Walking together.

There is an African proverb which says, “If you want to walk fast, walk alone. If you want to walk far, walk together.” Countless experiences in Kenya have taught me the wisdom and truth that lies hidden within these words. Even though I like to walk fast and to get things done, the journey I am on is long and cannot be done alone. In deep ways, I have grown to value the ones I get to walk with on dirt paths, to sit with alongside the sick, and to fight battles with for the sake of justice and mercy.
Yesterday, in a literal way, I walked far, together with my friend Rebecca. The afternoon sun was hot; and as some visitors have said, it was like walking up hill, both ways. I smiled, as I looked down at the dirt path we call a road, as it was filled with footprints of all sizes: some with shoes, most without. And I wondered how we had all ended up on the same path and where we were all going. Rebecca, a 33 year old widow and mother of two, and I were walking to a Tumaini na Afya (Hope & Health) support group meeting. It is a group of about 35 members that was birthed two years ago both by and for our clients living with HIV/AIDS. They lead the group and meet monthly to encourage one another to live positive lives: physically, emotionally, spiritually and economically. As we walked, Rebecca shared how, when she was first diagnosed with HIV, she felt shame and wanted to hide; but the Tumaini na Afya team had counseled and supported her to go for treatment and to join the support group. With time, she did both. She explained that, although life is hard, she now knows she is not alone in this journey. And that gives her hope. Like so many other moms who are living with HIV/AIDS in Africa, Rebecca’s dream is to live to raise her children. By the grace of God, she will.
When we reached the meeting, my heart was encouraged as I looked around the room. It was full of people who I have watched, in so many ways, come back to life. What a privilege it has been to walk alongside of them and to see them become hope-filled and purpose driven. God’s love has empowered them to encourage people newly diagnosed with HIV. From experience, they can tell their stories and say: “I remember when I was sicker than you. Do not give up.” or “Like you, I was scared but God is with us.” The power of their words is striking to me, because it stems from their courage to speak about their weaknesses. As they share together, freedom from fear and rejection is found and makes room for living life.
Our first patient has come to Kimbilio Center (The Refuge)... She is a young mother who is dying of AIDS. The virus has destroyed her immune system; and to this point, the anti-HIV drugs are not staying within her body long enough to have effect. This combination is devastating. Pauline, a kind and gentle lady, is no longer able to walk and finds herself so weak that she depends upon others for all of her needs. As I arrived to her home one day, she was sitting outside vomiting the morning’s dose of medications. Her two year old son was playing beside his mother’s suffering. In so many ways, they were alone.
As I knelt down to wash Pauline’s hands and face, I was struck by the phrase written on her t-shirt. This may sound ridiculous, but it was like God was speaking to me through the words on her shirt. Before I go on, let me explain about one societal thing first. In Kenya, second hand clothing, imported from the U.S. and Europe, is what most people can afford to buy and wear. Crazy sayings and brands, some better than others, end up in villages plastered on t-shirts. Pauline was wearing a ragged, Disney shirt with the character of Eeyore; but the message said this: “Thanks for noticing me.” As I attended to the needs of this mama and looked her in the eyes, I felt like I was living the passage of Matthew 25; and Jesus was saying: “I was hungry. Thanks for noticing me. I was thirsty. Thanks for noticing me. I am so sick, and you came to visit me. Thanks for noticing me.” I do not tell this to brag about my goodness; in truth, it was a reminder to me of the pure, reckless love of God. I was humbled. I saw the presence of God dwelling in brokenness. Pauline’s suffering was Jesus’ suffering too.

