Eager but timid
feet followed the missionary in front of me. I had asked her several
times to take me to the slum. She use to go there weekly, to teach a
Bible study and pray with the ladies. But demands of work at the
Children's Home had taken priority; she hadn't been to see the ladies
in weeks. The urging inside me to visit the ladies was a pressing
that came from above. It wasn't “my” plan ---- but it was
something that daily came to my mind --- a Holy Spirit whispering,
i've learned to listen.
My mind told my
eyes to take pictures as we walked. I brought no camera with me for
two reasons:
- Hungry people sometimes measure things by how many meals it will put into their stomach, a camera translates into food for many nights in the slum. Why tempt in that way...
- To take pictures would have felt disrespectful. I was not there to capture glimpses of poverty --- I was there to obey...
We walked with two
beautiful, young, women, maybe in their twenties, if I were a
modeling agent they both would have been hired on the spot. Slender
with high cheek bones, small features, bright eyes, and skin that
glowed, I wondered if they realized how stunning they were. They were
kind and gentle; dressed in jeans, t-shirts, and wearing flip flops.
I was amazed these two “models” were trekking through the mud and
trash with us. But this is their home; this is where they live and
minister.
Children were
everywhere ---- children = hope.
As we entered the
slum, school children were sitting on mesh feed sacks working busily
stripping dried kernels from cobs. The pearly grains fell around
them onto the waiting sacks. What a picture --- happy, busy hands all
pausing to greet the wzungu shouting, “How are you?” in the
common high pitched, nasally sound. It's comical the way they mimic
the english accent. These were happy children --- they held golden
grains of food in their hands. Returning greetings, we walked through
winding, dry-mud pathways weaving between stick/mud houses, dodging
low hanging tin roofs. We were fortunate the rains had not yet come
for the day and the drunks were not yet saturated. I could smell the
“brew” cooking; a homemade concoction that sells for cheap and
rots the brain --- used by those who have lost hope (or thrown it
away) and are willing to rob others of the little they might have.
Hut after hut we
visited. Small doorways led from bright sunlight to a dark room. Each
abode had two rooms, one for sitting and cooking, one for sleeping.
Dirt floors under our feet, mud walls around us, tin roofs overhead
with no electricity – we relied on the light flooding in from the
open door. The smell of burned kerosene and homemade charcoal mixed
with “living” was consistent. But each home we visited was neat
as could be (all things considered). In a space roughly 10x12 there
were usually six places to sit, a “coffee table” in the center
and stacked bags of treasured belongings filling 3 corners with clean
doilies (just like my great grandmother used) spread carefully over
the couch and two chairs. It was their way of “welcoming” us. For
surely the moment our car had parked at the slum entrance news had
spread of our arrival --- their hands had been busy making jewelry
they hoped to sell. Paper beads strung together = food for their
children.
We sat. Talked.
They would empty onto the table one of the plastic bags from the
corner. My friend and I would buy what we could and then we would all
pray together for their health, provision, protection, healing...
prayers i've prayed over my loved ones ---- but somehow here it
feels... different...it's Him or death (usually with much pain).
I was entering
their world. They were allowing me to. And in the midst of the dirt
and mud --- Light was near. These ladies (some of them) glowed with
Abba. He was their most prized possession, something no thief could
steal and no drunk could beat out of them. One older lady was quite
mesmerizing --- did she know the Light inside her shined brightly?
She was enchanting. The light grey halo in her cataract altered eyes
drew me. Her unhindered smile and her gentle hand on the head of the
child beside her warmed me. She wore a light blue t-shirt and a
clean,old skirt, a simple white beaded necklace around her neck and a
worn-tattered scarf on her head --- but the air around her sparkled.
My friend shared with me, “She's a grandmother who cares for all
these little children running around here – if they need anything,
she is the lady they come to. She feeds them and loves them. They
don't belong to her, but she makes them feel as if they do.” I
loved her.
Sunlight poured
into her tiny portion of the slum--- no dark shadows hung here.
How could beauty
be found in the middle of------ this?
I was reminded of
many houses back “home”. Just prior to leaving for Kenya I had
visited a newly remodeled home. It was elaborate and beautiful but
shadowy, filled with well-decorated “empty” spaces. But here, I
stood beside a simple, mud hut filled with Light and children and a
woman that was known as a giver, a lover --- children twirled around
her and she radiated goodness and kindness and gentleness and peace.
She wasn't “trying” to be enough or have enough ---- she was busy
--- living and loving. Oh how I wish I could put her into words ---
for if I could, we'd all want less of what we work so hard to have
and we'd want more of what she so simply is. As we prayed, I thanked
God for sharing her with me. He flows through her in that place...
