Updates/Prayer Requests

I don't have a ton of time at the moment, but I just wanted to update all of you on a few things and ask for some prayers.

1. My computer charger snapped in half last week and Kenyans don't really use Apple products. Therefore, I'm commuting to my nearest Apple retailer each night (30 minutes away) to charge my computer and attempt to be of some worth to my organization during the workday.

I think I can get a charger sometime next week with a team that's coming from America, but until then I'm pretty much useless. If you could, pray that I can still be used at my ministry and that NOTHING else will go wrong with my beloved Mac.

I think this is the only time in my life I've wished I had a PC.

2. We just got back from safari last night and while it was AWESOME (photos to come ... eventually) a few of us are now sick (not me, don't worry), so be praying for their health now that they're back to work.

3. Also, be praying for all of us for energy and encouragement. We've been here a month, so we've adjusted, but we're also still coping emotionally, which can be exhausting. Pray that not only can we be present here in Kenya, but that we can also still be willing to have our hearts broken by the needs we see here.

As always, thank you so much for you continued support and encouragement.

Creamy.

This photo perfectly sums up the kindergarteners at Beacon of Hope

My first day in Beacon of Hope’s kindergarten, the most adorable little girl came and sat next to me, looking up shyly. I could tell she had something to say, so I attempted to coax it out of her. “Teacher Molly,” she said in her heavily accented English. “Can you lick white people?”

“Excuse me?” I responded, warily eyeing the little pink tongue that peeked out from behind her gapped teeth.

“Are they creamy?” she said, a little more insistent this time.

Thinking of the popular “Creamy Inn” ice cream shop in Downtown Nairobi, I said, “Like Ice cream?” To which she vigorously nodded. “No,” I said slowly, “They’re not creamy at all.”

Slightly disappointed, she nodded and then ran back to join her friends. For the rest of the day, I skirted the ‘kindergarten a little warily.

So far, no one's tried to lick me, but the mental image of a very confused white person in a sugar cone never fails to make me smile. :)

Faith [fullness]

The team in Kibera slum

*Photo Credit: Jason Lavengood Photography

In the process of adapting to a new culture, working two internships, and attempting to remain a sane person, I haven’t had a lot of time to reflect on what exactly this summer is for me. Which sounds a little strange. I already know this summer is an internship, a requirement for graduation.

But it’s also the fulfillment of a dream.

I’m living in another country, working as a writer and photographer. I am required to do what I love as my job. Seriously cool. I can check a life dream off my list.

But for some reason, I didn’t entirely connect that fact until a few days ago, which immediately launched me into the thoughts of “Where do I go from here?”

You see, because this is the first time I’ve had a big dream fall into place, I don’t exactly know what to do next (even though I’m only halfway through the current opportunity). I’ve been so consumed with doing and planning and going that I have no idea what to do now that the dream is actually here.

Instead of praying for something to happen, now I’m coming to God and asking ...

“Well, now what?”

****

One of the amazing things about working at Beacon is being surrounded by an incredible Christian staff. Part of my daily routine is going to morning devotions. Inevitably, I am either too early or too late (still figuring out the African timing thing) so I make an awkward, sheepish entrance. Additionally, I’ve had two spectacular falls in the past week, so I also come in mud-stained and disheveled. Awesome.

Anyway.

Most of the singing is in Swahili, and often the message is as well, but I always leave encouraged. The staff members all take turns leading the service and share what’s on their hearts, as well as their personal testimonies. Which are usually too unbelievably tragic to explain.

And while I can’t often understand the entire messages (usually half English/half Swahili) I feel like they’re all geared towards me. For the past week, the speakers have talked about one thing in a variety of different forms: faithfulness.

Which brings me to some interesting conclusions.

****

Last Sunday, I went to church with a few other members of the WND teamin Kibera slum. For those of you who read my previous blog post about Kibera, you’ll understand that I was expecting an emotional experience.

But it wasn’t what I thought it would be.

