework, or mopping—as they often do, Evone and I were busy ourselves.

I have loved watching her little quirks and inexplicable need to straighten her bed every time she walks by.  This little Kenyan girl who has seen so much loss and has already experienced heartache in her short life will have forever impacted mine.  Evone taught me that a simple smile or a few stick figures on a piece of paper can say more than words will ever have to.

Reflections by Intern and CMPC Team Member John Freeman

In 2010, I went to Kenya with a small mission team from my church. I got to learn a lot, and I became really attached to some of the kids there, specifically one of the kids named Gilbert. He and I would sit up late after finishing his school and talk about anything under the sun, whether it was school, family, country, or Jesus. We became good friends; he was my best friend from Africa, and I his best friend from America. One of the things that  astonished me was the willingness to serve that he and all of the kids at the Hope Center have. One morning on that trip, I found him scrubbing my shoes back to their original white color. I learned two things from that moment: 1) Never bring white shoes to Africa.  2) These kids have the humility that parallels Jesus washing the feet of the disciples. My time in Africa during 2010 ended, and it was hard to say goodbye to a friend such as Gilbert, but he and I became pen pals soon after, a relationship we continued for the next three years.

Through this connection, I sought an opportunity to return to Kenya once more. Therefore, this summer, I had that privilege to return to the Hope Center again as an intern. I got to see Gilbert and many of the other kids. Gilbert was now taller than me, but still the same friend I had known. Throughout my five-week stay at the orphanage, he would always refer to me as “My Brother in Christ.” This trip was even more than I could have imagined from my previous visit, but again my time had to end. However, I am holding on to those words, “My Brother in Christ,” as the great hope that I would someday see him and those other kids again in heaven. I believe that Gilbert is a testament to the great work being done in those kids at the Hope Center, and I hope that others get to share in the same privilege that I did by taking the time to personally invest in a trip to Kenya. 

Rural Witchcraft

We’re told in the sixth chapter of Ephesians that our battle is not against flesh and blood but against the rulers, authorities, and powers of this dark world, and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.  Believer, we are engaged in a battle but not one we can fight with physical weapons of war.  This battle can only be fought through prayer, because it’s a spiritual battle.

Wherever you live, there’s a spiritual battle raging.  In Africa, perhaps because there’s such a long history and engagement with witchcraft, I believe the battle is more intense.  Simply put, more ground has been voluntarily offered to the enemy.

Each of our children has been touched in some way by witchcraft.  Whether being taken to witch doctors to be treated for bad dreams—the treatment includes being cut on various parts of the body to allow the evil spirit haunting the dreams to escape—or being taken to a traditional pray-er who prays to the spirits for the student to do well in school and gives the student a talisman to carry, which ensures academic success, the    families of our children have involved them at some level in dark spiritualism.

There’s great misunderstanding about a believer’s identity in Christ and the power to overcome the forces of evil that comes along with that identity.  Causing even greater confusion is the mixing of traditional beliefs with scriptural teachings, which takes place in many rural churches.

The result is communities bound to the satanic traditions of their ancestors living in fear.  People fear cats, because they believe demons might be using the cat’s body as a host.  People refuse to carry food in clear containers, because they believe that a witch might see the food, put a curse on it and they’ll die of poisoning.  Doctors, when unable to identify the cause or treatment for an illness, refer patients to “traditional doctors” to seek alternative healing. 

The elderly with dementia are thought to have been put under a curse.  Those suffering from HIV/AIDS are thought to be cursed—there’s little buy-in to the scientific explanation of how the disease is contracted and transmitted.  Young people who die of walking pneumonia, cancer, and other common illnesses are thought to have been marked by a witch.  Sufferers of autism and downs syndrome are thought to be cursed.  On and on the list goes.

And so a community, spiritually violated over thousands of years, continues to invite the enemy to be its bedfellow.  It’s hard to change traditions, harder still to change beliefs.  The door remains open to the spiritual forces of darkness.

The hope?  These children.  This generation.  They are the hope for the future.  Does it sound cliché?  It’s true.  It’s always been true.  If these children commit to renewing their minds, if they commit to transformed lives through seeking the face of God, this community will begin to change.  But it will take time.  Change always does. 

Bottomless Babes

This naked baby was spotted in the field behind our house.  She was contentedly playing alone, brandishing a blade of grass like a sword.

