Aggies in Africa

kiss that chicken.

2012-01-03T12:58:00.000-08:00

I like to play more than anything in the world. I like tolaugh until it hurts. & I feel like days are as good as wasted when I gowithout a good, painful, can’t catch a breath kind of laugh.

Thankfully, there is no shortage of laughter in my lifethese days. Our kids do and say goofythings all day, every day. Our staff members do and say goofy things all day,every day. But there is one who tops them all. The mama of all thingsridiculous. The chizi of all chizis. This wazimu, Mauryn, hasspent a lot of time with Sam and I recently. Two or three times a week, we goon jogs. While said jogs began as serious workout times, they have since becomean entirely new beast.

Somewhere along the course of our fitness program, someone (definitelyMauryn) decided that on every run each person in attendance must complete achallenge of epic proportions. These started out pretty mild, but in recenttimes, they’ve been anything but. I don’t think I actually benefit from any ofthe “running” that we pretend to do, but most days my abs are sore fromlaughing at the insane things that Mauryn does and makes us do. For kicks and giggles, in no particularorder, here are a few of the challenges:

“Run and touch that random lady’s hair, then run back.”

“Touch that lady’s goat’s tail while she’s watching.”

“Go up to that man, ask for his name and tell him that youlove him.”

“Go tell that man, in English, that you are lost and needdirections.”

“Every time a motorcycle passes us, run across the street,do an animal imitation, then run back.”

“Introduce yourself, by name, individually to every singleperson in the matatu.”

“Get the pizza maker’s phone number and a date.”

“Introduce us to that man as your white children, tell himwe are hungry and ask if he can help us with some bread. In English.”

“Dance on the table at Java.”

“Go inside that ‘Staff only’ door and stay for threeminutes.”

“Tell that man ‘nimechill’.”

“Ask that security guard if he will be your Kenyan husband.”

“Tell that man that you want to wax his back.”

“Push over that man on the bicycle.”

“Go to the shop and tell the man that you want 3 sodas. Forfree.”

“Kiss that donkey.”

“Catch and kiss that chicken.”

“Carry a piece of donkey poop in your hand all the way toRuai.”

“Eat a dudu.”

That’s all. There really was no point to this, other than toshare with you how ridiculous our Mauryn is and how ridiculous my life hasbecome. Cheers!

beauty.

2011-12-21T13:55:00.000-08:00

From my sweet little sister, who grew up on the streetswithout a father and with a mother who couldn’t take care of her on her own, whojust won a modeling competition and who is so unbelievably selfless and kind;to the strongest, most confident, most faithful & beautiful woman I’ve ever known; to the single mamas living on the streets ofEastleigh, who are survivors, who don’t always know where the next meal willcome from, but who give the best hugs and who turn into super models when thereis a camera around; to the sweetest, bravest, most patient woman in the history of the world; to my goofy roommate and partner, who is so loyal and hardworking and has more faiththan I can tell; to the girl who struggles with lying and stealing and anunbelievable past, but who is full of questions and curiosity about life andfaith and who can walk into a room and own it:

I don’t know how so many of them ended up in one place, & this isn't even close to everyone, but these women truly are immeasurably beautiful. They are strong and confident and flawed and redeemed andloved...

& what's more, their beauty doesn't just come from the way they look. It's something deeper. Something more real. Something that comes from having lived. Having struggled. And having been washed and redeemed by the blood of a glorious Savior.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

2011-11-30T12:17:00.001-08:00

So I didn’t really intend to neglect the blog for an entire month…it kind of just happened. It started with a week away from Nairobi in a towncalled Kibwezi. It continued with a broken computer. Broken internet. A lotgoing on with the kids. Watched the first three seasons of “24” on DVD. Noelectricity. Then we spent a week in Cairo. Then we got back and things werebusy and there was more “24” to watch.

And I didn’t feel like writing;

My sincerest apologies.

The days are just so full here at Made in the Streets. It’sso good. So many laughs are had. God ismoving in really big ways. Kids are growing. Lives are being shared. And JackBauer is saving the world, one nuclear bomb threat at a time. It ‘s honestly really difficult to take thetime to sit down and adequately write when there are so many good things going on all at once.

However, I promise I’ll be a better update-er now that we have officially reached theholiday season here at MITS and life has slowed down a little bit. I have somany stories to tell you.

For now though, I just want to leave you with a conversationI had a few weeks ago.

We were in Bible class talking about the president of theUnited States. Don’t know how we got there, but we did, and my kids were in atalkative mood, so we just went with it. One of my boys, Moses, asked where thepresident lives. I told him that the president lives in a home called The WhiteHouse. Naturally, I followed his question with, “And where does the presidentof Kenya live?” After thinking about it for a second, Moses replied as if theanswer should have been completely obvious,

“The black house.”

Well played, my young friend.

I tell you that particular story for no reason aside fromits hilarity. We just laugh a lot here. Forall of the difficulties and struggles that have come with moving to Kenya,there has been just as much joy; the past month has been full of it.

Again, I apologize for being such a failure at updating youthis month. Know that Sam and I are bothalive and happy. Know that we miss you all at home. Know that you’re in our prayers. And know thatwe are laughing and loving and watching lots of “24”. Cheers!

Two-Month Africaversary.

2011-10-23T13:49:00.000-07:00

The seasons have changed. It’s warmer now in Kenya than when wefirst arrived, and I hear that it’s actually been cold in Texas. My heart andhair have grown. Babies have been born; friends have died. Bastrop burned.Ghaddafi was killed. I hear they hired a new intern at home. We’ve had holidaysand birthdays, sad days and days filled with hope. It’s officially been twomonths since we stepped off of that airplane, and nothing is the way that itused to be.

