Kenya Ruined Me.

Of course this is in a figurative sense, implying that people who don’t know cannot lead people who don’t know, because both will end up more lost than when they began.

That makes sense, I guess.

What I’ve come to learn this month, though, is that blind people are some of the best leaders ever.
And I do mean literal, physically blind people.

Last week, my team and I ventured out to a small interior village day after day, for 3 consecutive days. The drive was picturesque and greener than green, as the wind blew through our hair and the dirt from the road stuck to our legs. 

After the hour-long ride, we arrived and approached a house-church that met in a front yard, beneath palm trees, next to the chicken coop, behind the squatty potty, with smoke billowing from the fire that was boiling water for tea. They had set up a large, blue tarp overhead on sticks to create a make-shift awning to shield everyone from the sun’s intense rays, and thin, wooden benches served as their seats. There were probably 30 people, including many children and babies, turning their heads to watch us mosey in.

As I took my place on our wooden seats in the front where I would preach from, I looked out over the beautiful, expectant faces. I realized then that us coming to be with them was a true honor. Not because we’re special or foreign or mysterious, but because Jesus lives in us, and when we bring Him, we bring a true gift out into the distant, unreached places. Their faces seemed to say “Welcome, and thank you."

As I squirmed in my seat trying to get comfortable, swatting flies, and wondering how on earth we were going to preach for the 3 hours they expected us to, a man slowly walked into my line of vision from my left, and he used a long, white stick to help direct his way.

He had the biggest smile on his face, and I couldn’t help but be drawn to his joy; it was seriously welling up and gushing out of him. I wanted to leap up and take some for myself! I creepily observed him the whole time, forgetting what it was I was going talk to the church about. I nudged the pastor sitting next to me, and whispered curiously, “Who’s that?”, to which he simply replied, “That is Francis.”

Well, okay, Francis, I would like some of your JOY, please and thanks.
Bottle it up. I’ll take it home with me. I promise to share.

It wasn’t until after the service, (which did in fact last 3 hours), that I got to sit down inside the pastor’s home, away from the flies and heat and crying babies and obnoxious chickens. As I sat there, eating an avocado that I’d smushed onto some bread, an overly-ripe banana, and drinking a bubbly soda & tea, all of which the church community had generously and sacrificially given, I couldn’t help but wonder why my joy is so lacking. 
 

I have so much, they have so little.
I complain so much, and they smile and dance for hours on end while praising the Lord.
I grow tired and weary from a long church-service, and they just want more. 

As my thoughts raced, they began to plague me, and I got upset.
Like…legitimately angry. I wanted to throw something and scream and cry and just ask “Why??”

It was then, seemingly in the nic-of-time, that Francis slowly made his way into the house, making a stumbling b-line for his favorite chair, where he plopped down and grabbed a handful of bread from the table. He didn't miss a beat as he began eating, and the smile never left his face.

“What the heck, God?” I was begging for answers. How could he be so joyful? Why couldn’t I have that too? What was wrong with me? I’ve come from so much, and have truly given up so little to be out here doing this for 11 months, and there is no joy to be found in me! 

Francis began to speak to us like he’d known us forever, and he was answering questions I hadn’t even asked yet:

“I’ve been blind since 1982, which I imagine is longer than most of you have been alive, and the Lord has blessed me with so, so much, you know it?”

I sank down in my chair and rested my chin in my palms, almost out of breath.

He continued. “God is faithful indeed! He led me to this amazing church 7 years ago, and it’s here that I’ve been able to lead the youth and do my part to help strengthen this generation. This church is gone’ grow, and I just know God will keep sending us angels like you to teach us!”

I held back my tears. I have been so blind.

Francis had so much joy because He chose it. Over the next 3 days, he wore the exact same outfit, and I realized he didn’t own much. I found out he wasn’t paid for his service with the youth at the church, but he wanted to help in any way he could because he believed that was his calling. I found out, too, that the avocado I was spreading carelessly on my bread came from him, and that avocados were his main crop for income, but he’d given us an abundance of them as a gift for coming. I found out that many people had prayed healing over his eyesight over the years, but it hadn’t come yet, and all the while, he never gave up hope that it would.

It didn’t take long (well, okay…3 weeks) for me to figure out that Francis was the main reason God brought me to Kenya.

So the next day, I decided to choose joy.

I dug down deep and mustered up courage and faith, and I pulled him up in front of the whole congregation, told him the stories about how Jesus had healed person after person, and proceeded to gently rest my hands over his eyes, praying healing over him. I let tears leak out as compassion overwhelmed me for this man and all that he’s actually seen and walked through. 

But I was.

Francis wasn’t healed because he didn’t need it—not yet, anyway.
His joy is already complete.

Mine is lacking immensely. And that truth led me to repentance.

Do I still believe God has healing in Francis’ future? Absolutely, without a doubt! That man has more faith than I’ve ever witnessed, and mountains could be moved with it. When people believed, Jesus healed them. Sometimes He would even heal them to cause them to believe. But I think Francis has been blind for 28 years because the Kingdom is growing more and more as a result of it.

The cause of his blindness is unknown.
But the effect of his blindness is true joy!
His disability is actually one of God’s greatest abilities.
People are coming to know the Father through him and his JOY.

Francis doesn’t say much, but when he does, it speaks volumes. He worships like no one I’ve ever seen, dancing and clapping, and trying hard not to tumble into the people he can’t see standing around him. He squeezes his eyes open and looks up toward the heavens as he prays, and he finishes the pastor’s sentences because he seems to know what’s coming next. It truly is a sight for sore eyes.

Like Francis, all you have to do is put one foot in front of the other, taking steps of faith, knowing God won’t let you fall. You have to learn to trust that He won’t steer you wrong, and that His plans for you are good, even as He gives and takes away.

Francis is a true leader, and the next time someone tells me the blind can’t lead the blind, I’m going to tell them they are wrong, and I’m going to tell them about Francis.