Common Trials: Sharing Life's Experiences with Brethren in Kenya

In my last post, I shared a lesson learned from a little teacher all the way over in Kenya.  I'd like to share another lesson two other little teachers taught me, this time two little girls.

First let me set the scene.

Kenya is beautiful.  Most of our time was spent out in the middle of nowhere, near Lake Victoria, in the sprawling village of Kagan.  The country lavished its beauty on us...rich red earth; waving grasses; lovely trees whose tops seem somehow flattened; sharp-thorned acacia trees; bulbous lion's ear flowers; graceful animals; gorgeously flaming sunrises and sunsets.

The scenery was dotted with small homes of earthen walls and metal roofs enclosed in square courtyards edged with green walls of trees and bushes.  One or two roads eroded deep into the red earth, etching their ways across the countryside.  One such road lead the bumpy way all the way out to the compound where we stayed, past homes and fields, flocks of sheep and goats and herds of cows tended by small dark-skinned boys.

And the people...oh the people!  Beautiful faces, dark skin, ready smiles; hands and feet toughened from the hard work of farm life; gentle hearts brimming with generosity and hospitality. Unashamed of their love for the Lord.  Unabashed in the exuberance of their worship.

In the scenery and in their ways of life I found many differences from what was I was used to back home in the States.  In the people, I found more differences...but many similarities, too.  Especially as I watched from the perspective of a wife and mom.

People came from all over...wives, husbands, moms, dads, grandparents, kids.  Most came dressed in their Sunday best (to see the nurses and doctors...dressed in scrubs!).

People milled all over the compound, waiting to be seen.  And every morning and evening when we trekked to our host, Ishmael's, home, another crowd waited for us...small boys and girls, adorable kids, eager to play with us while meals were being prepared.  They were ready for any kid of fun...soccer, football, balloons, stickers...anything! (No TV or video games there!)

We had a blast with those little guys!

Once or twice, though, I saw coming out in them that little thing common to children (and adults!) the world over...that little thing called their "sin nature."  And I found myself saying same things I say so often to my own kids at home..."Share!  Be kind...don't hit...don't throw rocks at each other..." and so on.

And I was reminded that all moms and dads, even in Kenya, face the same difficulties and hurdles I do in trying to raise my boys to be godly, loving young men.

Another incident reminded me of the same thing.

We were in one of the gospel meetings we had each evening after the clinic was done for the day.  We were sitting behind a few rows of women, all standing and singing.  (Those dear people love their singing...and dancing!)

One woman a couple of rows ahead of us had with her a small, dear little girl, maybe about two years old.  This little girl cried and cried throughout the singing, seated on her mom's chair while her mom stood in front of it, singing and clapping along with the rest of the congregation.  The little one never let up, wailing and pulling at the back of her mom's shirt and skirt, though her cries were nearly drowned out by the enthusiasm of the music.

Finally, the singing was over and the speaking was about to begin.  The mom turned around to face her little girl.  She grasped the little girl by one upper arm, using that hold to pick her up (a common way to pick up their little ones, I noticed).  The woman then used her free hand to grab the back of the plastic chair and tilt it forward...and I watched as she poured out a clear liquid from the seat of the chair onto the dusty concrete ground of the church.  She then promptly sat in the chair (without wiping it off) and plopped the child into her lap.

A little later, still during the meeting, I watched as the mother pulled off the little girl's wet undies so she could run around bare-bottomed under her little dress.

Oh, how I smiled!  How very many times have I found myself in similar situations, over and over again, as I went through long, drawn-out months of frustrating potty-training! (Though, I admit, I handled the clean-up a little differently...usually I came armed paper towels and some kind of cleaning spray.)

And as I sat watching, still amused, part of a verse popped into my mind...

"No temptation has overtaken you but such as is COMMON TO MAN..." I Corinthians 10:13

And so I thought...about those little, every-day frustrations that have a way of needling their way under our skin and tunneling a burning path to our hearts and minds where they fester and ferment and threaten to ruin our whole day...or week.

Like...

CJ wet his pants.  Again.
Moses just WILL NOT nap!
If those kids don't stop whining and fighting I'll never get dinner on the table!

Or sometimes the issues are a little different...Sometimes the trials are "little," like potty-training and fighting kids.  But sometimes they're "big," like the trial faced by by little Cynthia and her parents.

I met Cynthia during our first day of clinic.  Sweet little girl, just three years old.  Ready smile, sweet giggle.

But scrawny arms and legs...and no muscle tone.  At three years old, she can't even hold her head up.  Can't talk.  Can't feed herself.

