A Child's Appeal

There are countless vulnerable children that fill this community. They understand what it is to be hungry. They are, all too often, sick from preventable diseases. They know death and loss as so many have watched their own parents die. It is easy to see and say that their life is not fair; and yet, this does not answer their questions. They were made for more than mere existence and somehow they know it. They are little dreamers who desire to learn, to laugh and play, to love and be loved.
Ezekiel Moiben, a parent of 24 children at the ELI Children’s Home in Kipkaren, wrote a poignant piece as the voice of a child and entitled it “A Child’s Appeal”.

I am a child. All the world awaits my coming.
All the world watches with interest-
to see what I shall become.
The future of the world hangs in the balance.
What I become, the future of tomorrow will be.
I am a child. I have come into the world,
about which I know nothing.
Why I came, I do not know.
How I came, I do not know.
I want to know. I am curious. I am interested.
I am a child. You hold my destiny in your hands.
You determine largely whether I shall succeed or fail.
Give me, I pray, these things that make for happiness.
Train me, I beg you, that I may be a blessing to the world.

When I read this, I can hear the voices of individual children who must be heard. I want to share the stories of two whose appeal has led to action in the form compassion.
The story continues. This evening, I sat with an eight-year-old girl named Iveen and her new “mom” as she took her first dose of anti-retrovirals, the medications given to fight the HIV virus. Much has happened in this child’s life in the last three weeks. She has lost her mother. She has moved to a new home and is living with a new family. And she has been diagnosed with HIV and has now begun treatment for AIDS.
In my last update, I told the story of Iveen’s mother Monica. She had passed away upon reaching the HIV/AIDS clinic, and our Home-Based Care team had transported her lifeless body to her home for burial. Iveen, her grandmother and her brother Kelvin (11), are experiencing what this virus has done to too many families. It has taken the strong and left the vulnerable. The children and the elderly are what remain. There is also the harsh reality that Iveen’s family lost its only source of income for food and survival.
On that first day, we crowded in their mud hut. It was hot, and we were all overwhelmed by the situation. I was asked to pray and found myself at loss for words. As we left the family and drove back down the dirt path, silence remained until Maru, a member of Tumaini na Afya (Hope & Health) said: “They have nothing. This is not OK.” Moved with compassion, he explained that he wanted to assist Monica’s children. At the moment, I do not think any of us knew what that meant; but after talking to Maru’s wife and meeting with Monica’s family at her burial, the Maru family decided to bring Iveen and Kelvin to Kipkaren to live with them.
Iveen and Kelvin—in the midst of tremendous loss—have been welcomed with love by Maru and his wife, Mama Jesang. The children have begun to attend Brook of Faith Academy, and Iveen is getting quality treatment at the nearby HIV/AIDS clinic. The children’s grandmother came to visit yesterday and expressed her sincere gratefulness. There are many things I will never understand upon this earth; but one thing is clear: God does not forget the humble. Her appeal was heard.
Appearances. Appearance can be misleading. For example, my friend Mama Daniel lives in a body that is only three feet tall. She has lived her life ridiculed and abused. She defines herself by her stature—and so does her community—even though any physical limitations she might have, are compensated for by her determination, creativity and incredible work ethics. She takes great care of her two sons, Daniel and Darius.
I met Mama Daniel and her five-year-old son—who also shares his mother’s short stature—at ELI’s clinic in Kipkaren. Daniel had just learned to walk and was experiencing severe pain in his back because his vertebrae did not have adequate space to grow in proper alignment. After consulting with several physicians, Daniel was referred to an orthopedic surgeon in Nairobi and taken for surgery. Because Mama Daniel was unable to afford this important but expensive surgery, we helped to support this family with the operation. Daniel recently returned home with a cast remaining over much of his torso; and like any little boy, he is ready for it to be removed. But his pain has reduced and his smile has returned.
On Sunday morning, Mama Daniel walked miles to come to our church. She stood and testified that she had come to church because she needed to thank God for what He has done for her child. She said that this was the first time she has been to church. She thought church was only for tall people.
She continued to explain that she used to take her son to various clinics to try and get help, but she left in tears every time . . . until she came to Kipkaren. She thanked God for standing with her. Then she led a song to praise Him. It was incredible. I was so moved. By us choosing to love her son, she felt accepted, perhaps for the first time.
There have been moments when I have sat with this mother and child and have been moved with compassion. It seems I have been given a glimpse of how God sees them, and they are deeply loved and accepted. Mama Daniel is truly a remarkable woman, and I pray that she will begin to see this truth. There is nothing about her nor about Daniel that is an accident. I thank God for the clarity to see beyond mere appearances into the greater reality of His Kingdom.
Thank you for your prayers and for your support. May God grant us the ears to hear, as there are many more appeals to be heard, and may He grant us hearts to respond with wisdom and compassion.

What are your fears related to HIV?