When we first arrived, I honestly didn’t think that I wouldsurvive in Kenya for a whole year. I missed home so badly it hurt. I cried atnight. And during the day. And every time I heard the voice of someone I loveover the phone, thousands of miles away. I wanted to be here in Kenya with mywhole heart, but I missed Texas. Not to mention, it was just… hard. Our showerhad worms. I didn’t know how to light the stove, and twelve months seemed likean eternity.

But things never stay the same for long.

Our shower doesn’t have worms anymore, and I know how to lightthe stove. I still miss home, but in a very different way than I used to. Mostof the time now, home isn’t a place that I yearn for, but a feeling. Acontentment.

Friday, our official two-month Africaversary, couldn’t have beena more perfect day. Friday was home. Friday was contentment. We started the morning with streetministry in Eastleigh, then had an evening of cooking with some of our girlsand an amazing dinner with Mauryn and Tira. I won’t bore you with every minuteof the day, but just know that it was beautiful in every single way. You knowthose days? When everything is just right? The sun probably wasn’t shining, butwhen I look back and try to remember, it is without a doubt. In every part ofmy memory, the day radiates.

I saw God working in Eastleigh, moving in a neighborhood that isbroken and lost. I had such a sweet time cooking and talking with our girls,and Mauryn and Tira just feel like home for me. There was a lot of love and alot of laughs Friday. And it was good.

Nothing is the way that it was two months ago, and for that, Iam thankful. Home isn’t the same. I’m not the same. God is good.

Thank you God for change, for not letting things stay alwaysthe same, even when I think they should. You know so much better than I do. Thank you, Father, for bringing me to Kenya.Thank you for giving me home.

Happy Africaversary, yall!

Titus

2011-10-14T13:55:00.000-07:00

I don’t want to write this blog, because I don’t know how to tell you the end of Titus’s story. The beginning and the middle, I know by heart. But the end.... I'd give anything to rewrite it.

* * *

I used to get so excited to tell people Titus’s story. How he had been in the streets for such a long time. How he had met my friend Alex for the first time while waiting in line for a pair of cheap shoes. How he had been so high on glue then. I would tell people how Titus spit at Alex when they ran out of shoes and how he had been in a gang. What a mess Titus had been in the first time Alex met him…

And then I would find so much joy in telling the rest of Titus’s story. How he had eventually cleaned up and come to MITS. How he had gotten his life together and found so much hope here. I loved to tell how God had grabbed a hold of this life and transformed it. And I would get chills when I told people about the first time Titus saw Alex again. How Titus had remembered. And how he had apologized... I couldn’t stop talking about how this kid who had come from years on the streets, was now so full of energy. Our Titus. So full of life.

* * *

When I first heard the name, I was sure that it couldn’t be our Titus. It couldn’t be the lovable boy that wept when he said goodbye to Alex. My ears were hearing, but I just knew it wasn’t... couldn’t be... Titus.

Last week, Titus was apprehended, beaten and then shot five times by Kenyan police.

I heard, but I don’t know how long it took to sink in, for me to understand. This was our Titus. So full of life. Few times in my life have I received news that affected me like this. I swear, for a second, it physically hurt; It's the kind of news that brings you to your knees.

From what little information I’ve been able to gather, Titus had left MITS to go on attachment, but fell back into some old habits and quit before he was finished. He ended up back in the streets with an old gang and had gotten himself into trouble with the police. According to one of our team, Titus was a “wanted man… dead, not alive.”

This was our sweet Titus. Who danced with us. Who so willingly sang and spoke and prayed at chapel. Who told us jokes and shared his story. Who let us love on him like a brother. Our Titus, so full of life. Our Titus, who they didn’t even bother arresting.

I don’t pretend to understand how any of this is okay. It’s not okay that Titus went back to the streets. And it’s even more not okay that he ended up losing his life for it.

I saw Titus just a few weeks ago.

I wish that I could tell you how I’ve seen God’s hand in this. How I know for certain that He is using this all for good. Intellectually, I know it has to be true. More than true even, truth.

But right now, in this moment, all I feel is sad. It is a sadness for Titus. For what could have been and for what is.

Our sweet Titus. So full of life.

This is how his story ends. And I’d give anything to rewrite it.

Titus and Alex. No doubt, this boy was... is... loved.

You shall be holy, for I am holy.

2011-10-09T13:26:00.000-07:00

I started writing the following post a while ago when two of our kids left the farm and went back to the streets. I never was able to finish it though, because, as so often happens here, I found myself at a complete loss for words. Today at church, however, we discussed 1 Peter 1:13-21. One of the men sitting near me graciously offered an explanation of what the scripture meant to him. He told me, “I think Peter is trying to tell us to be holy because God is holy, but he also reminds us that our faith and hope aren't in our own holiness but in God’s amazing grace.”

Yes sir. Those are the words I was looking for:

For our kids here at MITS, life in the streets is a very real, very recent reality. For many, it hasn’t been but a few months since they were living at bases in Eastleigh, hungry, cold, and many addicted to drugs. They’ve lived on garbage piles. They’ve stolen just so they could eat. They’ve had to fend for themselves when no one else would. They’ve seen and lived things that I’ll never be able to understand.

As is the trend here in Kenya, it’s hard, but it’s good. It’s good that they’re here now. It’s good that God grabs a hold of their lives and radically changes them. And it’s even good for them to remember whence they came. It’s a testament to the saving grace of Jesus, unquestionably. But it’s not good for them to go back.

It’s not okay to trade in the free gift of grace for a broken life in the streets. It’s not okay to give up everything and go back to the drugs and the hunger. There is no freedom there, and it’s ultimately a return to an entirely empty future.