Birds

After 41 hours of travel, I arrived safely back to Kenya on Saturday night. I am still working through the jetlag; but last night, while I was wide awake at three in the morning, I was overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude and joy to be here again for this season of ministry and life. For the last three months, I have visited 11 states and traveled on 30+ airplanes to share the vision of Living Room, a dream that involves providing quality end-of-life care to those considered poor and too often forgotten by the world. I want to say thank you so much for the ways you welcomed me to your churches, homes, and restaurants and allowed me to share my heart. More deeply than I can possibly tell, I have been encouraged and inspired by the way you have chosen to stand with Living Room. Your prayers, the offering of talents, acts of kindness and generosity have allowed me to see God’s favor in such unexpected and powerful ways.
In October, as I was leaving to come back to the States, a couple of my dear Kenyan friends prayed for me. The purity of their words and their love for God touched my soul and allowed me to hear a familiar message, as if I had never heard it before—tenderly. It was simply this: God takes care of the birds, and He will take care of you. It was an invitation to trust. In countless ways, during the past three months, I have experienced God’s provision, and I have been reminded that God is not limited by our limitations. And something interesting has happened within me—I have begun to notice the birds. When I see them or hear their singing, I am aware of God’s presence and care. Yesterday, I was walking amongst what felt like a sea of people in a courtyard at a large hospital. Everywhere I looked there were people in need and full of despair. There were images of death and sounds of mourning. In the midst of the brokenness, I heard the hope-filled sound of a tiny bird singing. And I was taken by the thought that Jesus walked these same paths. He sat and wept with the brokenhearted. He touched the bodies and souls of those rejected and afflicted with disease, and His compassion healed them. He welcomed children to disrupt His plans. He ate with sinners, and they were freed from their shame. He fed the hungry with good things. The “out of order” condition of the world must have caused Him to shake His head at times. He knew it was never meant to be like this; and that only His love could make, what was so wrong, right. And so He loved.
He has invited us to do the same.

Rest

We need to find God
and he cannot be found in noise and restlessness.

God is a friend of silence.
See how nature—trees, flowers, grass—
grow in silence.
See the stars, the moon, the sun,
how they move in silence.

Is not our mission
to give God to the poor?
Not a dead God, but a living, loving God.

The more we receive in silent prayer,
the more we can give in our active life.

We need silence
to be able to touch souls.
The essential thing is
not what we say,
but what God says
to us and through us.

All our words will be useless
unless they come from within.
Words which do not give the Light of Christ
increase the darkness.

These truths spoken by Mother Teresa of Calcutta were reflected in the way she lived her life. Although counter to what our fast-paced world values and teaches, is it possible that our greatest peace, our only strength, is found in the moments where we are still and know that He is God? I long to live in the awareness that God is with me, but I confess that I too often resist the silence that is required to hear his voice and know his love. We need silence to be able to touch souls. As a New Year approaches and the dream of Living Room becomes reality, I am reminded that, more than anything, the world needs the Light of Christ. May Light pierce the darkness for those who are suffering and walking in the shadow of death. May it shine brightly and bring hope to all who are disappointed and broken-hearted with grief. We must never allow ourselves to be fooled—as children of God, it matters how we live and how we love! I pray that 2010 will be a benchmark year where we, through silence, grow in trust and compassion.

Let it be to me...

“Let it be to me according to your word.” I have been pondering these expressions made by a humble teenage girl. She accepted what was being asked of her while she was still confused and afraid. What would people say? What would people think? Unconvinced that she was the best choice for the job, she responded with a willingness that stirs my heart.
In so many ways, she was alone. And yet, there was a child within her, a baby that would forever change the world. With open hands, Mary accepted to be this child’s mother. Her calling required patience as she waited for his coming. Although she could not possibly understand why she was the one chosen, she grew in trust while she waited. With awe, she proclaimed to Elizabeth(Luke 1:46-50):
My soul praises the Lord; my heart rejoices in God my Savior,
Because he has shown his concern for his humble servant girl.
From now on, all people will say that I am blessed,
because the Powerful One has done great things for me. His name is holy.
God will show his mercy forever and ever to those who worship and serve him.
There was joy and hope arising from within her, but there was also great sacrifice required. Her being expectant was not only bad timing and controversial, but it also caused discomfort and pain. But one great day, in the midst of animals, her waiting gave birth to hope. Being a mother, especially to Jesus, cost Mary all of her heart; but with love, she gave it freely as an offering.
As we prepare to celebrate the birth of Jesus, I am grateful that Mary gave room for this miracle to grow from within her. I desire to become like Mary—ever growing in trust. I appreciate that she was not an obvious choice to be the mother of God. She was not perfect. She was poor, too young, uneducated, and unequipped. And God used her inadequacies to demonstrate his sufficiency. As I consider all of this, I am humbled and amazed that He still chooses us to give birth to miracles; and my heart resonates with Mary’s response. Let it be to me according to your word.
The vision of Living Room is to create a community of compassion that honors life and offers hope. For this dream to become reality God is required; but I wholeheartedly believe that He desires to use us, as His children, to accomplish this purpose.

