I will never forget the first Sunday we attended church.
We had been riding in the Tuk-tuk (taxi) for over 20 minutes, and I was unsure of just how far into the country we were heading. After another 10 minutes we stopped at a dirt road, fields of crops and beautiful mountains were surrounding the unfinished tin building that was the home of our church community. They didn’t have much; a few wooden benches, a ceiling covering only half of the church, and a gravel floor. But they had plenty of spirit and warmth.
They asked my team and I to sing a few worship songs during the service. So I took my guitar and stood on the stage with my team. We began to sing, and as we sang I looked out of the unfinished roof. I could see the beautiful green mountains surrounding the church, I could see the lush farmland, I could see small tin houses covering the fields. I could see Kenya.
In that moment my heart became weak, and so did my voice. I felt my throat close up as tears began to run down my face. I was here. I was in Africa. And I was singing worship songs to my Savior with this beautiful background surrounding me. I knew in that moment God was winking at me, giving me the inspiration I needed to be refueled after 8 months.
I will never forget walking into the IDP camp.
The IDP camp (Internally Displaced Persons) was located about half a mile down the dirt road beside our church. One afternoon our contact, Pastor Mary, took us for a walk through the camp. I had never seen mud so deep or houses so weak. The poverty the people lived in was overwhelming.
As I was walking a man came up to me, asked my name and where I was from, then shook my hand. He thanked me for coming to see what he probably knew by the expression on my face was hard for me to see. Then he said something that stuck with me more than the sweet children’s faces or the look of the flimsy plastic houses. He said; “We are glad you came. We need you to come see, but you also need us.”
He knew I was from America; he knew I had a nice home, plenty of food, and a car to drive. But he saw something that was even more important than material possessions; he saw that as somebody from America I needed to see people who did not live in comfort. He wanted me to see that there was more to life, that there can be hope without possessions, and happiness without abundance. He was right; I did need to see his home and the homes of his neighbors. We need to be reminded, we do need them.
Love,
Caitlyn