Trekking through the slum for the second time wasn’t easier or harder than the first, it was just different. This time, instead of filth and brokenness and poverty, I started to notice homes. Neighbors. Communities and lives instead of just problems. Don’t get me wrong, the experience was still jarring, but not for the same reasons.

As I was walking, all I could think to myself was “Life goes on here. No matter the circumstances, life goes on.”

We arrived about an hour late to the service (due to my getting lost in Nairobi. Fail). Still, we were the only people inside the church besides the worship team.

To our surprise (and his), when the service started Barry was asked to speak. He claims he had nothing prepared, but the sermon he gave was wonderful. Speaking through an interpreter, he told stories of God’s grace despite hard circumstances.

And yes, Barry, I know you’re reading this. Don’t get too big of a head from the compliments. ☺

Barry used Psalm 73 to talk about the frustration he had at the needs he found in the world. Speaking from experience, Barry related to the psalms author, Asaph, when Asaph questioned why the wicked, and not the good, prospered.

While sharing a Bible with my neighbor, Lawrence, two verses stood out to me.

“Whom have I in heaven but you? I desire you more than anything on earth.
 My health may fail, and my spirit may grow weak, but God remains the strength of my heart; he is mine forever.”

The service continued with three hours worth of speaking, prayer and worship. As I heard the people around me singing words I didn’t understand, as I listened to them cry out in anguish to God through prayers, I was entirely humbled.

I was humbled not because of the needs the people had around me, even though they were overwhelming. I was humbled not because the preaching was incredibly powerful, even though it was. I was humbled, instead, because of the steadfast faith I saw inside that little building.

Faith that would have amazed me anywhere, not just in the middle of Kibera.

In that moment, to me the congregation wasn’t made up of people living in Nairobi’s biggest slum. I simply saw them as fellow children of God.

****

As I was leaving my house this morning to go to work, I reflected on my experiences over the weekend. A day in Kibera will give anyone plenty to think about, but I simply found myself pondering the same phrase.

“I desire you more than anything on earth.”

More than anything. Hm.

When I think about this summer, the plans I’ve made and the dream I’m living, I find that I’m still not fulfilled.

Yes, God gave me a tremendous blessing by answering my prayers and letting me be here, doing what I’m doing. But even as I ask him “What’s next?” I’m discovering what I’m missing.

I’m still missing faith.

Even though He’s done such good things for me, I don’t have the same faith I find in the staff here at Beacon when they give testimonies riddled with pain and abuse with a joyful smile.

I don’t have the faith of the everyday people in Kibera, living life where they do, and regardless, having complete devotion to their savior.

I don’t even have the faith to just be where I am without asking questions. To trust that God knows my dreams better than I do. So without that type of faith, I’ll always be missing fullness.

Which is a sobering thought.

As a result, I’m re-thinking the way I’m going about making dreams. What if I don’t need a specific dream to replace this one ... what If I let a growing hunger to know God replace it?

Could it be that giving up the “dream-making” aspect of myself is actually what’s going to bring me fullness?

That’s going to be hard for someone like me. Someone who likes plans. Who has a bookmark for gradschools.com and secretly wants to work for The New York Times or the U.N. Maybe both. At the same time.

But while it may be difficult , I think the change is essentially to me finally becoming who God wants me to be. Someone full.

Someone faithful.

How long?

When you go to another country, it’s customary to have a different pace of life. For most Americans this is particularly difficult to adjust to because, well, we like things done our way.

As someone who’s done a bit of traveling, I’m both aware of and sensitive to differences in time. For example, I know that when you visit a country you very quickly learn that for some people, arriving at 8 am is equivalent to arriving at 10 am. They will mosey in as if nothing’s wrong and you simply have to deal with it. Sometimes it’s entertaining and other times it’s infuriating.

It all depends on how you look at it.

Here in Kenya, life is much slower than in the U.S. . I knew that it would be coming in and (up untill today) it’s been a welcome change. I like having a leisurely meal while talking and laughing. I like chai breaks at 10:30 and the lack of stress in my office.