I don’t understand why any of our kids would want to give up everything to go back. I don’t understand at all, but in a way, if I'm completely honest, I can relate. I can relate because I do the same thing with my life. Though I’m given perfect grace and perfect freedom in Christ, I choose sin daily. I consciously turn my back on Jesus, telling him that he isn’t enough. I throw up my hands in frustration, and return to the rotting pile of trash that I’m so familiar with. I get it.

& He told me, “I think Peter is trying to tell us to be holy because God is holy, but he also reminds us that our faith and hope aren't in our own holiness but in God’s amazing grace.”

Yes sir.

Therefore, preparing your minds for action, and being sober-minded, set your hope fully on the grace that will be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ. As obedient children, do not be conformed to the passions of your former ignorance, but as he who called you is holy, you also be holy in all your conduct, since it is written, “You shall be holy, for I am holy.” And if you call on him as Father who judges impartially according to each one's deeds, conduct yourselves with fear throughout the time of your exile, knowing that you were ransomed from the futile ways inherited from your forefathers, not with perishable things such as silver or gold, but with the precious blood of Christ, like that of a lamb without blemish or spot. He was foreknown before the foundation of the world but was made manifest in the last times for the sake of you who through him are believers in God, who raised him from the dead and gave him glory, so that your faith and hope are in God.

(1 Peter 1:13-21 ESV)

2011-10-08T14:15:00.000-07:00

I miss home.

I miss a place where kids I know and love don’t get beaten and killed by the police. I miss a place where my friends aren’t raped and left in the street. Where drug addiction doesn’t have a furious hold on the lives of so many people that I love. Where kids don’t run away and where babies don’t grow up on piles of trash.

It’s funny though, this longing for somewhere familiar, because at the same time, in the middle of all the brokenness, I have begun to feel so at home here. Don’t misunderstand, it hasn’t been a painless process; sometimes it hurts so much that I question whether or not I’ll actually be able to last a whole year. But I will.

Last night, Sam and I had dinner with our friends Irene and Fiona, despite having been offered a delicious American meal with our wazungu visitors. As much as we would have enjoyed a little taste of Texas and time with people who come from the same place as we do, we ended up staying at Irene’s home. And for one of the first times in the past six weeks, I wasn’t thinking about somewhere else. I didn’t feel like I was missing out. I was happy.

If I’m not careful, Kenya can feel so temporary—a step out of my real life. It takes the form of a something that I’m just doing for a little while, rather than a part of the life that I am living (though I’m a little ashamed to admit this). It often just feels as though everything and everyone I love is moving on and forgetting about me… my friends, my family, my football teams. The whole world is moving, and I’m standing still.

But last night… Sitting with two Kenyan women who I love with my whole entire heart, watching The Office and eating boiled bananas, there was nowhere else in the world that I would have rather been. Honestly. I wasn’t thinking about what the wazungus were eating, or what was happening in College Station or New Braunfels. I was content. I was living.

At the beginning of our journey in Kenya, I often found myself thoughtlessly wishing time away. “Next week will be better,” or “Only 11.5 more months until I see everyone again.” How mistaken I was to do this. I still miss the familiarity of home, no doubt, but I am at such complete peace where I am. Even here, I have friends. And family. And plans. And people who love me.

This is a place where kids I know and love get beaten and killed by the police. It’s a place where my friends are sometimes raped and left in the street. Where drug addiction has a furious hold on the lives of so many people that I love. Where kids sometimes run away and where babies grow up on piles of trash.

But I’m here now. It certainly wasn’t love at first sight, but I think I’m maybe finally falling for Kenya.

It’s so hard and simple and beautiful and broken and hopeful.

& For now, it’s home.

Be where you are, when you are.

lists.

2011-09-29T04:54:00.000-07:00

Prior to yesterday, I hadn’t felt homesick in at least a week. Yesterday evening, however, I found in my bible a to do list that my good old Bossfriend had left for me one week this past summer. Cue streams of tears and a desperate longing for something familiar. This emotional folly, for which now I am slightly embarrassed, was brought about not necessarily because I miss the old chief (though I very much do), but because I would pay really good money for someone to give me a to do list now. The aforementioned list began with, “Hey fabulous interns,” followed by a numbered sequence of tasks that included detailed instructions such as, “use the envelopes from the front of the office in the cabinet on the left.” Oh how deeply I yearn for this sort of direction now. How I long for someone to hold my hand and say, “here’s what to do and how to do it.”

Neither Sam nor I receive that sort of instruction here in Kenya. This is not to say that either way is better or worse; it is, rather, simply an issue of familiar vs. unfamiliar. After reading Bossfriend’s list out loud though, Sam and I resolved to compose our very own “Hey fabulous interns” list, complete with a timetable, instructions, and a reminder of how fabulous we really are (just kidding… sort of!). I won’t share that particular list with you just yet, but in the spirit of lists and honesty and emotional folly, here is another list that we made of some things we miss from home. Please don’t read this inventory as an unhealthy, hyperemotional cry for help (or for food), as I can assure you it is nothing of the sort. Rest assured that the homesickness comes in waves that are progressively becoming fewer and further between. But really, you’d miss these things too if you were on the other side of the world. That said, here’s the list, y’all:

Aggie Football
Boneless chicken wings (or any boneless meat, for that matter)
Ranch dressing
Catalina Dressing
Italian Dressing
Caesar Dressing (do you get it yet?)
Wednesday night church
Daily showers
Reliable internet/electricity/running water/transportation
Cheese
Clean feet (I’d say pedicures, but missionaries are supposed to be more self-sacrificing than that, right? But really, I could use one.)
Breakaway (podcasts are so good, but just not the same)
To-do lists
“Howdy”
The Office
Texting (or more generally, something to occupy my brain and hands when things get boring or awkward)
Chips and Salsa
Chick fil A (including sandwiches, nuggets, waffle fries, honey roast bbq sauce, Chick fil A sauce, etc.)
Mugwalls (and the DTR couch and morning coffee dates)
The goodwill couch in my old office (please, new interns, love her well; take good naps on her, maybe spend a night or two with her, and most importantly, don’t let the old Boss convince you to throw her away)
Being able to drive places alone
Muldoons (and morning coffee dates at Muldoons)
Hot water heaters
Jason’s Deli (this will be my first meal when I come home)
Vanilla Diet Dr. Pepper from Sonic
Coco Loco (Olga…. Please remember me when I return)

There are at least 87 more things I could add to this list, but I’ll leave it at 26. That seems like a nice number, no? Cheers!

-B

a series of unfortunate events.

2011-09-25T08:10:00.000-07:00

I don’t usually like to bore you with every insignificant detail of our day-to-day schedule. While some days here are really profound, others are just shockingly ordinary. I figure that you could care less that I eat either toast or rice for lunch nearly every day, that I usually nap in the afternoons on the couch, or that I have done laundry only once in the five weeks that we’ve been here. For your own sake, I usually just try and update you with big Jesus stuff, major updates (including but not limited to deaths and marriages), and/or pictures.

I apologize in advance that this post is not really any of those things. This post is simply about the past week of my life, because y’all, this week was a little bit ridiculous. I’m not sure whether to laugh or to cry about all that has happened.

Last Saturday night, after a marathon GRE study session that conveniently took place from the comforts of my own bed, I was feeling much too lazy to return an empty glass two and a half feet to the kitchen. Said glass was filled previously with the sweet nectar that is Kenyan mango juice. This was, perhaps, one of the biggest mistakes I have made in our entire time in Kenya. The next morning, Sunday, after hitting the snooze button on my alarm for close to an hour, I realized that my pillow had fallen on the ground out from under my mosquito net. Irritated, I hastily grabbed my pillow and shoved it back under my head. A few moments passed then, fire. Something was eating my scalp. Confused, and still in complete darkness, I jumped out of bed to assess the situation. More fire. Something was eating my legs. Unfortunately, I was wearing neither pants nor socks. I rushed to turn on the lights, wherein I discovered that a colony of ants had taken up residence in my room. Curse that mango juice. The four feet of braids attached to my head were covered. My arms and legs were covered. My bed was covered. And I don’t exaggerate when I say that it was difficult to find my floor beneath the ants. Somehow, within the hour, Sam and I killed most of the ants and made it to church, only having missed class and only slightly peeved at the situation. This is, after all, Africa.

That evening, I was not yet brave enough to return to my own bed, so I slept on the couch, thinking that surely catastrophe would not befall me two nights in a row. What a rude awakening when I rose to discover a pool of blood beneath my head on my satin pillowcase, the taste of iron lingering in my mouth. Did I eat our kitten in my sleep? Please, at least let it have been Texas Ranger and not Walker—Walker likes to cuddle. Had the ants found their way to the couch, and heaven forbid, my throat? Am I dying? God, I want to die in College Station, not here, not like this. Sam inspected my head (maybe a braid got ripped out?), I examined my mouth, but still we found nothing. There was no sign of a wound anywhere, which I suppose was good news. I felt rather sick for the remainder of the day, but somehow made it out alive. This occurrence is still largely a mystery, though if you have any insight, I’m willing to listen.

Afraid to go to sleep the next night, and reluctantly resigning myself to the fact that my life had now become a “Saw” movie, I moved back to my own bed and expected the worse. However, I awoke without incident and had a rather normal day. Normalcy reigned supreme Tuesday and Wednesday, though I will admit that tears were had on both of those days. Thursday, shopping day for the kids, began our next series of unfortunate events. We were told (by whom, I forget) that we would be taking them to “a mall.” Unknown to the idiot wazungu, however, “mall” in Swahili translates to “terrifyingly crowded outdoor Kenyan market” in English. Okay. Sam and I are both pretty well traveled, so the surprise was initially no big deal. We happen to have really awesome Kenyan friends who generally take great care of us out in public, in spite of the fact that we go nowhere unnoticed. Our group did a little bit of browsing in the market, and eventually made our way to a “less crowded” street. Blindly leading the way down the street, I was unaware of the events that transpired a few feet behind me, but as we walked, a very impolite Kenyan man grabbed Samantha and yanked her necklace off of her neck. Let me just tell you, this girl is a saint. Had it been me, I would have probably thrown punches and chased the guy down. Sam, however, graciously reassured our friends that she was okay and that we could keep shopping. Unfortunately, this event marked a steady decline in luck for my dear, sweet Sam this week.

The next day, Friday, also began completely normal. We went to Eastleigh, where we got to visit bases with the team. No one received any serious marriage proposals, so all in all the day was a success. That evening, Sam and Fiona were preparing a delicious dinner (while I uploaded photos to Facebook, you’re welcome), when without warning, our Pyrex dish exploded and caught fire on the stovetop. Oil and glass flew. Once again, sweet Sam remained calm and reassured everyone that she was okay. Somehow, burning oil and all, everyone remained unharmed, just a little bit shaken. To give you an idea of how big the explosion was, I even found glass that night in my room two and a half feet away. But really, it was large.