One Friday morning, like so many others days that I have spent treating patients in the HIV clinic, young men and women and children filled the corridors, waiting patiently to be seen and treated. Although critically ill, most had walked for miles or were carried on the back of bicycles to reach the clinic.
The human emotions that fill this little clinic, every time the doors are opened, are impossible to capture in statistics or words. Each person possesses their own story, their own struggles. They are so much more than the labels that have been placed upon them. Terms like orphan, child-headed household, widow, commercial-sex worker, AIDS patient tell their story merely in part. Within every patient, there is brokenness and beauty that is difficult to describe. Children of God, created in His very image, sit before me. Many are unaware of their worth; but underneath the disguises of poverty and disease, I catch glimpses of what is holy.
This is what I witnessed when Lameck was carried into the exam room. Child-like and totally dependent upon others for his existence, his body was wasted and his mind confused. I cannot estimate how long it had been since he had been bathed; but with a smile on his face, he kept repeating the name of Jesus. A neighbor had carried Lameck to the clinic and reported that he had been abandoned by his family and was left to die alone. As I discussed Lameck’s situation with another provider, I was struck by the hospital referral note that was written: “Abandoned- in need of a home.” My heart was, and continues to be, dissatisfied with this suffering and injustice.
I was reminded that there was no place that Jesus was not willing to go for the sake of love. Subjected to poverty, suffering and death, he chose to come to this broken world and for living out the answer to these questions: Shall I ransom them from the power of Sheol? Shall I redeem them from death? Jesus proved forever that love is as strong as death. And with the mystery of the cross, death was swallowed up in victory. One day, God will wipe away all of our tears; but until then, he catches each one. My prayer is that He will show me the salve that will heal the gaping wounds which cover wasted bodies. With each word and touch, let wrecked hearts be made whole by the power of His love. As St. Francis of Assisi prayed, I ask:
LORD,
Make me an instrument of your health;
where there is sickness, let me bring cure;
where there is injury, aid;
where there is suffering, ease;
where there is sadness, comfort;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is death, acceptance and peace.
GRANT that I may not:
so much seek to be justified, as to console;
to be obeyed, as to understand;
to be honored, as to love…
for it is in giving ourselves that we heal,
it is in listening that we comfort,
and in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Prayer of St. Francis (Modified by Charles C. Wise)
Thank you for being a part of this journey.

