by Christy Thomas
How could I have known what to expect of a country halfway around the world? How could I imagine the sights, smells and tastes of a place so far removed from everything I knew?
I departed in that state of not knowing what was coming my way. The best images I could conjure up in my mind were vast desert expanses and wide-eyed starving children that haunt us from infomercials.
Because I was entering such an expanse of mystery I thought I also couldn’t have expectations. Au contraire! I quickly discovered I had quite a few expectations that had rooted themselves deep in me and made adjusting a little stickier than I anticipated.
First of all, I expected to fall in love with Kenya immediately. When this didn’t happen (and was far from what my heart was feeling) I couldn’t help but get frustrated with myself and begin to question everything that I had initially thought would come out of the trip. Often it was just plain difficult, uncomfortable and vulnerable to maneuver culture and this new world that I was immersed in.
Second, I had created such resentment inside of me towards American Culture that I naively forgot how all cultures have their strengths and weaknesses. I am grateful that I had the chance to see tangibly that we in the west aren’t necessarily always better off or privileged, nor is American culture always wrong/right.
Thirdly, I expected to immediately connect with the children and also the Kenyan staff. But, it wasn’t and never is about my timing, and it took much longer than I expected to find a way to those children that was real and truthful, as well as to other staff and interns.
Yet, in spite of the parts that were difficult and trying, and often caused me to wonder how I would survive my three months there, I discovered a place that I fit: a place where I could offer of myself and receive from those around me, especially from the mothers of the children’s home and the oldest girls. I discovered that Ilula could be “home” to me in its own unique way.
Back in New York City, my mind is recurrently flooded with images from my time in Kenya. Instead of the wide-eyed starving child I picture the children that I got to know intimately.
I hear their laughter, see the mischief and joy in their eyes, and remember the energy that they infected me with. And somewhere, deep inside me I hope that spirit of Life is one of the many marks that Kenya left on me.
I also cannot escape the wonder that the Kenyans’ lives inspired inside of me. I think specifically of the parents that awake before dawn to begin a day that has basically been the same for the past two years. They get some variety, but for the most part, the same chores, challenges, and long hours await them each morning. Nevertheless, they never failed to greet me with a broad smile and firm handshake, emanating their gratefulness to be alive and healthy. Their lives testified of a firm grasp on a joy much larger than they—and to this day, weeks after leaving Kenya, it continues to challenge me and bring me to my knees in prayer.
What would it look like for me to approach my long days of school here in New York City with that kind of spirit?
I know it would start with grace.
Being back I’m constantly wondering what God really did with my heart while I was there in Kenya. I’m left wondering where this life adventure will lead me and how the varied pieces of my life and self fit into a beautifully purposed mosaic crafted by God. I thought I’d have more clear answers, but currently I feel that there are simply more layers. But they are rich layers with much to soak up and discover.
In the meantime, I smile picturing those precious children. I know they are learning to love and be loved; learning to trust that the Lord is bigger than all their pasts, and living amidst laughter and security.
In short, they are living out a testimony of hope for the lost and seemingly forgotten; they are preparing (whether they realize it or not) for a future to be used in MIGHTY ways for His glory and they are grateful. I hope somehow that you can travel there. That you might one day feel their hands holding yours, their tender touch stroking your skin, that you could hear their laughter surround you, and catch their mischievous gaze across the gazebo.
technorati tags:Africa, cross-cultural ministry, missions, culture shock
Blogged with Flock