It’s typical to see babies running around with tops and no bottoms.  At first, you might wonder if the parents can’t afford to clothe their child.  But the real reason for the bottomless babes is the lack of diapers. 

While disposable diapers are available in town, they’re unaffordable for members of our  agrarian community.  For some reason, cloth diapers aren't a hit here, either.

During the week, babies are left to roam naked and handle their business wherever they choose.  If they wet on a mud floor, someone throws a handful of dirt over the small puddle and the mess is forgotten.

On Sundays, all the naked wee ones are forced into church clothes, and their bums are well-padded with one or more hand towels.  They waddle around like cowboys since there’s so much padding between their legs.  Rest assured, those towels are coming off as soon as they get home, and they’re free to run around in naked liberation until the next Sunday service.

Summer Fun

The kids have been inviting friends from school over on Saturdays for some friendly, athletic competition.  Each week, a group of kids comes for a soccer match.  Nobody’s keeping track, but we won last week.

After digging an old badminton net out of the storage shed last Saturday, volleyball has become a part of the afternoon activities.  We don’t have a volleyball, but the girls pictured here make do quite well with a soccer ball.

Of course, the little kids aren't invited to participate in the games, so they stay entertained by jumping on the trampoline.  They also enjoy climbing and   hanging out of the trees and playing their own version of dodge ball.

Speaking of field days, we’ve got a 5K race and soccer tournament coming up this weekend with our sister orphanage.  The kids always enjoy some competition.

Movie Night

Packing children into our living room each Friday and Saturday night is somewhat akin to the circus clowns who cram into Volkswagen bugs.  The prevailing philosophy is there’s always room for one more—or ten.

The children look forward to movie night, and they often request their favorite movie Home Alone, which many of them refer to simply as, Kevin.  (If you don’t know who Kevin is, it’s time to dust off your old VHS copy of Home Alone and re-watch it.)

After watching Home Alone for about 17 weekends in a row, Sherwood and I decided it was time to invest in some additional films.  Topping off their new favorites are any of the Three

Stooges shows, George of the Jungle—with real Swahili words, and Cool Runnings. 

I find watching movies with the kids to be much like watching Mr. Bean with my brother as a child.  My brother and his friend would roll around on the floor in front of the TV in uncontrollable laughter, and my dad and I would laugh right along with them.  The difference?  They were laughing at Mr. Bean.  We were laughing at (with?) them.  While the children, and admittedly, my husband, laugh hilariously as the Stooges clamor theatrically across the screen, I can’t suppress my own laughter at the uproarious peals of delight emitting from them.

Watching a movie in a room jam-packed with children, the temperature raised to an uncomfortable level due to body heat, isn't the most comfortable way to watch TV, but it certainly makes the Three Stooges a lot funnier. 

Donkey Days or Kenyan Traffic Jam

I’m really just a big-city girl at heart.  My husband, who grew up in Camden, NJ might disagree.  Before I first took him to Oakwood, the town where I grew up, I told him it was a suburb of Atlanta—after his first visit, he was quick to point out that if Oakwood was a suburb of anything, than it was a suburb of Gainesville but certainly not Atlanta.  I guess after moving to Atlanta and   gaining some perspective, I’d have to agree. 

 Regardless of where I grew up, I love the activity and hustle-and-bustle of the city.  I love live theater and a variety of restaurants.  I enjoyed being able to step out my front door and walk to the library, the community center, the pizza place, and Dairy Queen.  Even so, I remember as a little girl being enchanted with the quaint lifestyle Laura Ingles Wilder described in her “Little House” books. 

My favorite book in the series was On the Banks of Plumb Creek.  Wilder described the isolation, the outhouses, the unvaried diet, and the life of a pioneer family with such sweet nostalgia I thought that was the type of environment for which I was made.  I have since realized that even though I love eating fresh foods straight from our garden, it’s the variety of diet and energetic, constantly moving atmosphere of the city that I crave.

I remember days, especially Fridays, that I would sit in my car in bumper-to-bumper traffic for an hour to travel from the school where I worked to my home, a mere 15 miles away.  The certainty of traffic is one thing I don’t miss about the city.  All these thoughts flashed through my mind when Sherwood and I were stuck in a rural Kenyan traffic jam.  

