Rain.

The other day I found myself walking along a dirt path and looking across plowed fields that are ready for another planting season. Each year, at this time, there is a sense of expectation all over this land as arrangements are made for seed and fertilizer to be bought and hard manual labor to be exercised within the fields. It is all done with the hope that, in due season, a harvest will be reaped. But when the preparations are complete and the seeds have been planted, we must wait for what we cannot control. Although the sun is hot and the earth remains dry, we ask God for rain. Sometimes it comes.
In the same way, fighting against poverty, disease, and injustice is a journey that requires dedication and compassion. Grace is needed to speak on behalf of those whose cries would otherwise not be heard; and patience must be practiced as we wait in hope and long for what is not yet seen- a Kingdom where there is no hunger or thirst, where there is no selfishness and pride, where there are no orphans or forgotten ones, where there is no more pain or death. Oh, how I thank God for the holy moments and for the glimpses of breakthrough when His goodness compels and empowers us to loosen bonds of wickedness and heavy burdens are undone; when His love moves our hearts to share our bread with those who hunger; when His grace allows us to welcome the broken-hearted into our lives as if they were our own.
In 2003, a 12 year old boy named Shadrack stood beside his brothers and sisters as their mom’s body was lowered into the ground. His mom was a young, single mother of six named Selina whose life was cut short by HIV/AIDS. She owned no land and had nothing materially to leave her children. At the burial, the three grown children, along with other family members, did not feel they were able to take on the burden of raising the three younger children--Jane, Shadrack and Caroline. After the ceremony ended, one by one, everyone left; leaving three children to not only grieve the loss of their mother but to have no clue what would be the future of their own lives. David Tarus, cofounder of ELI Kenya, was at the burial. He saw this desperate situation and was moved with compassion. He told these wondering children, “Let’s go home.” This reality was the beginning of his vision for a children’s home for orphans. Six years later, there are nearly 200 orphans in ELI Children’s Homes and many other orphans and vulnerable children within the community that are under our care. Each has a story of loss and hope interwoven together.
Thanks to friends at ELI, together with his sisters, Shadrack was sponsored to go to school since the 7th grade. He worked very hard and successfully finished high school in 2008. Earlier this month, we received the results from the national exam taken by all high school seniors, and Shadrack excelled with a grade of A- which will allow him to be accepted and go to a national university. Recently, I sat down with this now 18 year old young man and listened to him tell his story. He shared that he hopes to, one day, become a pilot. He also expressed his thanks to David Tarus and to ELI for assisting his family. He explained, “Without the help of ELI, I would have had to dream small. Tarus took the burden to see that I got an education. Now I can help others in the future who are in the same state as me.”
It is amazing what happens when true religion is lived out. The hope and future of orphans are reclaimed. And as we walk with God, we learn to love. There is much work to be done; but like the farmer, we must wait for what we cannot control. We ask God for rain; and when it comes, it is like a breath of fresh air received with great joy.

High Places.

On Sunday morning, as I thought about going to church, I felt led to worship God by going to sit with a dear lady named Helen. Helen is in the painful process of dying from metastatic stomach cancer. Large surgical scars tell of her fight. A massively distended abdomen, as the rest of her body wastes away, shows that the battle continues to rage. Although the cancer threatens Helen’s body, it does not define who she is. She is a wife and a mother. She is a school teacher. She is a friend. Helen is a child of God who bears His image.

As I sat quietly beside her I experienced the Presence of God in the form of peace, and it was a beautiful gift. At one point, I read a passage of Scripture that, for the past year or so, has been within me. Its message confronts me when I am tempted to want God for the things He gives rather than for who He is. It challenges my spirit when I blame God for the things it appears He has withheld. It offers me a choice when the circumstances that surround feel like everything good has been stripped away. Will I trust God or will I walk in fear? Habakkuk 3:17-19 says: “Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails, and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior. The Sovereign Lord is my strength; he makes my feet like the feet of a deer, he enables me to go on the heights.”

Several months ago, I had the privilege of spending five days in a beautiful little French town at the base of the Jura Mountains. It was an amazing time of retreat and spiritual direction. In my closing session, one of the counselors quoted Psalm 18:33, which says: “He makes my feet like the feet of deer. And sets me on the high places.” She explained that, throughout our time together, this was how she pictured me: sure-footed as a deer, belonging on the high places. Her words moved me and surprised me as they spoke directly to my fears. You see, throughout my life, I have always been a bit clumsy. By nature, I prefer safer, well traveled routes. And yet, the journey God has me on continues to lead me to places that feel narrow and too steep for me to climb. In this process that stretches me and exposes my weakness, I find comfort in Jesus’ words: “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.”

