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I sat on
my bed picking the last of the burrs from my skirt and thinking about my first
week at the orphanage in Kitale,
Kenya. It wasn’t as I expected, but then again most
things on the Race aren’t. I thought I
would spend my days playing with the children-jumping rope, singing songs, and
reading stories. Instead, my team has
spent the last week visiting homes and preaching in local villages.
Each
day began with a hike through the countryside to a new section of the
village. I usually arrived a little
nervous and feeling out of place. Not
only was my white skin a sign that I was an outsider but so were the scrapes
and burrs which I had collected that the locals seemed to avoid. We were always greeted with such enthusiasm
that my concerns soon disappeared and the anxiety I normally felt when
preaching was quieted. Many of the
families were already Christian but did not have a Bible of their own. So after a glass of chai, I would open my
Bible, tilting it toward the window to catch any light coming into the dark
room, and begin reading. Our time
together would end in prayer, followed by many thanks and talk of restored
hope.
As I
stepped back out into the sunlight I was always greeted by a group of children
waiting to parade along with my team to the next house. We walked and they chanted, “Mzungu (white
person), Mzungu. Mzungu!” They were all
smiles, just happy to be with us.
Now,
long after the chanting has ended, the children’s calls still ring in my
ears. “Mzungu, Mzungu.” And I have to wonder. In what have these families placed their
hope? Does their hope come from Jesus,
our savior who brings comfort and joy? Or has hope been placed in the Mzungu-someone they believe to have much
wealth and therefore an answer to their problems? I know I cannot offer financial relief to an
entire family, let alone a village. So I
explain the promises of God, something I lean on daily. But why, then, when looking into the eyes of
a sick grandma and her hungry grandchild, do I feel that the gospel is not enough?
The
less than melodic whine of the hall clock wakes me from my thoughts. It informs me, not only that it is in
desperate need of new batteries, but that it is time for bed. I turn off my flashlight and lay my head on
my pillow. I hope that the nights rest
will bring clarity to my thoughts and the needed restoration for another day in
Africa.