We were riding on the slick mud of our rural road snugly situated in the deep ruts from which one dare not emerge, even in a four-wheel-drive vehicle, when the road is in such dire condition. 

As we traveled along, we came upon a donkey, sans owner, charcoal in sacks strapped to its back, making its way down the middle of the road.  We couldn't risk leaving the safety of our furrow to pass the determined beast, so we traveled behind it for several minutes.  Eventually, the donkey put on his right directional signal (I kid you not, he rotated his right ear with great aplomb) and promptly moved over to the right hand side of the road on the outside of the groove.  Once we passed him, he moved right back to his original path in the middle of the road. 

Even though there’s a lot to miss about city life, I must admit I’ve never been as amused in Atlanta traffic jams as I was the day we were stuck behind the donkey.

Joy in the Journey

The kids love piling into the truck for a ride.  They’re not concerned about the destination; their joy is in the journey.  People in our village don’t ride in cars much.  Motorcycles are the most common means of transport, public vans and cars come next, but private vehicles are a rare treat.

The little people’s infatuation with the truck isn't limited to going for rides.  They’re perfectly  content to sit in the parked car for as long as we’ll allow it.  They don’t want the radio on.  They don’t even necessarily want the windows down.  They just want to sit in the car.

When we return from a trip, the kids often remain in the backseat, and they can sit there, quietly, for over an hour—without wiggling.  It’s amazing.  We eventually have to go out to the truck and tell the kids it’s time to get out.  We’ve never actually tested how long they’ll stay in there, but this is undoubtedly one of the best babysitting tools we’ve found yet!

An Easter Reflection

Death.  Not generally a topic during polite,   dinner-party conversation.  It is, however, a realty for everyone, and it’s brought into stark, unsterilized focus in our rural village.  Last week, a 15-year-old neighbor girl died after giving birth to her first child.  Her 19-year-old “husband”—they were never married but living in a Come We’ll Stay arrangement—didn’t notice the warning signs until it was too late.

Another neighbor lost her third child at just a few weeks old.  We stopped by to offer our condolences.  We didn’t notice the small bundle wrapped in a blanket and lying on the mud floor of the hut until we nearly tripped over it.  Corpse of the babe.  Mother sitting in the same room with it since the moment of death.  The funeral was held in the backyard where the babe’s body was buried.

Why such morbid thoughts at the beginning of spring: symbol of the cycles of life and time of beginnings and new birth?  Because it’s on my mind after losing our young neighbors.  And  because during the Easter season, I recall another death.  Death significant for the masses of humanity.  Gentle God-man wrapped in human flesh and sent to an unbelieving and cruel world to save us from ourselves.  To teach us love as we showed him none. 

As we’re reminded at this time of year, Jesus was not murdered or martyred.  He willingly gave up his life to achieve the salvation of those souls who confess him as the Son of God and believe.  There were three long and terrible days when the world believed Jesus to be dead.  Some mocked and sneered.  Others cried.  Dark, dismal days of distress and  defeat for followers who expected a triumphal victory.  Thank God, the story doesn’t end there.  It never did.

When Romans 8:28 admonishes us that “God works all things    together for good,” the verse really means all things.  Imagine the confusion of the men who followed the Master.  His death was good?  If he hadn't died, we would all be without hope. Imperfect law-breakers.  But the law was never intended for us to keep.  Instead, it reveals our hearts and our need of a Savior.

Savior defied death.  “I have seen the Lord!” Mary proclaimed to men of unbelief.  He conquered death, and through that act offers us eternal life.

Our 15-year-old neighbor’s body is lying in a grave, and the babe, too.  But their souls live.  We are all creatures of eternity.  The question, where will it be spent?

As Jesus stretched his injured hand to Thomas, so he stretches it to each of us.  Do we turn away,       unbelieving, or do we proclaim with Mary, I have seen the Lord!?  Regardless of what we choose to believe, the fact remains.  Jesus Christ is risen!  He is risen, indeed.

Too Young to Die?

I don’t think it ever becomes easy to watch a child suffer—God help us if it does.  We’re watching Sharon, our 10-year-old newcomer, die a slow death from the HIV infection that has a stranglehold on her life’s blood.  Isn't 10 too young to die?