Even so, everyone went to bed that night happy and alive. I won’t share all the details of this next event, as I’m sure Sam would disapprove, but poor Sam woke up around 3:30 the next morning vomiting. This lasted consistently through the night and the next day. We went to the hospital, which was a little bit questionable as far as cleanliness goes (but don’t tell Sam because she was incoherent at this point and believes that it was sterile). Again though, this is Africa, so it wasn’t a huge deal. We sat at the hospital all day and into the evening. Eventually, Sam procured some IV drugs, which seemed to help for a while, until they didn’t anymore and she got sick again. I was mostly just bored, hungry, and feeling bad for Sam. It really wasn’t a fun day for anyone.

And that, my friends, brings us to today. Neither Sam nor I have moved very far off of the couch, in fear that some other misfortune will ensue if we do. Just kidding, Sam is still recuperating, though she is doing much better, and I am studying (no I'm not, I'm blogging...) for the GRE test tomorrow. I still don’t know whether to laugh or cry about our week. I would feel a little bit crazy if I did both, though I think that’s just how life is sometimes. If you can’t laugh at yourself, life’s going to seem a whole lot longer than you like. So I think I will laugh. We are still happy, God is still good, and life goes on. Though my head is still very itchy…

Hope you all had a marvelous week!

it is well.

2011-09-20T07:47:00.000-07:00

I’ve already shared with you just how hard Africa is. You’ve read about the hurt. The pain. Suffering. The hunger and the cold. The trash heaps and children without families. We’ve already established that there is no possible way for me to make you understand what it’s like holding a baby, knowing that you are going to have to leave her to slowly suffocate in the smoke of burning garbage. Or what it’s like to have a conversation with a child who has spent time in a prison where they beat and abused him daily. You’ve read about my friends who have to sniff glue or jet fuel just to keep warm at night. You read about girls who have been raped and hit. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know that this happens. But I want to remind you.

I want to remind you how real all of this is in Kenya. How prevalent. How everyday. How normal.

And I want to tell you, that while this is all normal here, it will never be okay. Injustice and suffering, common as they may be, are not just “fine.” So please, don’t forget, but know also that, somehow still, it is well. I am completely content where I am in this moment. I am completely content in Him who is able to do infinitely more that I can ask or imagine. So many times I am blind to the ways in which God orchestrates all things for our good and His glory, but lately I have seen this good with such a clarity that I have never known before. I see Him everyday in the laughter and the smiles on our kids’ faces. I even see Him in the streets, in the midst of the suffering. He is there in the dirt and trash, and He is hope beyond anything we can imagine. Though it has taken me some time to reach this place, I am so very content in Him and the work that He is doing here in Kenya.

My prayer for you then, is that you would see even a small glimmer of God's goodness today, whether it's in something big, something mundane or even something painful, because "we know that in all things, God works for the good of those who love him." Whether we are able to see it or not, He is beautiful; He is good.

You know this, of course. But I want to remind you.

-B

meet Lucy.

2011-09-14T07:39:00.000-07:00

Meet Lucy. She is the newest student to move to the farm here in Kamulu, and she is absolutely flourishing. Lucy was over at our apartment with some of the girls the other night for a dance party, and here is the photo we ended up with.... Sam and I maybe need to work on some photography lessons for the girls soon, but I think this is precious. My hope is to be able to tell you Lucy's whole story soon, but for now her sweet face will have to suffice. Hope you enjoy! Cheers!
-B

There is no moral to this story.

2011-09-12T15:02:00.000-07:00

Here’s the thing: I’m a lady. A really really white lady. A blue-eyed really white lady who also happens to have super sweet Rasta braids at the moment. This is a most disastrous combination for one living in Kenya. You likely haven’t ever met a Kenyan before, but one might note that I, blue-eyed really white lady, don’t look very Kenyan. And by don’t look very Kenyan, I mean I stick out like a turd in a punch bowl. You can’t ignore a turd in a punch bowl.

Today, as is not unusual on Mondays, Sam and I went with the team into the Eastleigh neighborhood to visit bases, where we encourage and pray with people living on the streets. It’s super holy... usually. At the first base we went to today, however, I met Martin Luther King. Nice guy. So nice, in fact, that he generously offered, within our first five minutes of knowing one another, to pay 14 cows for my hand in marriage. How does one turn down such a charitable offer, you ask? For the most part, really awkwardly. I optimistically reasoned that Martin probably just doesn’t have many white ladies coming to his home to pray for him and buy him a meal—I was extending to Dr. King an uncommon kindness, so I could see where he’d maybe be a little confused. As gently as I could manage, I deliberately ignored his proposal, and simply bid our new acquaintance a friendly farewell when it was time for the team to leave, not thinking much at all of Dr. King’s advances.

At the next base, I met Silas. Silas didn’t speak quite as much English as Dr. King, so understanding his intentions proved a bit more challenging; however, as he was explaining to me, with very lively hand gestures, that, “when it came to us, one plus one equals one and not two,” it soon became clear that Silas also had unfortunate romantic delusions.

Please note: I do not intend the phrase “unfortunate romantic delusions” to be misunderstood as being overly harsh or insensitive in the least. I’d say the exact same about any man, anywhere who proposed marriage at our first meeting, save for Johnny Depp and maybe Anderson Cooper. (Go ahead and take a second to get that ugly judgment out of your heart. I’ll wait.)

Aaaaand we’re back. Again, I awkwardly avoided any acknowledgement of Silas’ courting attempts, as we said goodbye to all of the lovely gentlemen at Silas’ “Base Under the Tree.”