I recently read this beautiful book called Hinds Feet for High Places. It is the story of a Loving Shepherd inviting a girl named Much-Afraid to journey with Him. He leads her through difficult places and gives her unlikely companions to walk with: Sorrow and Suffering. After she passes through many dangers which confront her tormenting fears, she emerges transformed and is able to go to the High Places for which she was made. The Shepherd gives Much-Afraid her new name, Grace and Glory; and because of the journey, her friends, Sorrow and Suffering, are changed into Joy and Peace. The Shepherd explains:

It was these lessons which you have learned which enabled me to change you from limping, crippled Much-Afraid into Grace and Glory with hinds’ feet. Now you are able to run, leaping on the mountains and able to follow me wherever I go, so that we need never be parted again. So remember this: as long as you are willing to be Acceptance-with-Joy and Bearing-in-Love, you can never again become crippled, and you will be able to go wherever I lead you.”

As I prepared to leave Helen’s home, she asked me to tell her about the Shepherd that leaves us without want, the One who promised to lead by quiet waters and to restore our souls. The One, whose Presence, even in the valley of the shadow of death, is our hope of living without fear.

Thank you for your prayers and support.

Enlarge my heart.

Enlarge my heart. This is my request of God. Beyond my understanding, I am convinced it is His desire for me. It is as David prayed: “I shall run the course of Your commandments, for You shall enlarge my heart.” (Psalm 119:32). Jesus said that the greatest commandments were to love God and man fully. On my own, I am often reminded that it is not possible. Love cannot exist with or be extended from fear. Love suffers long and is kind: love does not envy; love doesn’t parade itself, is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things (1 Corinthians 13:4-7). My only hope at love is for Love Himself to transform and enlarge my heart. The miracle is He is able and willing.

God has surrounded me with beauty and pain, joy and suffering; and it is changing me. Over the past few months, God has reawakened a passion within me to care for the dying. As I prepared to move to Kenya in 2004, I wrote in a letter that “this is the burden that God has put on my heart: that people should not have to die alone.” By God’s grace, over the past five years, loving those who are in the process of dying and those who grieve no longer feels like a burden, I consider it a gift. It is not easy or glamorous and it is incredibly painful at times, but I would not trade the holy moments I have been allowed for anything. Priorities are in perspective. There is no pretending or pretense. God is present. His Father’s heart that endlessly pursues and lavishly welcomes his lost and broken kids is doing just that. With so much compassion, I hear Him saying: "My child, you were never meant to be alone. I know you and everything that you have done, but I could not love you anymore than I do. You're afraid and so ashamed, but you are safe with Me. I will not turn you away. In fact, I long for you to come, just as you are, to Me. I will give you rest." Imagine, the times He chooses to speak these words through one of our mouths or allows our touch to usher one into His Presence. It is sacred.

For one week, I got the chance to love an 18 year old girl named Faith. Her appearance struck me as she entered the examination room at the HIV clinic. She was beautiful but very sick. She was child-like but experiencing consequences of adult decisions that were very probably forced upon her. Her body was wasted but there was still life in her eyes. She moved my heart; and when I heard she was from Kipkaren, I wanted to be her friend. Tuberculosis had destroyed one of her lungs completely. As we walked out of the clinic, she leaned against me. The look in her eyes as I told her we would take her home in our car caused my eyes to fill with tears. I glimpsed the relief that she felt, if only for a moment, that she did not have to struggle to walk, or ride on the back of a bicycle, the long journey home. On Saturday, I visited Faith at the hospital as she had been admitted the previous day for severe dehydration. I sat with my friend as she struggled for air. I bought her french-fries as she requested and prayed the Comforter would come and do just that. Faith passed away last night, and my heart aches because of the loss. Beyond measure, I am also grateful that God allowed me to encounter His treasure. God used Faith to enlarge my heart.

Returning to Kenya.

I arrived safely back to Kenya and am trying to get over jet lag but wanted to take this opportunity to say thank you so much for the amazing hospitality that was extended to me while I was in the States. Honestly, I was so well taken care of. I will never be able to express in words my gratitude for the ways you have surrounded me and cheered for me as I seek to follow Christ. More than ever before, I know I cannot do this alone. It is equally clear that I was never intended to.