Together in loss

There are moments when the loss that surrounds this village, that fills our hearts is indescribable. We are currently living one of these moments. On Friday, we received a phone call in the middle of the night. It was one of those calls you never want to receive as it carried the message that tragedy had struck. John “Bush” and Veronica Busienei, directors of our Children’s Home in Kipkaren, had taken their nine year old son, Kelvin, to the doctor earlier that evening as he had been sick with fevers and non-specific symptoms for several days. He had been treated with antibiotics and covered for malaria with little change; but no one, including his doctors, expected Kelvin to suddenly fall critically ill. To our great loss, at 1 am, while in his father’s arms, Kelvin passed away.
At 3 am, Bush and Veronica arrived to Kipkaren from the hospital. I witnessed a beautiful expression of community as a group of staff had assembled together to receive them. In the middle of that dark night, all were in shock but none were alone. We prayed. We sang. We sat silently in disbelief. We cried bitter tears. By 5 am, over 30 people had gathered to support one another.
At 6 am, as the sun was rising in the distance, we went to the Children’s Home together to share the news with Kelvin’s 97 brothers and sisters. Painful is the only word that seem s appropriate to describe the moment. I watched Bush, brokenhearted and completely exhausted, scramble to find the words to tell these children that Kelvin was not coming home. These kids, all too familiar with death, were faced with another loss to grieve. As we stumble through this valley of the shadow of death, there are many questions without answers; but I have been reminded and am deeply grateful that God has promised to be near to the brokenhearted.
This morning, as has been constant throughout the weekend, a large group of friends and family members traveled with Bush and Veronica to the mortuary to bring our child home to be buried. In a few hours they will come to the Children’s Home and allow the children to say good-bye before burying Kelvin tomorrow morning. We are very aware of our need for God this day. We are weak and dependent upon His sufficient grace to cover us. Although I do not pretend to understand it, I am grateful for this promise of Jesus: “My strength is made perfect in weakness.”
In the last week, Kelvin was the third death from this village. Each was young. Each deserves to be grieved. As a community, we will continue to sit together and weep what has been lost. We are hoping for the day when death will be swallowed up forever and our countless tears will be wiped away.

Jones

This morning I stood in a room filled with people from our community living with HIV/AIDS. They gathered to support their sister and friend, a lady named Jones. She is a widow and mother of two sons. In 2005, Jones was diagnosed with HIV and has been receiving treatment since that time. She has also battled cancer for the past three years. It has caused her left eye to be removed and is now threatening to take her right eye. Generous and compassionate doctors, working in the nearby HIV clinic, have been moved by her story and have, against odds, made arrangements for her to travel to Indiana University for the extensive treatment she needs.
Life for this kind and simple lady is hard. She struggles to pay her monthly rent of $5. Without a steady income, she works daily to feed her children. She has never traveled outside of this local community. Packing for her journey will be very light; before today, she did not even own a suitcase. In three days, she will board a plane for a land that is far away and foreign to anything she has ever experienced. She will enter a hospital where she won’t be required to share the bed with other patients. She won’t be denied necessary treatment because she is poor. When I think of this, joy resonates within my heart. It is not about her opportunity to travel to America. Rather, it is that, beyond what she owns or lacks, she will be treated as a person of value.
Critics may say that it is not cost effective and question if this is the best use of funds. But for today, I am grateful for the miracle that Jones has received. Standing in the middle of a circle, she was surrounded by twenty others who understand what it means to live with a virus that steals so much; and yet, there was such a sense of hope as they sang, in Swahili, about grace that has been given to them. As we committed our dear friend before God in prayer, I was struck by the words of Jesus that are written on the wall of the Tumaini na Afya Center (Hope & Health) which say:
“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. 35 For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, 36 I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’
37 “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? 38 When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? 39 When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’
40 “The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me’” (Matthew 25:34-40).

Thank you for your continued prayers and support. I am deeply grateful.

Hidden under dirt.