From there, we began our trek back to the MITS center in Eastleigh, which is a rather pleasant walk on any normal day—one that I have most enjoyed in the past. All was well in my world until a ~~super creepy wasted guy decided that he needed to get all up on this~~ quite drunken individual began, most unfortunately, to harass me about midway through our stroll. Thankfully, our burly, brave friend Joel boldly stepped between Sloppy and I, sternly warning him to back off. Thinking the man was gone, I resumed my leisurely walk, only to find myself moments later, caught in the death grip of the deranged drunk. My first instinct was to punch him, but then I remembered that we were very obviously missionaries, and that punching would probably be my least prudent option. One arm fully in his grasp, the other free, I began unsuccessfully trying to release myself from the Kenyan man’s hold. Once again, the ever-valiant Joel stepped in and apprehended my assailant, this time with much more force and a harsh Swahili warning.

If that whole ordeal wasn’t enough, later in that very same walk, another stranger asked to marry me, offering some unspeakably low number of cows. And during our drive home, the gas station attendant talked marriage as well. What’s maybe even more offensive about this particular gentleman is that he chose not to acknowledge my presence directly, but rather just attempted to bargain my bride price with the Swahili speakers of our team.

And then the turd in the punch bowl cried all the way home.

I really wish that I had come to some profound revelation regarding today’s events (and that I had a less disgusting comparison for standing out), but unfortunately I’m lacking both. My sincerest apologies. I really just needed to share the ridiculousness that was my day today. There isn't really a moral to this story. However, if it makes this particular blog any more worth your time, I will say that I am so completely thankful for our incredible Kenyan teammates. Especially Joel, who may or may not have saved me from becoming some guy’s wife. Cheers!

-B

P.S. We are laughing about this now, so if your first instinct was to worry (Mom), rest assured that all is still well. And now I have a crazy story about the time I received three marriage proposals in one day, so it really all ended up working in my favor.

untitled.

2011-09-07T10:47:00.000-07:00

I wish I could paint you an accurate picture of all that I’ve seen in our 3 weeks here in Kenya, but I’d never have enough shades of gray. I wish I could take your heart, wring it and twist it until it could feel what mine has felt, but I’m not that strong. I wish I could just snap a photo, so that you’d feel like you were right here with me, but you can’t smell or speak to a photo.

Maybe I could make a short video, add a slow yet somehow hopeful song in the background, upload it to Youtube, and then surely you’d know. But it just wouldn’t be enough. No author or painter or director could make you feel the actual weight of holding a baby who is slowly being poisoned by the burning trash and waste in which she lives.

Neither can I just force you to understand what its like watching a young girl weep after being raped, with nowhere to go but back to the streets where she was attacked, and nothing to keep her safe or warm at night but the drugs she will use as soon as you walk away.

Nothing in the world could make you understand what its like to talk to the smartest 13 year old boy that you’ve ever met, to hopefully listen to his plans to someday go to college, only to learn that a few short months ago he was living in a prison where they beat him until he bled, then punished him by making him sit naked in a cold shower all day, until his flesh was tender and raw, just to beat him some more.

There is nothing in me that can make you feel that. I can tell you story after story, and perhaps I will at some point in our journey, but I can’t make you experience the heaviness in your soul that comes with putting these stories to faces… these faces to friendships.

I don’t tell you this, however, to demean you or to excuse the inadequacy of my words. I tell you this because, while you can’t on any significant level feel the reality of the suffering that permeates the streets of East Africa (unless of course you’ve been here), I know that you’ve also hurt. You’ve felt pain. At some point, you’ve maybe even marveled at the brokenness of the humanity. You understand that this life comes with the promise of trouble, so when I paint stories of suffering, something somewhere inside of you resonates, be it ever so faintly.

My prayer for you and I then, is that in these moments when we stand powerless in the midst of suffering, we would allow the pain to bring us to our knees not in defeat, but in humble gratitude, reminding us of our desperate need for a savior. I pray that this presence of hurt and suffering doesn’t ruin or crush us, but rather serves to illuminate the simple beauty of the gospel: we are so broken that the Son of God had to die the death we deserved to save us, but so loved that He did… willingly. I pray that we would feel the weight of this, and that it frees us to live in such a way that, even in the midst of unbearable trials, we can boldly proclaim the name of Jesus.

I wish I could take your heart, heal it and free it until it could feel what mine has felt, but I’m not that strong.

-Barrington

and now, some photos.

2011-08-27T02:31:00.000-07:00

Holly, Teddy & mystery Baby are gems. simple, sweet moments like this are such a small victory in a regular day, but even the smallest wins here seem so significant.

teaching English. Here, they are finishing up their first papers.

shortly after this photo, Holly peed right where I am laying. Oh Africa.

Our first meal that we cooked. I made tortillas. GOOD tortillas. If you know me, you know this was no easy accomplishment.

Our new wall art. Below this now hangs a growing list of our African Blessings which include the kids at MITS, our new friends, and the fact that Sam is brave enough to light our stove.

Sweet Sam being a wonderful teacher and drawing a detailed diagram of the cardiovascular system.

Sam & Caleb.

Holly.

Our first home cooked dinner. Fiona came over for her first candle lit meal. Adele's 21 played in the background & it was a supremely lovely evening.

My Africa.

2011-08-27T01:36:00.000-07:00

I’m just going to give it to you straight: Africa isn’t easy. It’s not a romantic, far away land of enchanting simplicity and stunning wildlife that you read about in pop-up books. At least my Africa isn’t.

My Africa gets lonely at night. The shower in my Africa has two temperatures: boiling or arctic. Both are equally painful, the only difference being that boiling water happens to leave an aching reminder of its presence on one’s scalp. Worms swim out of the faucets here and everything is covered in a thin layer of dirt. Even the food. What’s more, I can’t yet call home from my Africa, the home that I yearn for both in wakefulness and sleep. Mice live in the walls, lizards and spiders in the windows and sinks. I’m by far the weakest human being in my Africa, and not just physically. Most infants here are both tougher and braver than I am. And perhaps worst, in my Africa, I often have no name, but merely a title. An instant stereotype. A true, yet dismissing label. Mzungu. White person. I always stand out… My Africa is at times both isolating and overwhelming.