Cynthia's dad brought her in, strapped to his back with colorful African cloth.  He was quiet...and in his eyes I caught sight of a hesitant hope.

But, in our simple little clinic, there was nothing we could do for her.  All we could tell her dad was that she needed tests they couldn't afford...hospital visits they couldn't afford...and treatments and therapy they couldn't afford.

My heart broke for them as I watched Cynthia's dad stand, holding her tight in his arms, and walk out of my triage room.  Such a little girl...the exact same age as my CJ.

You and I also face trials and heartaches bigger than potty-training, difficulties like...

The bank account, credit card bill, and calculator just can't seem to get along.
We leave church or some get-together of friends feeling slighted, or ignored, or targeted, or defeated.
We leave the doctor's office...or the funeral home...knowing life will never be the same again.

I thought over these things...and realized in a new way...that these difficulties and temptations are common to men and women the whole world over!

This isn't to say that these things aren't hard, painful, or life-shattering.  It's just to say that other people experience them, too.

So often, when I'm going through a hard time, I focus on "poor me," listing off all the hard things life has brought me, all the painful things I've had to endure. Unconsciously I start thinking that I'm somehow special and set apart by these oh-so-awful trials.

When I think this way, in my mind, the whole world begins to revolve around me.  Everything else grinds to a stop and all I can think about is "poor me."

Watching those moms and dads and kids in Kenya reminded me that I'm not special and set apart by these trials...they're common!  And when I realize that there's nothing really that special or different about my particular trials, then I'm free to focus on others and the trials they're going through...and how I can help them.

Let me get back to 1 Corinthians 10:13.  This verse comes just after a passage describing the trials the Israelites faced in the desert.  Some of their trials were relatively mild...like the fresh fruits and vegetables conspicuously missing from their cupboards.

Some trials were harder...like the many dying at the hands (fangs!) of fiery serpents.

The Israelites faced these trials, these tests...and most of them failed the tests.  They grumbled.  They complained.  They rebelled.

And so Paul leads up to verse 13.  Here's the rest of the verse:

"No temptation has overtaken you but such as is common to man; and God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will provide the way of escape also, so that you will be able to endure it."

Yes, life can be hard.  Yes, night after sleepless night rocking a sick infant can be so draining and so exhausting.  Yes, the dog vomiting on the carpet at just the wrong time can threaten to ruin your day.

Yes, a visit to the doctor or a visit from a policeman can turn your world upside down and hurdle you into hours and years of agony and grief.

But other believers the world over, countless myriads of them, have been through the same things.  They've cried, they've hurt, they've asked "why?"...and they've grasped Jesus' hand tightly, and He gently, tenderly, has led them through.

And He'll hold my hand, too.  And yours.  And He'll lead us through.  We can stand the test.  He's provided a way out...a way through.

Sometimes we won't be "through" until we open our eyes to see the face of the One who held our hand the whole way.  But sometimes we're "through" the temptation the very instant we decide NOT to give in to grumbling, complaining, and rebelling.

Let's take that "way of escape."  Whether the trial is trivial and irritating or big and life-changing, let's hold His hand tight...and trust Him...and He'll lead us through.

Just like He leads the believers in Kenya...in all of Africa...and Europe...and Asia.  The whole world over.

"This I recall to mind, 

Therefore I have hope.  

Through the Lord's mercies we are not consumed, 

Because His compassions fail not.  

They are new every morning; 

Great is Your faithfulness. 

'The Lord is my portion,' says my soul, 

'Therefore I hope in Him!' 

The Lord is good to those who wait for Him, 

To the soul who seeks Him.  

It is good that one should hope and wait quietly 

For the salvation of the Lord." 

Lamentations 3:21-26

I didn't get any shots of the little girls in the stories above, but here are some of the sweet kiddos we played with.

 Barbara, Adam, Joy, Trezi, Josh

 Joy in action

 Adam.  Love that smile!

 Trezi

Barbara

Nairobi's Best...and Worst

Two nights ago I arrived home from a medical missions trip to Kenya.

I feel like my mind is full to overflowing with all I saw and experienced.  I have a lot to process through.  Yesterday, during one of my layovers, I called my parents.  My dad asked me what the highlight of my trip was.  After thinking for a minute, I answered.  I definitely would not call it a highlight, but it was the experience that affected me more than anything else.

We visited one of Nairobi's slums.

Our host, Ishmael, took us to see the home office of Shelter of Hope, a ministry providing education, physical care, and spiritual hope to, as Ishmael would put it, "the widows and orphans and those who have nothing."

I didn't realize that Shelter of Hope was in the middle of Nairobi's second-largest slums.  I'll never forget what I saw.

