KENYA | Bungoma
This month, every Saturday, we go to an orphanage about 30 minutes away in the next town over. On our first visit, the children came running from all directions to come meet the “Mazungoos” (white people). They all then gathered to sing us 4-5 songs that they had been taught. As I looked around, I couldn’t help but notice the children’s clothing, half covering their bodies, all holey and stained, most with no shoes. I mean I have been on the race for 5 and a half months now, but I haven’t gotten use to it. The second time we visited one of the girls dresses was so torn that it looked more like a Tarzan costume than a little girl’s dress. But with 89 children ages 6 months to 18 years the demand for clothes and shoes is high and the supply is almost non-existant. When looking around in their bedrooms I saw rows of bunkbeds where 2-3 kids sleep in each one. While we perused the corridors a house mom holding several children sat on one of the beds and the slates collapsed underneath her. No one seemed concerned though saying it happens alot. Out back, there was no huge playground or even swings for the kids. Simply a ball made from plastic bags and twine and the clothing line used as a net.
But in the midst of all the torn clothes, broken beds, and dirty feet, there was a light. She was a house-mom. A women that works at the orphanage to take care of the children. But to the kids she was more than just a nanny, she fulfilled the definition of the later part of her title, “mom.”
She not only took care of the physical needs of all these children, but the spiritual and emotional. As the other house-moms chatted in the shade of the main house, this house-mom was entertaining children, not in a way where she felt she had to, but more because she wanted to. The kids respected her and loved her like I have never seen. They chose to hang around her like a best friend but honored her like an authority.
She had endless energy, running, jumping and even dancing with all the children. She made sure none were left out, hurt, sad, or even bored. No other word fits more than “mom,” which she was for 89 children.
Her passion for her job, was more than I could even handle. She had so much zeal and love for what she did, and in the midst of trying to figure out where God has called me I began to crave those same feelings. I want an incredible passion for whatever I do.
But, I have found that it is not just finding the right job, it is finding who you are working for. I must remember that in all things, I work for my master, Jesus Christ. That I get up every morning and work hard to bring him glory not myself. Romans 7:18 says that “I have the desire to do what is right but not the ability to carry it out.” I must remember that when I seek to glorify God that I can’t do it on my own but must do it only with the Holy Spirit living inside of me.