Strangely enough, I don’t tell you this to complain, as would be my instinct in nearly any other circumstance. Worms swan diving from our faucets is unnerving, I admit, but my Africa… my Africa is first rate compared to most. My Africa has the nicest appliances this part of Kenya has to offer. I have an entire roof over my head. A room to myself, and means to actually purchase a full supply of groceries. I also have a bed in my Africa. When I climb out of that bed, I’m greeted by a morning that offers both smiling faces and an implicit expectation for the day. I have few worries regarding my health (aside from aforementioned reminders of boiling water on my scalp.) But even boiled scalp blisters are manageable. I eat regularly. And perhaps most significantly, I have a reason to wake up in the morning. Not a reason rooted in shallow happiness dependent on circumstance alone, but a reason rooted in the love of a Father and the promise of a hope much bigger than myself.

But Africa isn’t easy. It’s not a romantic, far away land of enchanting simplicity and stunning wildlife that you read about in pop-up books. At least my Africa isn’t.

Today, my Africa, burdened with only the slightest inconveniences, bared shocking witness to the apex of human suffering. Today, in my Africa, I met a man with no legs, begging in the streets on a pile of trash. I met children, mites and sores covering their delicate heads, fighting one another for a single piece of bread. I saw men so high from sniffing glue in order to keep both hunger and the cold at bay, that their whole bodies shook violently as they struggled to remember their own names; women, worn down from a long life in the streets, with joints so twisted and faces so sunken in that they were hardly recognizable as human in appearance. Infants without mothers, tangled in trash and covered in human waste. I saw violence and greed in its purist form. I saw hunger. Suffering. Anguish.

But today, in my Africa, I also saw hope. Or more accurately, I am constantly seeing hope. It’s beautifully and intricately painted in the smiles and lives of each one of the kids who is taken in off the streets and given a home here at Made In The Streets. The redemption in each one of their lives is wildly obvious. And what’s more, it’s not simply redemption from poverty, offered by the promise of an easier life and the likelihood of future employment, though those are indeed very good things, but rather it is Redemption. Offered by a Savior who lifts the poor people out of the trash heaps and seats them in a place of honor. In these kids, I see abundant grace. I see the same grace that is at work in my life, at work in theirs. My trash heap may not look or smell the same, but in the same way, I’ve been neck deep in garbage, begging for a Savior. He lifts us both, each from our own respective piles of debris, and makes everything right. He takes our poor, broken lives and makes them into something exquisite. And this reality shapes us. It molds us into similar creatures, though we couldn’t be more different. It is our common ground. It is our hope.

And it’s beautiful. And it’s hard. And it’s Africa.

a poem or something.

2011-08-21T15:36:00.001-07:00

Here Sam and I sit, hopeful, in Heathrow, en route to our new home in Kenya. My heart is a bit heavy, holding fast to all I’ve known the past three years. The happiest who’s and what’s I’ve had. The home I’ve felt. And lived. And breathed. It’s strange, this limbo. A haunting purgatory. Somewhere between what has been and what is yet to be, but is neither still. Home is nowhere yet, but here we are. I know what lies ahead is greater still, but this hasty soul of mine. It longs for the familiar heartbeat of the home, the house, the happenings, hellos and familiar hugs, I know. But still. Here. We. Are. Between what has been and what is yet to be, but is neither still.

But somehow. When all is chaos, Hope abounds. He gently lifts my head, holding me tight. His hands, holding me, formed the heavens. He hides me there. Quiets my heart. Hush, my soul. He reminds me that He is home. Not a who or a what, but a yes and a forever. Here with Him, alone. I know I’m home.

I hate doing this.

2011-08-06T12:53:00.000-07:00

Barrington here.
Can I be really honest and say that I hate asking for money? I really do. I feel so awkward and needy... it takes me back to my middle school years when I actually was really awkward and really needy. Anyhow, though I hate it, I have reached a point that I'm going to have to just suck it up and do it. So here you are.
Friends, family, and random blog readers, you may or may not already know that Sam and I are scheduled to leave on August 20th for Made In The Streets in Nairobi, Kenya. Sam and I will be working as interns for this incredible organization-- Sam has committed to 6 months and I have committed to a year. You may also know that we are both raising money in order to do this. I am completely trusting that God will provide, and so many of you have already sent support, but due to some recent car troubles, vet bills and [very frustrating] unforeseen expenses, I am still about $3000 short of my $6000 goal. I'm going to be even more honest and tell you that its sometimes pretty hard for me to believe that God is going to remain faithful... especially when I need $3000 in two weeks. However, I've seen Him work in so much bigger ways, immeasurably great ways, that I am still certain He will provide.
This whole journey has been an exercise in faith for Sam and I both, from waiting on God to show us where we need to be, to not knowing whether we were even going to get to go to MITS, to now. And each time, God has proved so faithful, but each time my doubt is ridiculous. The same God that spoke the universe into existence is holding me, and I don't know why I just can't wrap my head around that sometimes.
That being said, both Sam and I have both been working on gratefully accepting our general lack of plan for our move to Kenya. Though we have some projects in mind, we are really just praying that God will use us how he wants to and that we wouldn't get in the way of whatever his plan for us is. So while I can't tell you exactly what the remaining $3000 will be used for (other than general travel & living expenses), know that I will be in constant prayer about where and how it will be used.
So there you go. This is me asking you to help answer some prayers and get us to Made In The Streets. I'm not technological enough to set up a way to donate online, but if you want to send a tax deductible donation, you can mail it to:

A&M Church of Christ

c/o Aggies for Christ

2475 Earl Rudder Frwy. S.

College Station, TX 77845

Checks can be made out to A&M Church of Christ or to Aggies for Christ. For bookkeeping purposes, please write “Barrington Henry– MITS” on the memo line of the check.

