Two Thousand and Fourteen

I hoped to compose some thoughts earlier then now, but the last month or so has been a consuming whirlwind of commotion. Just now in the wee hours of the day after Christmas am I finally able to sit and take in everything that has happened. I am finally able to release the words that have been gnawing on the inner most parts of my brain for far too long. I am finally able to breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

However, those breaths of unburdened, refreshing air bring the oxygen levels back to my brain and send nerves pulsing with recollections of everything that has happened over the course of the year. With the dates of two thousand and fourteen being so hastily checked off, it is hard not to reflect on the events--both good and bad--that have carefully constructed the building blocks of these past fifty-two weeks. 

And even though only twelve or thirteen of those weeks were spent in foreign lands, that's all on which I can fix my mind. 

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Last year at a Christmas party, I received a copy of the book Kisses from Katie, compliments of my incredible youth minister and his wife. I'd been meaning to read for a while--ever since I returned from Kenya in 2012, in fact. But school consumed all of my time and allowed no room for pleasure reading. I finally started reading this little jewel while I was home during that break but was quickly whisked away into the festivities of the season. The book was set aside along with a promise that I would return. The spring semester started up, and the book was carefully placed on a shelf in my dorm room. I purposefully positioned the book to stare me in the eye each time I sat I my desk. I would often look at it with a face that read "I promise I'll get back to you, but right now, I have to write six lesson plans in order to survive this semester." Then I would guiltily look down at my work and push the book to the back of my mind. The cycle continued until the day I had to move out of the dorms for the summer. While I was packing, I kept in mind that I would be traveling to Kenya and would not need to take much of anything back with me. I shoved some clothes in a bag, threw my laptop in my backpack, and grabbed a few books for entertainment purposes. Everything else was placed in storage. But as I was just about to leave, I remembered that promise I had made to the author Katie Davis a few months earlier. I ran to storage to retrieve this book and placed it in my crowded book bag along with everything else. 

And, oh goodness, am I glad I did. 

During the week I had at home before I left for the airport, I ran around like a chicken with its head cut off. I visited with family members and friends in the few short days I had before I would leave for the most impacting trip of my life. I got well-wishes from most and words of discouragement from a few. I was told of the unexpected journeys I might find along the way and the danger I could possibly face. I took all negatives with a  grain of salt. My last night in the United States was spent in the embrace of my mother and immediate family members, and it was also full of a few shed tears due to frustrations with luggage and packing. As I prepared my carry-on bag for the airport the next day, I remembered Katie Davis and the promise I had made to read her book about her life in Uganda. I carefully placed it in my trusty backpack to keep me company during my flights. Then I rushed out the door to set out on my journey. 

As soon as I left my siblings and teary mother after going through security, I pulled out the book I had put off for so long. I opened the cover and began to let my mind wander through the beautifully written pages of a nineteen year-old-girl who fell head-over-heals in love with the people in a country of East Africa. I consumed several chapters before I yanked my head out of the book as I heard my flight number being called for boarding. I quickly grabbed my backpack, found my spot in the plane, and began reading once again. This pattern continued all throughout my three days of traveling. I had to take a break from my reading when I arrived in Kenya, but I finally finished the story while I was spending some time with a magnificent family I had met two years prior. I referred back to the book several times throughout my stay, and even more since I have been back. 

I am convinced that Katie Davis wrote this book specifically for me. Just one year ago, this copy was in pristine condition: brand new, never been opened, no marks to be found. Now, however, the sides have stains of dirt and tea, the pages are dog-eared from memorable stories, and many lines have been reinstated with markings of agreement or notability. Though we are currently in different circumstances, I know that this young lady and I desire to do similar things with similar people groups in similar circumstances. 

Quite a few of the thoughts racing across my mind on a day to day basis are the same ones she shares with her readers. No one here genuinely knows the thoughts of my heart; if you would like a closer look, however, I would recommend this book to you. And if you read it, maybe you will become inspired to take a trip to a foreign land to experience a small glimpse of this love that the author expands upon.