We have other children with HIV.  We almost lost a boy in 2010 to the virus.  We stood by helplessly and watched as his body wasted to skeletal proportions.  When he was in the hospital, he couldn’t sit up on his own.  His body was wracked with coughs from TB, a common side-affect of a weakened  immune system.  When I would help him to a sitting position his head, so large for a wasted frame, would loll like the head of a newborn.  Body too weak to support its weight.

That case was different, though.  Sammy was sick because his body had become dangerously weak before doctors allowed him to begin a regimen of ARVs (Anti-Retroviral drugs).  Once the ARVs began to do their work in his body, he grew strong.  Now, you’d never guess he had flirted, for weeks, at death’s door.

Until now, our experience with HIV has been that if the body is given proper drugs, a person can live for years with few to no symptoms.  That was before Sharon came to live with us.  She’s  taking ARVs, but the virus that courses through her veins is killing her anyway.  

One moment, she’s walking home from school, the next she’s passed-out in the dust on the road.  More than once, the children have run home to tell us Sharon is lying on the road.  Young Ones unaware of the seriousness of their friend’s illness. 

We’ve carried her limp from the road-side, from school, from church.  When she regains consciousness, she has labored breathing and fatigue.  Some days, she stays home from school because of headache and fever.  We’re learning to this aggressive virus no one is too young to die.

So we pray.  We wait expectantly for a miracle.  And we trust that, “in all things, God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28).  Not  because it’s an appropriate scripture for the situation, but because we have experienced the truth of it.  Even in our darkest moments, when we don’t understand, God is at work.  Working all for good.

Climbing to New Heights

Do you remember the wild freedom of running barefoot and climbing trees during your childhood summers?  If you grew up in the city, you probably missed out on such simple joys.  Activities like basketball or dodgeball probably took the place of climbing trees in naked feet.  There’s something special, though, about hoisting yourself into the embrace of a tree, the rough bark unyielding underfoot.

I was down by the garden one lazy Saturday afternoon, when I thrilled to see these boys enjoying themselves in the branches of a perfect climbing tree.  Their lively chatter and laughter confirmed that they were enjoying themselves as much as I did during my long-ago summer climbs.  Noted, too, were their requisite bare-feet dangling high above the earth below.

Some of these boys come from seriously troubled backgrounds.  One of them was the youngest member of a child-headed household for a few years before he came to live with us.  He can recall nights of being fearful for his safety and days of  wondering if he would have food for his next meal.  When he and his brother and sisters arrived at The Hope Center, they were like little adults.  They didn’t understand the concept of play time; with all the responsibility they shouldered, they never had time to play before.  Gradually, they have begun reclaiming their childhoods, and it was a triumphant moment to see the youngest brother up a tree as giddy and carefree as the other boys.

Come Again?

Inheritance, ahh, such an unfamiliar word to western ears.  Almost sweetly foreign—like the Philippine delicacy, balut, which turns out to be a fetal chick nestled in a soft-shell casing.  Yum.  How do we contextualize cultural conundrums for which we have virtually no frame of reference?

I was leafing through one of our girl’s files when I noticed her father’s date of death, which was a healthy two years before her birth.  Hold up.  Either her poor mom has the gestation period of an elephant (God forbid!) or her father  isn't really her father. 

After living in this country for three years, one might suspect that I wouldn't be so green about such things.  But inheritance just didn’t figure anywhere on my radar screen.  Innocently, I asked our social worker to explain how this “orphan” could be an orphan if her father died well over 9-months before she was born.  He was quick to assure me that she was, indeed, an orphan, because her father’s brother who had inherited her mom, although technically the father of the child, really isn't the father of the child.  Come again?

     ?

According to Kenyan custom, once a woman is widowed, she can be inherited by her husband’s male kin, but she is forever considered a widow after the passing of her husband. Any children fathered after her husband’s death are still considered the children of her dead spouse.  

So the man who fathered the child is considered the uncle and not the father, leaving the child an orphan at the death of her mother.  And the mother’s dead husband, who obviously didn’t have anything to do with the conception, is the “father.”

Now, if you’re slightly confused by this whole explanation, you’re not alone.  Westerners, however, might be alone in their consternation at the concept of inheritance, which has been around and active in numerous eastern countries since biblical times.

While it seems to work for the rural villagers here, westerners can breath a collective sigh of relief that inheritance is decidedly uncustomary in our culture.  Much like that coveted Philippine delicacy, balut.