Thanks so much! I'll keep updating as we get closer to the 20th. Blessings!

Barrington

Also, Daniel 3 is what came to mind as I wrote this:

"Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego replied to him, 'King Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter. ¹⁷ If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to deliver us from it, and he will deliver usfrom Your Majesty’s hand. ¹⁸ But even if he does not, we want you to know, Your Majesty, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.'”

for smiles on Friday...

2011-05-11T20:57:00.000-07:00

We raise our hands, and paws, to the end of undergraduate life and the beginning of the next great adventure...

Kenya, Piper and a Jet Pack?

2011-04-07T23:42:00.000-07:00

I’ve written this blog a hundred times in my head, but each time words are so inadequate to describe how excited I am to share this news with you. So I am just going to lay it out straight.

Sam and I are OFFICIALLY going to serve in Kenya!

God is so amazingly good and so faithful, even when we aren’t. What a great lesson in patience and trust the past few months have been for us. Sam and I absolutely cannot wait to go and serve our friends at Made in the Streets in the name of our awesome God. Its been said more than once that if we could jump on a plane (or boat, or kayak, or jet pack) tomorrow, we would in a heartbeat! Especially if the jet pack were a legitimate option... but I think you have to have to be certified or something to use one. Excuse me whilst I Google.

Last weekend, Sam and I attended a conference where John Piper asked a brilliant question that continues to resonate so deeply with me: “Do you feel more loved by God when He makes much of you, or when He enables you to enjoy making much of Him?” I’ll give you a second to wrap your head around that... The question basically comes down to the issue of who is at the core of your joy. Jesus or yourself? The answer to Piper’s question does not necessarily have to be exclusively one or the other, however. Piper says, “The goal is that we would enjoy being made much of by God in a way that God would be made much of.” Take another second for some head wrapping. The implications of this statement hit me hard when I heard it for the first time. So often, I am at the foundation of my own joy. God use me. Pick me, pick me! Yes, God uses us because he loves us, but its all for His glory and His name. What a powerful and loving God that He would take such a broken creation and use it as an instrument for his glory. For Sam and I, our prayer is that God will use us in spite of our flaws and imperfections in such a way that He gets all of the glory. That is not to say that we won’t wholly and enthusiastically enjoy being used by God while we are serving in Kenya, but we pray that Jesus Christ would be at the foundation, the core, of this joy and nothing else. No other motives or selfish desires.

We get the Savior; He gets the glory.

We also pray that over the course of our preparation and our time in Kenya, God will give us His eyes and His heart. We pray that he will break our hearts for what breaks His and then use that to drive our every word and every action. We desperately seek His heartbeat and pray that we would live in a manner worthy of the gospel.

We ask that over the next few weeks, you keep not only Sam and I, but also our families, the kids and staff at MITS, and the nation of Kenya in your prayers. I don’t say that because that’s what you’re supposed to say at the end of a blog like this, but because I completely believe that God is so faithful in answering prayers. That being said, we ask that you pray big prayers to our awesome God! Small prayers are insulting to the creator and sustainer of life, so we ask that you, with us, refuse to pray small prayers to our huge God. Thank you from the bottom of our hearts for your support and prayers and for taking the next step with us on this exciting journey!

And, for what its worth, I’m serious about the exciting part… the first time I sat down to write this blog, the product was something like: “alkdhgdehglkh!!!!!!!” My fingers and my brain have settled some since, but my words remain much too insufficient to tell you how excited, and humbled, and thankful, and I think I’ve already said it, but excited, and blessed we are to have been given this incredible opportunity to share the love of Jesus in Kenya. Wow. Since my words are lacking in every way, I’ll leave you with some scripture that is truly our heartbeat for this journey:

“This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers. If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him? Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth.”
1 John 3:16-18

*edit: I was sorely disappointed to discover, according to WikiPedia, that even the most expensive jet packs will only fly for approximately 9 minutes. That would maybe get me to Bryan by tomorrow, but unfortunately not all the way to Kenya.

sometimes we need to be reminded:

2011-02-27T20:07:00.000-08:00

Be still. Wait on me. Trust in me.
I am not going to let you fall, but even if I did, why can’t you trust that I’ll be here to catch you?
I want more than anything for you to learn to rely on me. Only me. I’m enough.
I’m tired of being an afterthought to your stubborn will.
Nothing apart from me can even compare to a shadow of what I have to offer.
You can do this; stop worrying and just… surrender.

Just rest a while in my presence, and I promise you’ll find so much joy in the peace that I will freely give you.
There is nothing you can do to make me love you more, so stop trying to earn it.
Your efforts are insulting.
Just be still. Wait. Breathe.
I’m near you; I’ll hold you. I’ll saturate your entire life with my presence if you’ll only let me.
You may think right now that you need to figure things out apart from me,
But I assure you, if you’ll only let me, I’ll be enough.
More than enough.
So let go; put all of your trust in me.
I want so much more than just the small part you’ve been offering lately.
I want your whole life.
I’ll be enough for you.

Please, just let me take care of everything.
I know you don’t always understand this, but my plans are infinitely better than yours.
I promise, I’ll bring you joy that you’ve never known and peace beyond anything you can comprehend.
Trust me. Be still. I love you, and I’m holding your hand even while you struggle to find something else to hold on to. Let it go. Be still.
I’m here even when you are too stubborn to just open your eyes and see me.
Whenever you’re ready.