Though I have not actually met Katie Davis, I look to her as mentor and peer in my journey called life. The prayers in her book are the prayers of my heart. Maybe one day I'll have the honor of meeting her here on earth. If not, I know I'll see her when the Lord returns. 

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Before I left, three schools offered me positions. I refused all of them because I am not yet properly certified to teach; I still have a bit of schooling left, and though they would have made an exception for me, I knew that receiving my certificate would be the best thing to do. My heart was ripped out when I left that land, but the promise of returning was repeated so many times on my lips.

While I was there, I felt needed. I felt important. I felt ready to face it all. When I returned and got back into the school mode, all of the feelings changed. I wasn't a teacher anymore: I was a student. I wasn't a person of authority anymore: I was one who had to follow all the rules made by those higher than me. I wasn't ready to leave the cocoon of education: I still had so much more to learn that I needed to know. 

It wasn't long before questions of Why? flooded my head. Why didn't I stay? Why didn't I remain in the place I love doing the things I love with the people I love? 

Why am I even here?

I wish I could tell you that I have everything figured out, that I have discovered reasons for all things. But that would be a lie, a big. fat. lie. Though a few of my Why? circumstances have been made clear, others have been brushed over in a hazy, muddy glaze. It's hard for me to truly convey emotion about the trials I faced and am still facing after my return. When the struggles of this country and the petty arguments between parties overwhelm me, I find myself staring at pictures on my laptop and asking myself once more, Why am I even here?

But some reasons have been made clear to me. Without being here, there is a possibility that I would not have discovered some important things about myself, about the reasons why I desire to go and what I intend to do. God blessed me with a new companion who questions some of the same things I do. We have spent many nights talking about the struggles of wanting to live in two places at the same time but being forced to revel in only one at a time. He has blessed me with a dear sister who speaks Swahili and doesn't even laugh at me when I totally butcher the messages I try to convey. He has blessed me with a precious friend who is the reason why I desire to help those who are forced into labor. 

God has blessed me with so much since I have been back; at times I turn my eyes from the reasons I am here and only focus on the Why? aspect. But it is difficult to remain blind when we have a God who opened the eyes of a man born blind. 

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I now wear a ring on the ring finger of my left hand. 

It's a promise ring.

But it's not the kind of promise ring a boyfriend gives his girlfriend of a few months. No. This ring is not like that at all. It's not made of precious metal. It does not contain a stone of value. In fact, the polish on the cheap metal is almost all worn off, and the fake diamonds on the top are beginning to pop out. The ring is not the important part, though. The symbolism is.

I picked up this ring from a vendor in Kenya during one of my last days. I wear it each day as a reminder of my thirty-five students, of my gracious host family, and of all the other incredible people I encountered. 

I wear it each day as a reminder that God has not forgotten me. He promises a life full of humility and servitude, full of love and of discomfort, if only I choose to follow His voice.

This ring is a reminder to those around me that I am promising my life to the path God is preparing, whether it leads to Kenya or somewhere else. Because even though I am head-over-heals in love with this Swahili-speaking, chapati-eating nation, I still desire to go where God leads, not where I lead. 

And though that is a hard promise to make, I intend to keep it.

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Proactive.

This is the word I chose at the end to 2013. This is the word I desired to live out in the coming year. Basically, it was the word I chose to describe how I wanted 2014 to be: I wanted to give up my laziness, my unwillingness and become an active member of God's fleet. 

It was my plan to choose another word for 2015, for the changes I desire and the differences I hope to see. Instead of changing my word, however, I am adding another one on.

Contentedness.

I hope in 2015 that I learn to be content with where God places me. However, I still must remain proactive while I am there.  

These two words are not just reminders for me; I pray that they will find you as well. I pray that you will choose to live proactively for God while being content in your circumstance.