“None of us, I am sure knows the pain of hunger,
but one day I learned it from a little child.
I found the child in the street and I saw in her face that
terrible hunger that I have seen in many eyes.
Without questioning her I gave her a piece of bread, and then
I saw that the little child was eating the bread crumb by crumb.
And I said to her: Eat the bread. And that little one looked at me and said:
I am afraid because when the bread is finished I will be hungry again.”
-Mother Teresa
I have been looking into the eyes of children who are experiencing “terrible hunger”. Whether their hunger is from lack of food or from lack of love, their eyes tell their stories of pain and emptiness and they ask questions about the hope of their futures. Two weeks ago, a desperate grandmother stood before me asking for help. She was holding a chubby baby that, upon first glance, appeared to be approximately six months old and healthy. But when she gave me the child to assess him further, I was shocked to see that his mouth was full of teeth. I quickly asked the age of the baby; and the grandmother responded: “fifteen months”. I was moved as she told me of her struggle to care for her grandson, Kevin. Close to the time of Kevin’s birth, his father passed away; and when he was merely four months old, his mother left to try and find work. She has not returned.
Kevin has been surviving on a diet of only cornmeal porridge. Amongst the poor, diets often consist of single staples, such as maize, which have a low protein to energy ratio. His “chubbiness” was, ironically enough, the result of severe malnutrition that caused his body to swell. His growth was stunted, and he was significantly delayed developmentally. Unable to crawl, stand, walk, speak or play; this little one rested in my arms. I asked God for help, for wisdom.
Kwashiorkor, the form of protein and micronutrient deficiency Kevin suffers with, was termed by the Ga tribe in Ghana for being “the disease of the displaced child”. It was originally given this name because it was a condition typically seen in young children prematurely weaned from their mother’s breast milk after the birth of a subsequent child. In today’s world, the consequences of HIV/AIDS and extreme poverty have brought new meaning and significance to these “displaced” children. Their vulnerability is not only from losing the nourishment of their mothers. They have lost their mothers themselves. Their struggle for survival, for hope is great.
Kevin arrived to Tumaini na Afya’s Kimbilio Center (Hope & Health’s Refuge) weighing thirteen pounds. He was irritable and weak. Within one week of receiving a special formula and lots of love, Kevin has stabilized. He has been eating well and has gained a pound. He has begun to laugh and play; and quite unbelievably, he has gained enough strength to stand up by himself and is trying to walk. When I think about Kevin, I think about a powerful promise that Jesus gave when he said: “if you receive a child in my name, you receive me.”
I recently held another little baby so beaten by this world. She was covered in filth; but as I held her frightened body, I was struck by the thought that our value has nothing to do with what we possess. It does depend upon our appearance or by what we do. Washing the child was not going to make her worthy of affection. Her value was hidden under dirt and rags, and this is what caused us to bathe her.
When I think about the suffering of these “displaced” children, there are so many questions that I do not have answers to. Sometimes the circumstances that surround are so overwhelming I do not even know what questions to ask. But my prayer is that God will give me the grace to keep looking into their eyes and the compassion to give a cup of water, a piece of bread, or whatever may be required in Jesus name.

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”.

The Blind Are Seeing

I wanted to say thank you to each of you who has been praying for Emily Cheptum. Her eye surgery was successful, and she is now able to see! It truly is a miracle. When she was discharged from the hospital yesterday, Emily asked to be driven around town because she had never been able to see it before. She arrived to Kipkaren and went straight to the children's home to see her 96 little friends. She has been commenting that some of us look different than she had imagined. It is amazing, and we are so grateful to God for the ways He is working in our midst. Thank you again for your prayers and support.

Emily Cheptum

When the Kingdom of God comes, a glimpse of what was intended to be breaks through the brokenness of this world and into our lives. Two years ago we welcomed 93 little ones into Kipkaren Children's Home. Like it was yesterday, I remember their bare feet and ragged clothes. I remember the tears that streamed down all of our faces as we were confronted with the love of God and the realization of a dream. The loss that had crushed the spirits of these children was unmistakable. Their eyes were filled with countless questions to be answered. I am grateful to God for the group of committed parents, directors, and the home that awaited them. More than mere need compelled us to care for these children. It was compassion. It has been indescribably beautiful to watch these children discover that they have a Father who knows them by name and loves them as they are. Standing outside one Saturday morning, as the sun was rising, I heard the children sing these words in Swahili: "If it weren't for You, where would I be?" And I realized that they know the love of Christ because there are a group of people who 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year pour out their lives and love for the sake of these children.