In unique and generous ways, love was poured out upon me by my family and friends. I think about the dear lady, who I had never met before, hugging me as she shared that she often wakes up in the middle of the night to pray for me. In one church, I was talking to a man who was standing with his little boy. The father asked his son: “who do we pray for every morning?” Without hesitation, the little boy pointed his finger towards me. His boldness caught me off guard and moved my heart. I had conversations with people who explained that, in spite of their hard economic situations, they wanted to continue to support the health ministry. One moment that continues to make me smile centers around a little girl named Molly. About a year and a half ago, I wrote an update about an orphaned child named Kipchumba. Molly’s mom had read the update in a church bulletin; and one night when Molly did not want to eat her supper, Molly’s mom told her about Kipchumba’s story. Molly left the dinner table that night and went to her dad to explain that she wanted to give all of the money in her piggybank to Kipchumba. Since then, Molly has written letters and drawn pictures for this little boy who lives on the other side of the world. God only knows if Molly will ever get to meet Kipchumba, but her generous love and child-like faith have helped to empower his life.

The night before I left for Kenya, I was laying in bed and thinking about the season of ministry that is ahead. In truth, I was feeling overwhelmed by uncertainties that fill our broken world. I sensed God saying to me: Are you going to believe Me? The real issue is not the world’s economic situation or on-going transitions that accompany ministry. This is about trust. Following Jesus will not allow me to lean on my own understanding. He will direct the paths, but I have to be willing to let go of my expectations of how God must act. I think about John the Baptist, a man whose purpose was to prepare the way for Jesus to come. When he was in prison, he sent a couple of friends to ask Jesus: “are you the Coming One or should we look for another?” Jesus was not acting the way he was expected to; and yet, I love his reply. He answered, “Go and tell John the things which you hear and see. The blind see and the lame walk; the lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear; the dead are raised up and the poor have the gospel preached to them. And blessed is he who is not offended because of Me” (Matthew 11:2-6). This message relayed back to John is what Jesus is still about: rescuing the lost, binding the broken, offering hope to the hopeless. His words about the poor are striking. Jesus did not say that the blind see and the lame walk… the dead are raised and the poor have become rich. No, Jesus said that good news was being offered to the poor. He was telling the worthless of the world: Take heart. There’s hope. I am Yours. That was their healing. It is also ours. While in the States, I was introduced to a man living in the streets of downtown Fresno. His name is Walker, and he explained that he has been clean from drugs for the past year and a half. When I asked him how he has the strength to get up each day and not turn back to drugs. Without hesitation, he answered with one word: "God."

I recently came across a quote that has challenged me greatly in what it means to be a Christian. It comes from a letter that was written in 131 AD, not by a Christian but about Christians, to the Emperor of Rome. It states:

“It is the Christians, O Emperor, who seem to have sought and found the truth; for they acknowledge God. They don’t keep for themselves the goods entrusted to them. They show love to their neighbors. “They don’t do to another what they would not want done to themselves. They speak gently to those who oppress them. In this way, they make their enemies their friends. It has become their passion to do good to their enemies. Everyone among them who has anything gives ungrudgingly to the one among them who has nothing. If they see a homeless stranger, they bring them in under their own roof. They rejoice over that brother or sister as if they were a real sister or brother. For they do not call one another sister or brother because of the flesh, but because of the Spirit of their God. If anyone among them is poor, while they themselves have little to spare, then the whole community will fast for two or three days until everyone can eat together. In this way, they can supply any poor person with what they need. This, O Emperor, is the rule of life of the Christians. This is the way that they have come to live.”

May we, as followers of Christ, continue to seek and find the truth. May we ever be growing in trust and in love.

Retreat

I arrived safely to Southern California on Friday and am thankful for the opportunity to be here in the States for the next six weeks. I have come to spend Christmas with my family, to celebrate the wedding of one of my dearest friends, and to meet and share with churches and individuals about what God is doing in ELI’s health ministry.
I wanted to share about an amazing experience I had last week. On my way to the States, I had the privilege of spending five days in a beautiful little French town at the base of the Jura Mountains. I went for a retreat at a center called LeRucher. This center was created to be a refuge where missionaries could come "to be refreshed in their calling in God and remain effective to serve in difficult places.” Personally, it was a time for me to come away and receive spiritual direction from gifted counselors and to process some very difficult experiences that I have lived this year. In the moments of stillness I remembered God’s mercies and faithfulness. I was reminded of the passions and calling He has placed deep within me. With all that has been lost, my yearning to see God’s kingdom come remains unchanged. More than ever before, I am compelled to love from a pure heart. My desire is to walk humbly with God and to extend justice and mercy to those who surround me. I feel God urging me to speak on behalf of those whose voices can rarely be heard.
My final session involved an extended time of prayer and taking communion. In preparation for this, I was asked to write a letter to God as an expression of faith. I want to share part of it with you in hopes that it might encourage any of you who are facing uncertain futures, disappointments, loss, unanswered questions... It is raw but reflects a journey of hope God is leading within me:

My Jesus, You who journeyed to this broken world for the sake of loving me - I am Yours. Thank you for humbling Yourself, for giving up what was rightfully yours, to become poor. You, the King of all Kings, entered humanity as a vulnerable baby and were laid in a dirty cattle trough. You, the Creator of All, became dependent upon your creation. You experienced all of life: hunger and fullness, joy and pain, loneliness and deep relationship. You suffered terribly. You loved perfectly. You were tempted, misunderstood and rejected. You were betrayed by your dearest friends. You allowed your heart to be moved with compassion over suffering and grieved over the loss of your friend. You came with a purpose- to rescue what had been lost. It cost you everything. I will never understand. You broke through all boundaries to love me; and apart from my love, You had nothing to gain. Oh the foolishness of the cross. Of all the mysteries of the universe, this is the greatest; but your death and resurrection is my only hope for life. I will be forever grateful.

You have received me as I am and given me a new name. I am your delight. Your loving-kindness has pursued me every moment of my life and is a constant even when so many things I hold dear are being stripped away. In this season of brokenness, You have heard my prayers and allowed my crying to come before You. Thank you for being near to this broken heart. Beyond my understanding, You have been my strength and my song. Your mercies have been enough for each day and have carried me when I felt like giving up. Although Satan has tried to kill, steal and destroy my community, ministry, relationships and even my own heart; You, the giver of abundant life, are making all things new. I am confident that what is of You will remain. It will be purified.

This year I have lived through war, an earthquake, deaths of individuals that I have loved, dramatic transitions within ministry, and deep disappointment. I have watched as a community broke into chaos and bitter roots of hatred, pride, and fear thrived. Calm returned but the deep wounds were already gaping. The façade I had been living within of being a community where we love our neighbors came crashing down. The gap between the knowledge of our heads and the expressions of our hearts remained before us. Oh, be merciful to us and teach us how to live.

This journey has been like walking along a dirt path in the darkness of night. It is uneven, and I do not know where to step. I have felt alone and without clarity of direction. I have sensed the panic that comes with being lost. It has been desperately fearful and overwhelming. I have been deeply disappointed. I have stumbled along the way, but I have chosen to get back up and take another step. At times, the night seemed as if it would never end, and I have wondered if the darkness would swallow me within it. Desiring relief, I have looked for refuge in places that were unable to provide it. I have asked questions without answers and cried countless tears; but in the moments I have been still, I have heard your whisperings. They have been reminders that my loneliness is only an illusion, and I am not alone. The darkness has never been dark to You. You have not been limited by my questions. There have been times where the darkness threatened to steal all that is mine; but instead of succeeding, a deeper trust has been developed within me as I learn to walk by faith and not by sight.

My Jesus, it is You alone that can make light shine into the darkness. You can take what was meant for evil and use it for my good. In your gracious way, and for your glory alone, I trust You to restore and redeem what feels shattered and lost. I am hard pressed on every side, yet not crushed; I am perplexed but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed. Who then shall separate me from Your love? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril or sword?... Yet in all these things I am more than a conqueror through You who loves me. For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate me from Your love. Nimeamua kufuata Yesu. Sitarudi nyuma tena. (I have decided to follow Jesus. I will not return again). All my love is yours.

After I read this letter and began to take communion, I had a beautiful picture of Jesus picking the arrows, one by one, out of my heart. When there were no more, He gently put bandages to bind it back together. Whatever you may be facing this day, know that God has come near and He loves you as you are. He is the God that is able to restore what is broken.

Hope

Four years ago I met a little girl named Charity. She was three years old and an orphan living with her siblings and grandmother. I met her on only one occasion, but I have never forgotten her. Along with her older brother Benson, she was intended to come to the children's home that was being opened in a village called Ilula. I had just moved to Kenya and was a part of the team that went to pick up these two children for their medical check-ups. I still can hear the doctor's words: "This one," in reference to Charity, "is HIV positive." At that time, the children's home was not prepared to care for children living with HIV/AIDS; therefore, Charity was returned to stay at home with her grandmother. During my time in Kenya, I have often looked back on this day and wondered if there was something that could have been done differently.