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Two thousand and fourteen has been a year for the books. I am eager to see the joys that this next chapter holds.

Striving to live proactively and contentedly,

Bekah

Ignorance Is Not Bliss.

I've always known about sex-trafficking. I've always been aware of the girls and boys who suffer in unjust, ugly ways. I've always been educated on the fact that slavery is still an issue today.

Yet I've always remained silent.

Until this weekend, the existence of sexual slavery seemed distant. It didn't affect me. It wasn't close to home. It was an awful evil that happened to innocent children whose faces I never saw and whose names I never knew.

But everything I knew regarding this subject changed this weekend.

"Something's different. Getting to actually know [someone who has been sex-trafficked] has changed my outlook. Even though I've only known her for only a few short days, I know she is a life-long friend. Not only that, but she is the reason I can no longer remain silent. I need to do something. This isn't a 'someone needs to do something' situation. No. This is personal. I need to do something. I need to help. I need to be a voice, be a healer.

"She's why. [This girl] is why I need to go, why I need to help. Not because I can change anything with her story. I can't. Her story of survival and redemption is already written.

"But what about those girls whose stories are not yet over? What about those innocent lives that have been so evilly exploited? What about those souls who have not yet found home?

"They need an advocate.

"They need home.

"I cannot remain silent."

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Ignorance is bliss. Unawareness is golden. Silence is perfection. But how can one remain silent when he knows the truth? How can a woman choose to live a life full of unawareness when she has been made aware? How can a man continue to be ignorant after he has gained knowledge? When these things happen, the barrier is broken. The blockade that has separated us from good and evil is destroyed. Stars align, and opportunities develop. Truth screams to be known. Uneducated men and women need to be educated. Vile happenings have to be stopped. When reality is revealed, ignorance is no longer bliss. Unawareness is refined by fire and is no longer golden. Silence is the furthest from perfection. The educated and the aware can break the silence. We can be a voice to the unheard. We can end the evil. We cannot remain living ignorant lives.

We cannot remain silent.

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Friends, sex-trafficking is real. My wake up call came in the form of a girl my age who so graciously befriended me. Because of that, I can no longer avoid this issue. I cannot continue to live as if it only happens to faces I'll never see and names I'll never know. It happens all around: across the globe, in our own backyard, and right underneath our noses. The vileness of the perpetrators often goes unnoticed in the dark. But we need light. We need to see the tragedy of the outcome. Most importantly, though, we need hope.

And thankfully, we have just that.

This can be defeated, but we must work together. This evil can end, but we all have to pitch in. This thievery of innocent lives can be stopped, but all hands are required on deck. We cannot pretend that we don't know the evil. We cannot continue to live in ignorance.

We cannot remain silent.



With a new awakening,
Bekah

Living With a Dirty Neck

Uvumilivu.

Patience.

n.

"an ability or willingness to suppress restlessness or annoyance when confronted with delay"


Patience is not one of my strongest virtues. When I was young, I became impatient way too quickly. My lack of this virtue would often result in spankings, time outs, and the loss of a privilege. However, because of the disciplinary actions I received at a young age, I slowly gained the ability to control my emotions when my patience ran out. I practice the art of self-calming, self-containment. As of lately, though, my ability to sustain patience has died once again.

I find myself becoming impatient with issues that did not used to be a bother to me. When I hear complaints about the variety of food, about the undesired conditions of a shelter, or about the slow speed of a wifi connection, I lose my patience. It takes all I have within me to keep from spitting out snarky remarks to shame such negative thoughts about a given matter. I try to bottle up the overwhelming desire tell of my students, of the people I encountered who would be so full of joy to live like them, to live like kings and queens. It requires all of my self-control to calm my boiling blood before the heat of the anger reaches my face and fills my skin with the redness of dispute.

Patience is a difficult practice.