But as I’m sitting attempting to send an email with photos, I think I might hurt something. I don’t want to wait 65 (!?!?!?) days to download a file.

In all seriousness, that’s what my screen says.

I know that my download speed isn’t really Kenya’s fault. Instead, I think subtly God’s laughing at me as I sit fuming and attempting to look up Swahili swear words in my phrase book, You see, downloads aren’t the only thing I have a hard time waiting for.

I don’t like waiting for answers about my future and the specifics of my life. I don’t enjoy waiting while everything seems hopeless or when I can’t see an end in sight.

And more than anything, I hate waiting for God to fulfill his promises.

I think part of why I hate waiting has to do with my American-ness. To me, waiting is passive and I like to be active. If I have to wait, I’ll multi-task (like writing this blog post while I attempt to send an email). If I’m on the phone, I might clean my room or check facebook.

By itself, waiting seems like a waste of time.

Elizabeth Elliot has an infuriating quote that I always copy down for inspiration, and then make a face at. It talks about waiting being part of the process, part of the joy of becoming refined into Christ’s likeness.

She says:

When ours [plans] are interrupted, his are not. His plans are proceeding exactly as scheduled, moving us always (including those minutes or hours or years which seem most useless or wasted or unendurable) "toward the goal of true maturity."

Yes, because my ultimate happiness is wrapped up in the word “maturity.” Clearly this woman never had to wait for anything.

If you know anything about Elizabeth Elliott, though, you know that waiting made up most of her spiritual walk with God. Waiting for direction, waiting for peace, waiting for the man she loved for many years. Then, waiting to recover after he was killed shortly after their marriage.

So she might know a little bit.

This summer, I’m in an office mostly by myself, in a different culture, reliant on many other people for direction and understanding. Somehow, I have to get to work on time, schedule interviews, meet with directors from 6 different departments, and plead with my computer to connect with the Internet on a daily basis. Each day I write myself a little “to do list” and make boxes to check off what I’ve done. I rarely finish half of what I’m supposed to.

For this season, waiting is my life. And I think God wants it that way.

Today my mom sent me a facebook message telling me how incredible it is that I have time. Time to think and process, time to spend alone with God. In the past I’ve challenged myself to pray longer and occasionally withdraw from people to grow in my faith. But most of the time it doesn’t happen, at least not like I want it to.

So here I am, frustrated and in a hurry, when I have what I’ve wanted. It doesn’t look like I thought it would (I think I imagined something 15^th century monastery-like instead of an office in Kenya), but I have it.

And I hate it.

Like I said, He’s lovingly laughing at me.

So dear friends at home and abroad, please be praying for me in my waiting.

Mostly, I wish I knew what I was waiting for (I have a few suggestions for Him, but I’m going to keep my mouth shut) but I’m hoping by the end of the summer I’ll discover it. And when I do, I think I’ll be just a little closer to who He wants me to be.

Pray that not only will I avoid going crazy at my little desk, but that I also find joy in being alone with God. That despite the questions, anger, or confusion I might feel towards him, I’ll continue to be able to actively wait for what he has for me.

So here I sit, eat, walk, write and live ... waiting.

Let’s see what happens.

And for the record, my email finally sent.

Leah

My new friend Leah is absurdly beautiful. She's equal parts mischevious and ladylike, although I think she tends to lean more towards the former. I'm not sure of her HIV/AIDS status, but I know that her life is much harder than her smile would lead you to believe. Meeting her, and the women at Beacon of Hope like her, reminds me of God's grace and faithfulness in providing for everyone he loves.

More Than Tears

I haven’t really cried in Kenya. Ok, there was one night where there was a little sniffling involved. But not the real, shaking, disgustingly snotty crying.

The kind that really matters.

At the same time, I’ve been having a hard time reacting to what I’m seeing and experiencing here. For some reason, I can process a little, but not to the full extent that I actually feel better.