I wish there was a way to tell in words the transformation that is taking place within the lives of these children, as well as with us who have the privilege of living life with them. One man, who recently came to visit us, began to weep as he listened to the children sing and watched them dance. He later explained, "it was their pure joy that overwhelmed me". I have heard others share that they expected to feel sorry for the kids; but instead, they only see hope. For me, it is life-giving to watch them, even as children, learn to extend this same love that they have received. The children, on weekends, often ask to go into the community to visit the sick, the poor, the widows. They assist the people in carrying water, collecting firewood, and cleaning the compound. The older children help care for the younger ones. Even as Flovia arrived to the home, she was received with so much love by her new family.

A few months ago, I shared in an update about a 17 year old girl named Emily Cheptum. She has insulin-dependent diabetes and has lost her vision; because of her illness and difficult home situation, Cheptum came to live with us in Kipkaren. Currently, her blood sugars are well controlled, and we are preparing to take her for eye surgery. Every evening, Cheptum walks to the children's home to sing and pray with the kids. She loves them and is being loved by them in return. One Sunday morning, several of our kids prayed for Cheptum in the service. They prayed with confidence and passion. As I listened to them, I was being taught a lesson about faith. As Heidi Bakker says, "little children aren't ruined by unbelief". It humbly amazes me the way the love and faith demonstrated by these kids ushers in the Kingdom.

Without a doubt, this is a journey of learning to love and be loved, and I am grateful for all who have chosen to be a part.

Hunger & Thirst

They shall neither hunger nor thirst anymore; the sun shall not strike them, nor any heat; for the Lamb who is in the midst of the throne will shepherd them and lead them to living fountains of waters. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Revelation 7:16-17

They shall neither hunger nor thirst anymore... As I read this promise in scripture, it makes me long for the day when it becomes reality. I was once told a story about a Kenyan man whose definition of Heaven was the place where hunger no longer existed. His lived experience, like too many living in this broken world, is of pain of hunger on a daily basis. Praying for daily bread is a literal prayer. I remember the day I was first confronted with this reality. I was sitting in the home of a single mother as she shared about her experience of waking up each morning unsure of how she would feed her children. Rather than complaining about her situation, she was describing the faithfulness of God and explaining the numerous ways He had provided for her and her children.

Over the past three months, Tumaini na Afya (Hope & Health) has engaged in a battle we did not set out to fight. What started as an isolated situation of two little ones failing to thrive has repeated itself multiple times. In a way that I have never seen before in Kipkaren, there are starving children. Compassion has compelled us to respond with action. We are investing nourishing food and lots of love into lethargic and wasted bodies. It is amazing how quickly these children come back to life. They regain their appetites and begin to play again.

I greatly value the mission of Empowering Lives that urges us to move beyond relief and handouts to develop long lasting empowerment within the communities that we serve. Experience has taught us that this takes place one life at a time and does not occur overnight. Our goal is to see lives transformed: physically, emotionally and spiritually. A wise Chinese proverb states, "Give a man a fish; you have fed him for today. Teach a man to fish; and you have fed him for a lifetime." I humbly add; in the meantime, it is necessary to share what you have. When Jesus was confronted with hungry people, he had compassion on them and told the disciples: "They don't need to go away. You give them something to eat." The resources they had were a mere five loaves of bread and two fish; but when surrendered to Jesus, it met the needs of a multitude (Matthew 14:15-21).

I wanted to update you on the three year old little girl, Flovia, I have been sharing about. Two weeks ago she moved from the clinic and has found a new home at our children's home. She is doing very well. I am grateful to all who have been praying on her behalf. There is a new little girl I am working with named Chiri. She is four years old and weighs only 17 pounds. She has, along with her little brother and sister, entered my heart. I am praying for life to be restored to this little one.

Where is God?