More than this, however, I am impatient about going back. I count the days I have been on U.S. soil and wait so unwillingly for the time when the days I have been back will outnumber the days before I return. I am so eager, so ready. Upon my unwanted return, thoughts so frequently flew through my racing mind: Why am I here? What purpose do I have being back? Why can't I just drop the life I once knew in exchange for the one I have come to love? Is it really necessary for my presence to be situated here? The question of "why" hit me everyday for weeks, if not longer. I talked to my parents, to my friends, and even to some professors. They each gave me similar answers, but I still sought more. One friend, however, finally gave me the solution I needed rather than wanted.

"Satan will absolutely try to convince you that Kenya is the only right place for you, and so to be anywhere else is wrong. If you believe that lie, your soul will whither from your perceived distance from where you 'should be,' and therefore from God. But our God never wastes a moment. Not in Africa, not in the USA, not anywhere. So you get up and smile and dance and praise... Chin up, even if your neck is dirty."

This stung. I wanted to wallow in self pity. I wanted everyone to feel bad for my return. I, by all means, did NOT want anyone to tell me that I that I needed to make the most of my time here instead of mourning as I had been. Though I did not desire this message, I needed it oh so badly.

And God works in wonderful ways when we are obedient and willing. The day that I finally chose to take off the black garments of grief and redress myself in bright, vibrant, living colors, God opened a door. A girl whom I had met a short while earlier came across my path, literally, as I was walking around campus. This young woman just so happens to be from Kenya, and she just so happens to speak fluent Swahili, and she just so happens to be willing to help me learn more. We ate lunch together and spent many hours speaking and laughing, sharing joy and sharing life. Since that time, we have communed together over Kericho chai and danced to Swahili music. I cherish our friendship deeply. God allowed me to finally have a chance to connect with this lovely lady when I finally chose to accept the fact that He can and will use me no matter where I am. And because of this, I am grateful.

Sometimes the days are long, and sometimes the wait seems unbearable. But God is over all. He knows no impossible. It seems unrealistic that God could have other plans for me, plans that I have not so delicately constructed. But once again, God well and truly knows the best for us. I love to make better plans. But only God knows best.

It isn't until we let go of the root in the midst of the current that we experience the sweetness of land merely feet away.



With a newfound patience while proudly showing off my dirty neck,
Bekah

Leaving Eden

My eyes squinted and my hands naturally formed a shield to protect my face from the unfamiliar rays that the sun emitted. After spending two entire days in airports, my senses had to readjust to the outside world. As if perfectly timed, however, as soon as my sight was readjusted, a giant, blue, all to familiar vehicle approached where I was standing. Out of habit, I nearly made my way to the left side of the automobile to occupy a seated position on the passenger side, but quickly reminded myself that I was “back to reality.” The shining faces of my beloved parents and siblings greeted me warmly, yet I felt like I was only observing. I still felt like I was in Kenya, in my loved surroundings, in the land where my heart was left. As happy as I was to see my dear kin after three month’s time, my whole being longed to be back in the country I had just left. 

I’ll admit, it has been a little bit difficult readjusting to what I labeled as “home” just a few months prior to this date. I still expect to walk outside and see Kenyans working in their shops, cars being driven on the left side of the road, and beautiful little faces approaching me and smiling as they ask, “How are YOU!” I am nearly flabbergasted when I see herds upon herds of wazungu walking the streets of the small, southern Illinois towns. I catch myself saying things in Kiswahili every once in a while in response to questions or comments. I still expect my dear missionary friend to greet me each morning with a “Good morning, Bekah the Great!” as I rise out of bed. I can still hear the little voices of my compound calling out, “Bay-kah! Help me a sweet!” as I look out the window of the house of my biological parents. I still feel as if I can walk a few steps to the shop my friend manages and share about our lives with one another as I purchase a bottle of water or some cell phone credit. I so longingly desire to jump up the beautifully awkward steps that lead to my school and church and stroll into the staffroom to find myself amidst the company of such wonderful souls who have dedicated their careers to teaching children. I wish with all of my heart that I could walk the length of the school building to my old classroom and hear whispers as I approach the door followed by several of my pupils jumping up and shouting, “Ni hao!” 