A few huts more
took us to the home of Martha. We entered her neat dirt world,
pausing again to let our eyes adjust to the shadowy light inside, and
found her lying on her bed. Our beautiful guides shared with us how
long Martha had been sick. Her swollen body was weak, her voice came
only in a whisper. Someone cared for her well though --- her grown
son was just outside, a kindness to his face that spoke of his
mother's goodness. She spoke in her native Turkana which was
translated for us. She knew she was dying. She repeated softly, “i
want to go home, I want to go home...” Quick conversation shared
her story with me. She was Abba's daughter, my “sister”, now
living far from where she had been born. Her dying wish was to end
her life where she had begun ---- north of here, not in a slum, she
wanted her tired body laid to rest in her homeland. She wanted to go
home before she went HOME.
As I held her arm
and looked into her half-blind eyes, my mind traveled back to my
grandparents. While Turkana words filled the air around me I
whispered out-loud to my Yahweh. “Lord, if she were my Pop or Papa
James, i'd be emptying my pockets to honor their dying words. Oh
Lord, what is my part here, why am I sitting beside your Martha, what
words will you allow to flow from You to her ears. Can I please be
your girl in this dark room with this dying woman...?
We prayed
together.
She squeezed by
arm.
Death was tangible
in the room.
I whispered to our
lovely guides, “What would it cost to get her to Lodwar?”
They answered,
“1500 KSH” (my mind converted quickly ---- less than $20US)
I asked, “But
how will she get there, she can not go alone?”
“Someone would
need to take her...”
I whispered more
softly, “If God provided the bus ticket, is there someone who would
take her?”
Bright white teeth
shined in the dark room as Patricia smiled. “If God buys her a
ticket for tomorrow's bus, I will carry her on the long journey back
home.”
Steve and I have
precious supporters (you may be one of them). Dear ones who would
want to reach 10,000 miles with love and buy a one-way-ticket home
for Martha. I began to weep as I thought of their faces. I'm here out
of obedience. I'm here to love. I'm here to be ready to speak Truth
and live Love. Martha needed help--- she wanted to say goodbye in
peace --- so she could finally go HOME.
“Patricia, I
think I hear God saying, He's bought her a one-way ticket on
tomorrow's bus, and He's bought a round-trip ticket for you.”
Mud/stick walls do
not limit the reach of the Shepherd.
Sickness draws Him
nearer ------ it does not repel Him.
Dirt floors do not
hinder Him, mud matters not to His feet.
Whispers from a
dying soul, like prayers from a child ----- capture the Holy One.
In Kipsongo slum I
felt "the shelter of the Most High" and witnessed Martha "rest in the
Shadow of the Almighty".
… “i will say
of the Lord He is my refuge and my fortress, my God in whom I
trust...
… my heart is
not proud... my eyes are not haughty... I do not concern myself with
matters to great or too awesome for me to grasp... instead I have
calmed and quieted myself... like a weaned child who no longer cries
for it mother's milk... like a weaned child is my soul within me...
oh martha... put your hope in the LORD now"... and prepare your eyes
to behold His face at last.
(taken from Psalm
91 and 131)
"God isn't looking for people
of great faith,
but for individuals ready to follow Him."
Hudson
Taylor
©2013 Donna Taylor/Reaching for the Robe
you captured with words the setting and the smells and the Presence of the Almighty perfectly, dearheart.
ReplyDeletei am so glad that Martha will get to go home before she goes Home. you were right; many of us would not blink to spend the money to get her where she wants to go. love that you listened and obeyed.
thank you dear Jenn --- i know your heart would have melted right beside mine :)
DeleteThanks for sharing your story with us Donna. I love your obedience in going into the slum and ministering and sensing the Holy Spirit's call to you to provide for Martha... what a sweet privilege to send her home....
ReplyDeleteIsn't it just like our Abba --- to urge us towards what matters most to HIS heart. All the day long i was wondering if i was there to learn something (always) or serve (always) or encourage or... --- and Deitra, when i sat down beside Martha, in that dark room, He shared the why :)
DeleteWhat a wonderful story, Donna! I can SO picture the setting! How you can capture so much in words must be from HIM! Beautiful! So grateful you were there to help Martha HOME!
ReplyDeleteThank you dear Elaine --- i could "feel" you sitting beside me friend --- and i knew if you had actually been there --- you'd have been racing me to buy her ticket. :)
DeleteThe story is so powerful.I thank God with you for giving you the OPPORTUNITY to serve Him by helping Martha HOME.
ReplyDeleteThank you dear Nancy ---- thank YOU for helping me live and love here in Kenya. You are dear...
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