I’m not really a person that cries a lot, (at least not on a regular basis), so I didn’t really think there was a connection.

We had a team day today where we all processed our experiences thus far with each other and shared how we were doing emotionally. I was incredibly excited to see everyone after only a week, but I felt unsettled as we talked. I could tell them about my God moments and express excitement about what my ministry was doing with complete honesty. I have seen God at work and it’s been wonderful, but emotionally, I haven’t taken it in. I have tons of notes, but I didn’t pause to think about what they meant.

In comparison to my fellow interns, what I see on a daily basis is tame and comfortable. The house I live in is lovely. There’s hot water, electricity, and wifi whenever I want them, not to mention wonderful food. My workplace is gorgeous, where everyone speaks English and I can visit kindergartners and student artisans anytime I want. My brothers drive me to and from work (about a 10 block distance or less) and won’t let me out of their sight if I’m with them.

So I really didn’t think I had anything to cry about.

On our way to Prestige Plaza today (a mall), a man across the road from us had an epileptic seizure. One minute he was walking eating a bag of bananas and the next he was on the ground, greenish foam coming from his mouth and limbs rigidly twitching. As the rest of my friends rushed toward him, I was frozen and disconnected at the same time. We stayed until we were sure he was all right, and then continued walking. It turned out that he had run out of money for his epilepsy medicine and was attempting to go without it. Some of the others gave him money for more meds and were deeply affected by what happened. I just felt more unsettled.

The rest of our day was great. We had gelato and attempted to negotiate a Kenyan supermarket/Wal-Mart equivalent (where I found nothing that I needed and bought a phrasebook instead). But I still felt off.

During one of our conversations, some of the others had talked about their struggles to feel things and engage with what was going around them. I ignored the fact that I could relate. I was fine, I told myself.

Previously in the week, I’d submitted my first article for WND (woot). I didn’t love it, but it was ok. My problem is always word count (as you’re probably noticing, I’m a bit long winded), but that was my only worry.

After coming home for the day today, I checked my email for my internship account. Reviews had arrived! I was nervous, as usual when it comes to stuff like that, but excited. The reviews were fair. The more that I read my piece, the more that I agreed with what they said.

The writing was stiff. Informative. Very, very news story like. In just under 1,000 words I had said a lot about what my organization did without including any emotion, whatsoever. Which, when you’re writing about intense social justice issues, is a problem. Why wasn’t I feeling?

I shook off the frustration I had with myself and ate dinner, watched Spanish soaps (yeah, they’re awful but hilarious) and went back to my room. Now I was really, really unsettled.

I sat on my bed with my Bible and just stared for a bit. Shut my eyes. Got up. Sat at my desk. Got on facebook.

And then I read a message from a friend that was entirely perfect. She encouraged me, told me she was praying for me and said that God was doing incredible things in my life, not just in the lives of the people I’d met. “Wait,” I thought. “Is He?”

And then I completely lost it.

All the feelings and thoughts, the anxiousness of going, the confusion at adjusting, the stress of the unknown, the weight of poverty and desperation, the worry about life at home, the anticipation of plans for the future, all came out in 15 minutes of straight crying. My poor host family! They probably thought someone dear to me had died.

When I finished, I went to my computer and began to write. I stayed up until 2 am entirely re-writing my piece. I kept three sentences from the first draft, but that’s it.

I still think my article is just ok. But at least, now I’m connecting. I’m wrestling and feeling instead of just recording.

I’m no longer just a journalist; I’m in the process of becoming a wrecked human being who has fallen in love with the idea of justice and mercy and the faces of those in need.

In the process, I’m discovering that God’s plan for my life this summer is to blow my plans and perceptions out of the water. While I might think I’m safe, He’s still going to change my world. And I have a feeling that means he’s going to take the feelings I have (no matter how reluctantly I give them to Him) and use them for bigger things than tears.

Regardless, I’m still buying Kleenex.

A New Friend

144 of the cutest Kindergarteners ever go out to play each Friday afternoon.

How could I not love my job?