"Homes" were little shacks made of corrugated metal siding and roofing, or mud-and-stick walls with metal roofing.  These were pasted together, one after another after another, to create row upon row upon row of these shacks.  A complicated maze of alleyways between the rows branched off again and again, growing more and more narrow as we went.  Had we not been following our host, I would have quickly gotten lost.

Trash was piled everywhere...an unimaginable amount...plastic bags and old shoes and broken glass.  The ground was a combination of mud and hard-packed earth with trash layered into the dirt.

There were no bathrooms.  Open sewage cut jagged, foot-deep ravines into the alleyways.  At times the smell was nearly overpowering.

Navigating was tricky--we jumped over foaming sewage trickling through, trying not to brush up against the sharp edges of low metal roofs crowding together over the alleyways.

Mini open markets lined some of the wider thoroughfares, displaying food of varying freshness and covered with flies.  One stall featured dozens of small birds, skinned, cooking, but still raw...and crawling with flies.

People were everywhere, mostly children and women, overflowing from the little homes and crowding the alleyways.  Most wore dirty, ripped, faded clothing, and were barefoot or wearing only flip flops.  But they were smiling.

They crowded us, especially the kids, shouting "Mzungu!! Mzungu!!" ("white foreigner") and reaching up warm, dark hands, longing for us to shake their hands so they could run off and tell everyone that they had touched a Mzungu.  They also parroted "How are you? How are you?" with unforgettable accent and cadence, a common phrase that nearly every little boy and girl seemed to know, even if they knew no other English word.

Walking into the slums was...overwhelming.

We trekked to Shelter of Hope's little compound, right in the middle of it all.  Hope Bible Chapel stood alongside it.  By the time we got there, I leaned over to one of the other girls on the trip and whispered, "I see why they call it Hope Bible Chapel."

As Ishmael showed us around the tiny compound, little offices and schoolrooms and a primitive kitchen, buildings made of the same materials as every other building in the slums, children spilled through the doorway into the courtyard of the church.  "Mzungu! Mzungu! How are you??"  They stretched out their hands, longing to be touched...smiling shyly but longing for their pictures to be taken...singing for us, "Jesus Loves Me" and other songs.

One little boy pushed through the other kids and came up to me.  He was maybe four or five.  Faded, ripped green shirt, hanging lopsided off one shoulder.  Runny nose.  Shy smile.

He reached up, holding a small, dirty, plastic ball, about the size of a ping pong ball.  He placed this ball into my hand and closed my fingers around it.

He wanted me to have his ball.

I whispered, "Thank you," but my throat was so tight hardly any sound squeezed through.  I spent the next fifteen minutes blinking back tears and trying to breathe around the lump in my throat.  He, who had nothing, had given me, who had everything, a special treasure...maybe his only treasure.

I can hardly thinking about it without tears springing back to my eyes.

Fast forward a few hours.

We were at the airport, waiting for the announcement to board our flight home.  I was so ready to get home, to hug my husband and cuddle my boys.  But instead of hearing, "Now boarding..." we heard "Due to mechanical failure, the flight has been cancelled..."

Chaos ensued.  Passengers flocked the counters.  Finally the answer was given--there simply was no other flight until the next morning...nearly twelve hours later.

The crowd moved on to another counter where we waited for vouchers for hotel rooms for the night.  After nearly half an hour, the crowd still had not grown any smaller.  Over the hubbub of grumbling travelers, a gentleman started shouting, declaring the inefficiency of the Kenyan airway workers and his frustration with them.  He even got behind the counter and rummaged around as he shouted, while the workers just stared with wide eyes.  Several in crowd clapped.

Finally we got our vouchers and were bused to one of the nicest hotels in Nairobi.  Each of us enjoyed a room to ourselves--suites, actually.  Free dinner.  Free breakfast.  Hot showers and clean sheets.

In one day, we went from witnessing the worst of Nairobi to enjoying the best of Nairobi.

In one place, we saw filth, poverty, disease...smiling, singing children..singing, dancing women.  Joy.  Hope.  Giving.

In the other, we saw finery, cleanliness, comfort...and grumbling, shouting, unhappy travelers.  Rights demanded.  Injustices decried.  Indignation flaunted.

Contentment is all about perspective.

The humble realize they have more than they deserve.  They know gratitude.  Know joy.

The proud are demanding...and miserable.

Perspective is everything.

"Buy truth (right perspective!), and do not sell it, get wisdom and instruction and understanding."
--Proverbs 23:23

The giver

 The gift

Straddling one "ravine" we had to jump over.  It's a good foot deep.

 One narrow alley

Some of the happy kids