I feel like I will wake up from this dream any moment and return to that reality. But it hasn’t happened. 

And it won’t happen. 

Though my heart, my life, my being is in Kenya with my pupils and sweet friends, my body is back with my family, back with my familiarities. Don’t get me wrong; I adore my parents and my siblings. But I found love in Kenya, a love so great that my entire being longs to be there.

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It’s taken quite some time to compose my thoughts on being back. Being in the United States, the country that claims my residency, seems so surreal. I honestly do think that I am dreaming the majority of the time. I expect to wake up, to greet my Kenyan family members, to go to school to teach, and to spend my Sundays with that church family. But that’s not the case anymore. I’m trying so hard to fit into the culture that I called mine for the past nineteen years, but the new culture that stole my heart has shaped me so greatly. 

I love being back, seeing my family, catching up with my friends, and enjoying my time at my university. But when my only company is my brain, I often get lost in thought. I calculate the current time in Kericho and think about the activities happening there. I often imagine myself joining in with their splendors. I get so lost in thought that it becomes difficult to pull myself away and get back to this reality. It’s enduring to focus on a task at hand without drifting off into the “what ifs” for a long period of time. 

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“If ‘home is where the heart is,’ then my home is not in the United States. It’s not at camp, not at my school, and not even with my family. My home is in Kenya. Before I left, some of my friends told me, ‘We can’t wait for you to come home!’  I’ve lived in the U.S. for a bit less than nineteen years. I’ve lived at my school for a bit less than two years. But neither of those living areas have ever had the feeling of ‘home’ that Kenya has offered.

“This reminds me, though, that my true home is not in the United States. In fact, it’s not even in Kenya. My home is not of this world; it’s in heaven with my Father. As much as I anticipate returning to Kenya to live with the people I so dearly love, I am even more excited to walk down the streets of gold for the first time. I can’t wait for the day that I receive a gentle squeeze on the shoulder and feel the breath of a mighty voice as it so peacefully whispers into my unworthy ear, ‘Well done, my good and faithful servant! Welcome home.’ When I see God smile, I’ll no longer have any doubts of where my home is. I’ll no longer worry about tearing my life in two so that I may dedicate half of my time to my family and friends and the other half to my pupils and loved ones on the other side of the world. Because when God welcomes me for the first time and calls me by name, I’ll know. I’ll know exactly where I belong, exactly where my home is. And I truly can’t wait for that day to come.”

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Many of you are probably expecting this, so I’ll get it out in the open: I’m planning on returning to this land that I fell in love with two years ago. I’m not certain when or how; all I know is that I can’t wait for that arrival. 

With that being said, Kenya take me back to Africa?

Living, loving, and longing,

Bekah

Kwaheri, Kericho.

What if I can't eat the food? What if I can't learn the language? What if I don't adjust to the weather? What if I accidentally drink some of the water? What if I don't like my class? What if I don't get along with my host family? What if I don't make any friends?

Millions of thoughts just like these flooded my mind about two months ago as I drove to Kericho, Kenya for the very first time. My mind was racing with hundreds of thousands of negative "What if I" statements that I didn't take time to even consider the positive experiences. As soon as I stepped out of the car and into the new life I would be living, all of those questions vanished. When I met the loving children and the friendly staff for the very first time, I automatically knew that I would fall head-over-heels with the young people I would call my pupils. The moment I met the couple and the children I would be calling my family over the next couple of months, I undoubtedly knew that everything would be good.

However, I did not know HOW good my time at Kericho would be.

