“As we came over the hill, I heard laughing voices pouring out of the small school to the left of me. A few boys were chasing each other, kicking around what looked like a bag of trash on the dirt field in front. The breeze hit my long, unwashed hair as God was telling me, “Well done, my good and faithful servant.” We were surrounded by the hills of the Kenya plains with the magnificent Mt. Suswa looking down right on us. The kids came running out like we were the finish line and tore into our arms. It was a feeling I had been waiting for; these souls needed love, and I was here to give them everything I had. The little girls clung to the arms of our American girls…hair, skin, face…if you had it and it was different, they were intrigued and wanted to touch it. I took off to the field and began running with the young Massai warriors. Green grass, a rolling ball, nets, cleats….it did not exist, but the passion for the game was so transparent. They played as if this was their way out. People say that smiling is the universal language; Soccer is my universal language. My skill was seen, and I was proud. His name was Honest and he was the Massai Warrior of the tribe. He had taken the goalie position and was talking trash in a playful manner. The kids lined up on either side as well as behind the two wooden posts that resembled a goal. I ran, I kicked and put the ball past the left side of him and laughed in fear that I was going to miss. The kids drew in close and wanted to know why a Mazungu (white person) knew how to play. I was blindsided by God’s power to give me this platform. Who was I? What was I about? Who did I follow? They wanted it. It was like I had finally realized the code to the lock that I had been spinning for so long. I was having an impact on these lost souls in a lost land. Let me take you home. I had found my passion.”
-Excerpt from Journal Kenya 2010