Last week I felt God compelling me to go back to Charity's home. In my spirit, I knew it was time to stop wondering about this little one. I did not know what to expect in going. I did not even know if she was still alive. Without a further plan in place, I trusted that God's grace would cover the situation and lead me. After the two hour drive through terribly muddy and bumpy roads, I arrived back to the simple mud hut of this dear grandma and was greeted warmly by her and her grandchildren. Charity was the first to greet me. All I can say is that she was beautiful and so playful. She sat beside me, laughing and telling me stories in Kalenjiin.

Her grandma explained that she has been healthy. She attends a nearby HIV clinic monthly; and because her immune system is still functioning well, she has yet to be started on antiretrovirals. She receives food support from the clinic. She attends a local pre-school; and, almost perfectly, she recited her ABC's for me.

As I proceeded to leave, Charity walked me to the car. I sensed, in a powerful way, that God led me to Charity's home and not because I was to help and fix anything. Hopefully, I was an encouragement to the family; but the truth is, God desired to remind me that He is able. As the Psalms promise: "The needy will not always be forgotten. The hopes of the poor will not always be crushed."

In Kipkaren, so much hardship has surrounded us this year. There have been seasons of overwhelming suffering and disappointment. The phrase that comes to my mind is I had hoped. I had hoped that peace and justice would fill our community. Instead, I watched hatred, along tribal lines, kill and displace my neighbors. I had hoped, with all of my heart, that God would heal a baby named Felix. Instead, there is a little grave and a mother left to grieve. I had hoped that things would be different. I had hoped.

I think about Abram and Sarai who had hoped for a child. I cannot imagine the feelings Abram must have felt when God appeared to him and promised to give him a son (Genesis 15). He and his wife were too old. They had learned to live with barrenness. They had given up hope that they would bear their own child and were ready to settle for the obvious: a servant would be their heir.

God appeared to Abram and promised the impossible. Abram's choice to believe God required reopening broken places. It involved awakening lost dreams. To hope again was not a "safe" option. Could he and his wife possibly bear being disappointed again? In his crisis of belief, God led Abram outside and said: "Look up at the heavens and count the stars—if indeed you can count them. So shall your offspring be." Abram chose to believe.

Like Abram, I have been forced to make choices between settling for the obvious or trusting God for what simply seems impossible. In truth, at one time or another, we all have. Jesus promised: "In this world, you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world" (John 16:33). Wright states, "Hope for the Christian is not wishful thinking or mere optimism. It is a mode of knowing in which new things are possible. Options are not shut down. New creation can happen. God gives his people the feet to walk the path that they are on. God comes on the road and meets us in the midst of our broken places and catches us up in this movement of all things being made new."

Thank you for traveling with me on this journey of hope.

Fasting

Throughout this day, I have been challenged by the suffering that surrounds me. I have been asking God for wisdom and compassion to respond. I went to a home this morning to visit a three week old baby girl named Michelle. Her mother tragically died during childbirth. She had labored and delivered Michelle at home; but when the placenta failed to deliver, she was carried several kilometers to our clinic. She passed away upon arrival. She was a single mom and left behind three young children. As I sat beside the grandmother who is taking care of this baby, tears streamed down her face. She asked questions without answers. She wanted to know why four of her daughters have died. She talked of the pain that fills her, the responsibilities that feel unbearable. Then she said, with her hand on the baby’s forehead: “this is my blessing that God has left behind.”
As I listened to the words from this grandmother’s broken heart, a passage I read this morning in Isaiah flooded my mind. It says:
Is this not the fast that I have chosen: To loose the bonds of wickedness, to undo the heavy burdens, to let the oppressed go free, and that you break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and that you bring to your house the poor who are cast out; when you see the naked, that you cover him, and not hide yourself from your own flesh? Then your light shall break forth like the morning, your healing shall spring forth speedily, and your righteousness shall go before you; the glory of the LORD shall be your rear guard (58:6-8).
I considered this question: what must I be willing to give up, in this situation, in order to extend compassion? The answer, at least for the moment, was my comfort. I chose to be present with this family and to feel their pain. There were no simple answers to their loss, and so I refrained from trying to offer any. This may sound noble; but the truth is, it is the only thing I had to offer. As I left the home, I held this tiny gift from God and told her that she was loved, that she was known by God, that this was not her fault. I am convinced that, as Mother Teresa put into words, “only in heaven will we see how much we owe to the poor for helping us to love God better because of them”.