Night
"Then I said to myself, "Oh He even sees me in the dark! At night I'm immersed in the light! In fact, darkness isn't dark to You; night and day, darkness and light, they're all the same to You." Psalm 139
When I first laid down in my bed I heard the sounds of night; songs of crickets are muted by the traffic in Big D. Now, as I begin to write the night has fallen silent, perhaps the nature surrounding me is being reverant to the message for the "night".
This is the last time I will lay on this particular Kenyan bed, cover myself with a sheet brought from home and comfort myself with music to send me to sleep. I am not sure rest will come easy.
Our last day in Kitale was filled with traveling to different ministries working with children in the area. The first was a home for 57 babies -most discarded at the IDP (internally displaced people) camps when the violence broke out. The sight of 57 small children (47 being treated for TB) is too much to take in. We arrived in the morning when they were all outside in a "gazebo" like structure some napping, some crying, some being fed, some crawling and some looking at the strangers and trying NOT to cry.
We heard some of the stories. One of the newer babies had been born literally over a latrine and the mother WALKED away, leaving the child to drown in excrement. Somehow, the newborn was never submerged and a teen passing by heard the cries, jumped down into the hole with a rope and rescued the infant from death. Each child had a similar unbelievable tale of miraculous rescue and survival to be brought to a place of God's mercy and love.
Our second stop, was Oasis of Hope. The ministry featured in the "Glue Boys" documentary. It was hard to know what we would see, the state of the children, or really any of the conditions. We were pleasantly surprised. There were close to 100 children wandering around the compound taking a break from their schooling and of course "checking us out". We were given a tour of the facility (an abandoned private hospital) by the Director and the goals and purposes of the "stepping stone" center were clearly explained.
While some of the children would pass us in the hallways and shake our hands, most were outside, washing themselves, washing their clothes, or playing. I tried to stay attentive to his words, to hear the passion of his heart to get these children into group homes and integrated into the school system, but I could not keep from looking at the children soon facing another night on the streets.
I could take another two paragraphs to explain the rationale behind sending the kids who were safe inside the compound back onto the cold, harsh and dangerous streets - and it is a viable, logical, well-thought out plan and has been proven successful long-term. But I won't.
It made sense to my head. But when we went outside to be with the children, there was a little girl in an ill-fitted, ragged and torn yellow dress, no shoes but a big grin. As I sat on the grass to let her touch my white skin (which she found hilarious) her laughter never stopped. I would make a funny face, she would break out into peals of glee, turn to run - but make her way back again and again to giggle some more, smile larger, touch and be touched. She was barely three.
Tonight, I know she is not laughing. She is somewhere on the streets of Kitale protected by an older sibling and trying to stay warm. I wonder if she is crying, if she is scared, if she remembers the laughter of today. If she remembers me?
I am remembering her.
"Never again will there be any night. No one will need lamplight or sunlight. The shining of God, the Master, is all the light anyone needs. " Rev 22:5
In the dark about so many things
But still in His service
When I first laid down in my bed I heard the sounds of night; songs of crickets are muted by the traffic in Big D. Now, as I begin to write the night has fallen silent, perhaps the nature surrounding me is being reverant to the message for the "night".
This is the last time I will lay on this particular Kenyan bed, cover myself with a sheet brought from home and comfort myself with music to send me to sleep. I am not sure rest will come easy.
Our last day in Kitale was filled with traveling to different ministries working with children in the area. The first was a home for 57 babies -most discarded at the IDP (internally displaced people) camps when the violence broke out. The sight of 57 small children (47 being treated for TB) is too much to take in. We arrived in the morning when they were all outside in a "gazebo" like structure some napping, some crying, some being fed, some crawling and some looking at the strangers and trying NOT to cry.We heard some of the stories. One of the newer babies had been born literally over a latrine and the mother WALKED away, leaving the child to drown in excrement. Somehow, the newborn was never submerged and a teen passing by heard the cries, jumped down into the hole with a rope and rescued the infant from death. Each child had a similar unbelievable tale of miraculous rescue and survival to be brought to a place of God's mercy and love.
Our second stop, was Oasis of Hope. The ministry featured in the "Glue Boys" documentary. It was hard to know what we would see, the state of the children, or really any of the conditions. We were pleasantly surprised. There were close to 100 children wandering around the compound taking a break from their schooling and of course "checking us out". We were given a tour of the facility (an abandoned private hospital) by the Director and the goals and purposes of the "stepping stone" center were clearly explained.
While some of the children would pass us in the hallways and shake our hands, most were outside, washing themselves, washing their clothes, or playing. I tried to stay attentive to his words, to hear the passion of his heart to get these children into group homes and integrated into the school system, but I could not keep from looking at the children soon facing another night on the streets.
I could take another two paragraphs to explain the rationale behind sending the kids who were safe inside the compound back onto the cold, harsh and dangerous streets - and it is a viable, logical, well-thought out plan and has been proven successful long-term. But I won't.It made sense to my head. But when we went outside to be with the children, there was a little girl in an ill-fitted, ragged and torn yellow dress, no shoes but a big grin. As I sat on the grass to let her touch my white skin (which she found hilarious) her laughter never stopped. I would make a funny face, she would break out into peals of glee, turn to run - but make her way back again and again to giggle some more, smile larger, touch and be touched. She was barely three.
Tonight, I know she is not laughing. She is somewhere on the streets of Kitale protected by an older sibling and trying to stay warm. I wonder if she is crying, if she is scared, if she remembers the laughter of today. If she remembers me?
I am remembering her.
"Never again will there be any night. No one will need lamplight or sunlight. The shining of God, the Master, is all the light anyone needs. " Rev 22:5
In the dark about so many things
But still in His service