What are your fears related to HIV? This is the question asked to open a three-day training on what it means to be a caregiver. After an hour of people sharing their responses, the room grows quiet. The realities of HIV, the fears surrounding it are realized.
Then a second question is posed: Is there hope? Once again, silence fills the room. It is a sobering moment; but I have seen it again and again, with fears identified, they lose their power. Space for hope to rise is given. Now, we can begin the training.
This week, 23 trainees have traveled from their homes, from various churches in surrounding villages. These individuals may not know the horrifying statistic that says 25 million people, in Sub-Saharan Africa, are infected with the virus that causes AIDS. But they know their neighbor who keeps being diagnosed with malaria but never recovers. They have attended the burial of their brother and then their sister -in –law. They now have four more children to feed. To these, HIV is not a statistic. It is a nightmare.
Over the past two and a half years, ELI’s Tumaini na Afya (Hope & Health), have trained nearly 300 people the art of caregiving by increasing their knowledge surrounding HIV, proper nutrition, the importance of HIV testing, how to connect the sick with testing and then treatment. For all who are willing, the opportunity for them to learn their HIV status is provided. The last day of the course has been termed “Loving Day” provides the trainees practical experience. They go with members of our team to visit clients within our community. They go to encourage, to assist. They practice what they have learned with the goal that they will take this to their communities.
As I was teaching this morning, I was convinced again: there is hope. There is hope, because there is a God who has not, who cannot, forget his children. As members of the Church of Jesus Christ, we are called to be His hands, His feet. The need is great. The opportunities are limitless.

Home.

Yesterday, I returned to the village I call home. The brilliant colors of green that filled the land were more than a beautiful sight. It indicated that rain has come, that prayers have been answered. Corn, the staple food of this community, was growing in the fields. As I turned the corner leading to my house, I saw the line of a couple hundred people waiting to receive me. Both children and adults waved with both hands and greeted me with the biggest smiles as I pulled up on the unpaved road. For a few moments, all work ceased. School classes were even interrupted so the children could welcome me home. I must confess, as often as I have participated in “welcome ceremonies,” they continue to amaze me.
Through the generous hospitality extended to me, I was yet again reminded of the beauty of living in community. Kipchumba was at the front of the line with flowers for me. His bright eyes reminded me of Timon, his father whom I miss so dearly, but they also told me that God surely is a Father to the fatherless. The 96 children I welcomed this past year to the ELI Children’s Home as orphans were now welcoming me. Betty, one of my beloved patients and friends, wiped tears from her eyes. It tenderly reminded me of the love of Christ. My heart was full, and I was grateful.

In the evening, a party was hosted with forty of my neighbors and friends. We shared stories and ate together. The night was simple. It was filled with joy. They welcomed me back home as one of their own.

Love in action. In Kipkaren, we often say that we wake up with a plan for the day, but we must leave space for God to interrupt our plans. This morning I traveled to a neighboring town to attend the opening ceremony of an income-generating project for people living with HIV/AIDS. On my way, I stopped by the nearby AIDS clinic and learned of a young woman named Monica who was HIV+.
Monica’s story quickly threw me back into the harsh reality of what it looks like to be poor and to live with AIDS. The 31-year-old mother of two was under treatment for tuberculosis and had woken up critically ill. Without access to a car, or means to take a cab, she was forced to travel on the back of an open truck and then walk to reach the clinic. Her mother supported her weak body, but by the time they arrived at the clinic, Monica was gasping for air. She passed away before she could be treated.
If this were not traumatic enough, Monica’s mother had no way to transport her daughter’s body home to be buried.
As I stood in the examination room with this grieving mother, these words ran through my head: “If any of you has possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in you? Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but in action and in truth” (1 John 3:16-18). I chose to listen to the Voice that was calling me to love.

With the help of several of my Kenyan friends, we bought a blanket and a mattress and carried Monica’s lifeless body to our car. We drove her home to be buried. We grieved with a family over the loss of their daughter, their sister, and—for two precious children—the loss of their mother. Once again, I was struck today by the cruelty of HIV/AIDS. It seeks only to steal, kill, and destroy life—and not from the infected alone. But I was also reminded of an even greater truth: God is love. He has entrusted us, His children, to extend Him, through compassion, to the oppressed and broken-hearted. This alone is the hope for this broken world.

Kipchumba. As I mentioned above and have written before, Kipchumba is a young boy whose father passed away earlier this year. He is in the fourth grade and attends ELI’s Brook of Faith Academy in Kipkaren. I wanted to give you a brief update on this beloved little boy…
Each month, the students take an exam covering all of their subjects. They are then ranked according to their performance. Upon my arrival, the principal proudly reported that Kipchumba was number one out of the thirty students in his class. He also said that he has
begun to talk more with students and teachers as well as participate in other activities. One of his exams included writing an essay about his parents. I was, to say the least, very humbled when I read his paper in which he talked about me. I had no idea how this young boy viewed me as a parent. This is a portion of what he wrote:
My parent is Juli. When there was no school fees, she paid for me. She loves me so much! She can’t forget me. When my father was sick, she was coming to see him. When my father got lost, she took me as her boy. When we did exams, she came to school to see my performance. She always comes in the evening to see if I am continuing well. I thank God for giving me a good parent.
Like Kipchumba, I thank God for the ways He is working in this child’s life and for the role He is allowing me to play. Thank you for your continued prayers for Kipchumba.

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Kipkaren Children's Home