Mail Call

Writing to sponsors is always a big event for our kids.  The kids want their sponsors to know how grateful they are for the opportunity to be at The Hope Center, but many of them lack the language skills to communicate freely and independently in English.

They’re pictured here copying a letter from the whiteboard that they collaboratively  dictated to me.  Concentration and focus are at a premium as they intently copy each word in the best penmanship they can muster.

Many of them draw or color pictures to  include, and several of them send pictures of themselves. Unlike many of us with digital cameras who snap shots without discretion, pictures are a more precious commodity to our children.

For you to understand what a sacrifice it is for them to send pictures, you must realize that they each get about 3-5 pictures of themselves at the beginning of the year when Sherwood and I return from the states.  As much as they’d like to keep their  pictures for themselves, their desire to share them with their sponsors is even stronger. 

                                                    

They have a good grasp on sharing their possessions even though they own so little.  What a poignant reminder of the story of the widow’s offering from Mark 12:41-44:

Jesus. . .watched the crowd putting their money into the temple treasury.  Many rich people threw in large amounts.  But a poor widow came and put in two very small copper coins, worth only a fraction of a penny.

Calling his disciples to him, Jesus said, “I tell you the truth, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others.  They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything.”

A Concert in the Dark

Can you remember back to the last time your power went out?  I know it doesn’t happen often in America—after an ice storm, maybe a severe thunderstorm, or a bad accident, but can you remember what you did?  First there was certainly a blind scramble for a flashlight or matches and candles since there’s not a need to leave them in prominent places around the house when power outages are rare.  What did you do after the candles were lit?  Did you take a moment to enjoy the silence and stillness without a TV, computer, radio, video game, or some other device with a plug blaring, or did you anxiously check the battery level of your i-phone, laptop, or Kindle and breathe a sigh of relief when you realized there was surely enough juice to last until the power company restored power?

The dorms were out of kerosene for the hurricane lamps during a recent power outage casting the compound into utter darkness after the sun set behind the foothills to our west.  It was a Saturday night, and our normal schedule would have included packing 30-something dusty children into our living room for a much-anticipated movie night.

As Sherwood and I sat wondering when the power would come back so we could use our electronic devices, we heard a choir of girls’ voices drifting through the darkness and our open windows.  The sound of their no-frills singing was beautiful in its simplicity, and it brought to mind precious memories of old friends gathered at my childhood home on Christmases past for caroling.  As the girls’ singing continued, Sherwood and I ventured into the darkness to get a closer perspective.  The girls were gathered on the lawn in front of their dorm in a semi-circle that moved to the rhythm of their singing.  Their untrained voices harmonized in a folksy melody that was beautiful in a different way from highly polished choirs with traditional training.  I can’t explain the sound of their voices or the experience of watching their bare feet strike the dusty lawn in the darkness illuminated only by the starry hosts of the southern hemisphere, except to say that it felt pure and in rhythm with the earth, somehow in harmony with the natural world.   

There are moments when the realization that I’m living in Africa washes over me.  These are times that have a heightened sense of the mysterious and romanticized power and force of the land that is Africa.  This was one of those moments.  

Highlights from 2012

Our three fish ponds became the local hotspot when we announced to our neighbors that we’d be selling fish.  The community came out in droves with buckets, baskets, and cooking pots eager to purchase their evening meal.  All told, it was ordered chaos as the locals bargained for better prices and some even requested that they be given fish for free.  While no one got free fish, everyone went home happy—except, of course, the fish.  

We hosted our first annual Jungle Jog 5K. Children from Kenya Relief Orphanage joined in the fun with juice, cookies, and awards following the race.  The day wound up with a soccer game and lunch of rice and beans to feed over 100.

In the spring, we held our annual Staff Appreciation Dinner.  This was a fancy event with a big dinner of fish, chips, chicken, tomato salad, chapatti (fried flat bread), rice, and sodas.  We had a raffle and door prizes in the dining hall, which was decked out in Island decorations and boasted tropical music.  Our island-themed party was thanks to Life Way’s donation of leftover Aloha VBS materials, complete with a 6-foot blowup pineapple.  The oversized pineapple was a crowd favorite and much-envied door prize.