Where is God in a world so full of unspeakable pain? This question was posed on the back cover of a book I was reading as I waited for the funeral of a seven year old girl to begin. It was a question I was asking as I felt the loss of this beautiful little girl named Viola. In a two week period of time, she was the second child our community was gathering together to bury. In my spirit, I was wrestling with harsh realities and great sadness. Viola died from a preventable and treatable disease.
A few days ago, a 17 year old, single mother gave us her three month old baby. This precious little girl, weighing only seven pounds, was unable to defend herself. She was unable to speak for herself except for her brown eyes that pierced my heart. Her mother was overwhelmed with the burdens of life. She grew up in a home where her single mother sold herself to feed her children. The cycle is now being repeated. This baby, appropriately named Grace, was accepted at a children’s home about an hour away from Kipkaren. When we arrived at the children’s home, the director said, “Where is the unwanted child?” His wife, who was holding the baby, quickly replied by speaking these life-giving words to the baby: “You are wanted. Listen to me. I want you.” I cannot help but ache for this young mother who remains without hope. My heart also aches for her other daughter, Ivy, who at two years old is blind, deaf, mute, and lame. Where is God in a world so full of unspeakable pain?
My little Flovia, the severely malnourished three year old I have written about before, has been with us for the past two and a half months and is thriving. She has brought me more joy than I can describe. She has increased from 14 lbs. to 22 lbs. She has relearned to walk and loves to play with her little baby doll. She now has the energy to throw major temper-tantrums and is incredibly particular about everything. Honestly, she could not be more lovely. She is learning to speak in multiple languages and calls everyone who cares for her “Mama.” This is who we are to her. The odds are stacked against this orphaned, HIV+ child; and the question, once again, resurfaces: Where is God? The truth is, as in every situation above, He is right in the middle of the pain. Closer than I know, He is grieving with the mother who has lost her child. His loving kindness is pursuing this teenage mom that is broken-hearted and without hope. He is fighting and giving a voice to the abandoned baby and helpless orphans.
In my life, I am finding that the closer I get to God the closer I get to the suffering. Never has the contrast between joy and pain been as real to me as it is now. It seems it should be either one or the other. However, in this land joy and pain coexist. I walk and play with barefooted children each day. I listen to orphans sing, “The Lord is my portion in the land of the living. The Lord is good forevermore.” The sun rises and sets each day reminding me that the Lord is faithful. I do not always feel His presence, but I have learned to trust that there is a share of mercy that is enough for everything that will be encountered this day.

Felix

For us in Kipkaren, the last few days have been full of great sorrow and loss as our little Felix, one of the two malnourished children we have been caring for, passed away on Sunday morning. Felix was only 14 months old. He had finally increased in weight and had gained the strength to hold up his own head. About a week ago, I was blessed as I sat and played with Felix and heard the sound of his laughter. It was beautiful. He was beautiful with his big brown eyes that always seemed to be asking questions. When I held him, he would often touch my face with his tiny little hand. To say the least, he had captured my heart. On Wednesday, a pastor had come to pray for both Felix and Flovia. After praying, the pastor laid Felix down and said, "I'm looking at the image of God." For sure, it was true.
On Friday evening, Felix suddenly fell very ill with a high fever. He was struggling to breathe. We rushed him to a hospital about an hour away, and he remained there with his mother until he passed away. In his short life, Felix fought a very tough fight against HIV and tuberculosis. I think he just got tired and needed to rest. My heart aches as I longed to see him live. My heart aches for his 18 year old mother who has experienced so much loss. Her name is Emily, and I ask you to pray for her. Imagine, she is 18 and a widow. Her husband passed away in November from an AIDS related illness. It was at this time that Emily learned that, after only one year of marriage, she and her son were also infected with HIV. She was left alone to raise her son as well as the two orphans from her husband's first marriage. I met Emily a few days after the burial of her husband; and over these past months, she has become so dear to me. When I look at her, I see a girl with the heavy weight of the world crushing her and stealing all of her dreams. Oh, how I long to see what has been lost restored. Only God can do it. Jesus has entrusted us to be His hands and feet to Emily; and for the sake of love, we will do it with all of our hearts.
I am so grateful for the love of God. He gave me eyes to see beyond Felix's broken and wasted body. I was privileged to hold a child of the King whose worth was beyond measure.