Temple of Christ, Opasi built a widow’s home out of mud and corrugated tin.  Sherwood helped with the construction and I visited with some of the local teenagers.  Everybody had a job, from the men who built the frame and put on the roof; to the grandmothers who cooked lunch and dinner; to the women who mixed manure, dirt, and water to make mud for the walls; to the teenage girls who fetched water for cooking and to make the mud. 

We think it’s important to teach young people the value of serving others.  As a starting place, we enlisted several 8^th graders to lead the children’s Sunday school class.  It’s been rewarding to watch these kids, some of whom are generally quite shy, blossom into capable leaders and examples to the younger children. 

International Sports Fellowship sent a team to us for two weeks this summer.  They did sports evangelism in the local schools, encouraged teachers, passed out Bibles and prayed with people at the hospital, shared with the women’s Bible study group, Ran a VBS for kids in the village, and spent lots of time pouring into the lives of our children.  This outstanding group of young people had more energy and passion than is typical, and we were all grateful for, and encouraged by, their visit.

After receiving a sizeable donation of clothing from a Kenyan family of six sisters, our children who received clothes experienced the joy of giving when they went through their old clothes and selected items to donate to the children at Bright Future Children’s Home, a needier Kenyan-supported orphanage with no western support. (No pic)

Our friends, Reverends Sonji and Sonia, conducted an HIV/AIDS and abstinence interactive workshop with our kids in the fall.  I’ve never seen so many creative and engaging activities that afford the opportunity for hands-on learning in such a condensed period of time, but our friends kept the kids active and engaged for hours at a time.  Later in the weekend when the reverends shared with the youth Sunday school class at church, over a dozen youth prayed to accept Christ.

We sponsored our 3rd annual Flip-Flop 5K in Migori with Carol’s House and Bright Future Children’s Homes joining us for the race, soccer game, and lunch.

A medical team through Vision of Hope came to our village and stayed at The Hope Center while they treated many individuals in our community.  This team also loved interacting with our kids and spent invaluable time investing in them.

Sherwood’s family came for their second visit.  While they were with us, among other activities, they helped construct a church building on land they purchased so they won’t have to keep renting space for Temple of Christ, Opasi.  They also built a widow’s home.

Pool Party

It’s summer in the southern hemisphere, and what better way to spend a Saturday than at the pool?  Several of our kids claim swimming as their favorite activity even though they’ve only been to a pool a handful of times in their lives.  Besides Tony, whose father earned a living as a fisherman working on Lake Victoria, none of our kids know how to swim.  Even though they can’t swim, they’re undeterred from splashing around and causing joyful mayhem at the pool.

So just how do you get 44 kids from a little village in the bush to a small but bustling, dusty city with a hotel boasting the only pool within a three hour drive?  It’s not as easy as chartering a bus, but if you have endless patience, the ability to bargain with the best of them, and aren’t too concerned about keeping to any semblance of a time schedule, it can be done!

At the end of a day at the pool, we usher 44 shivering but happy children back to the Hope Center where they spend at least the entirety of the next week cheerfully reminiscing about their trip.

God Makes All Things New

Aren’t you grateful for the chance for a new start each year?  There’s something beautiful about the clock striking midnight on December 31st.  The countdown, fanfare, celebration, and excitement confirm that humanity is perpetually eager to usher in a new year and a fresh start.

Did you accomplish all your goals in 2012?  If not, you have the opportunity to start on a clean slate in 2013.  As our pastor pointed out, “If you want something different, do something different.”  We won’t get different results from doing things the same way we’ve always done them. 

 

"Whoever watches the wind will not plant; whoever looks at the clouds will not reap," (Ecclesiastes 11:4).  My interpretation of this quote: Stop waiting for life to happen to you.  Take action!

What are your goals for this new year?  What have you been meaning to do but just haven’t made it happen?  This is a new day in a new year.  Let’s resolve to do those things that are important to us.  Let’s stop putting things off and waiting for a more opportune time.  The time is here.  The time is now. 

“Behold, he makes all things new,” (Revelation 21:5).  January is the reality of all things being made new.  The gift of a new year is ours.  Let’s open it with intentionality.

 

Return to Sender

Our small neighbor is quite social.  He plays the role of greeter at church each Sunday where he’s careful to shake hands with everybody.  He often returns to The Hope Center with our kids for more socialization.  I snapped this picture one Sunday afternoon as Sherwood was escorting him home.