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She pushed aside all of the children holding my hands and hugging my arms. She forced everyone near me to leave my side and step away at least an arm's length, but she did not use words. She used her eyes and her actions to remove all of my little friends from my side. At that moment, she looked up longingly into my eyes, wrapped her tiny arms around my waist, and proudly proclaimed to the other children, "This is my mother!" She contentedly nestled her tiny face against me and smiled as she closed her eyes with satisfaction. I hugged her back; I had fallen in love with this young girl about one month prior. I smiled, tears threatening to roll down my face. The other children simply watched for a moment's time, but all at once, the other baby class students followed her actions. "This is my mother! This is my mother!" they shouted in unison as they ran to me and threw their arms around my waist, my neck, my legs, my ankles, anything. The tears welled up, but I was determined not to let them be seen.

"So I am your mother?" I asked.

"YES!" they cried back simultaneously.

"Sawa. So are you all coming back with me to the United States?"

Another united "YES!"

"Sawa. Alright, here is the plan: I am only taking one suitcase back with me, so you are going to have to squish yourselves into tiny squares for all fourteen of you to fit. Okay?"

The "YES!" wasn't quite as united this time, nor was it as jovial. But there were still positive responses.

"Sawa. Okay, and when I go back to university, you aren't actually allowed to live with me in the dorm. So you must not ever leave the room and if anyone visits me, you all must hide somewhere. Sawa?"

At this point, many of my attachments began to loosen themselves from my person and back away. A few of them, however, still responded positively.

"Okay. And I don't make much money, so I'll have to feed you grass. Sawa?"

They all backed up with fearful looks in their faces. But one face remained as happy as ever, and a hint of determination shown within its eyes. Out of the mouth came a joyful, ready-to-face-it-all "YES." The owner of that persevering face was none other than the dear little girl who started all of this "mother" commotion. When I looked down and saw this small friend who was willing to give up everything she knew to come to my foreign land, the threatening tears began to spill over. I walked away.

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After a full day of school, running around and saying goodbye to many sweet souls, and becoming emotionally drained with the thoughts that I may never see some of the people with whom I had so deeply fallen in love ever again, I was exhausted. It was my last night in Kericho and my last time with my whole family. After exchanging some items for remembrance of each other, I was beyond ready to go to bed. When I sat on my bed, though, I heard a small squeak coming from a wooden chair right next to my room. I checked to see who was still awake, and at the table sat my sister whom I adore.

"I can't find sleep," she explained.

Though I could have easily "found sleep," I didn't want to miss any last minute with this sweet girl. My mind rushed to the first time she asked, "Can I braid your hair?", to our first viewing Disney's Frozen, to the many times we would burst out into song together, to the time I was so nervous riding a matatu at night, but she so contentedly slept peacefully on my shoulder. My love for this girl is insane.

"Neither can I," I lied. But those precious moments I spent with her were worth so much more than a few minutes of extra sleep.

I said goodbye to all of my little friends on Thursday evening since I was sure that Friday would be too hectic to properly wish them well. I waited to say a true farewell to my parents on the next day. My mama, my wonderful cultural influence, was the hardest person to leave. She has taught me oh so much. She repeated multiple times that I was a blessing to her and her family. No. I can never truly express how much they have blessed me and so beautifully enriched my life. As we embraced for the last time, my mind raced from one memory to the next from these last couple of months. And I couldn't keep the tears from forming a tremendous waterfall that flowed down my face and onto my neck. Her love, her acceptance, and her willingness toward me was only by the grace of God. Honestly, I was so nervous when I first moved in with my family. I didn't know how to eat their food, I didn't know how to wash my clothes, I didn't know how to speak their language, and I didn't even know how properly bathe. But with time and lots of questions and willing explanations, I found my place.

And that place became better and better each day. By the end of my time, I felt so connected to, so in love with, and so with one with the culture that surrounded me. Leaving my new family was one of the most difficult feats to ever overtake.

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"Teacha! Don't leave us!"

It wasn't my intention to make every pupil cry as I told them how much I loved them on that last day. The time was meant to be happy. We had a little party, I gave a few gifts, and I was going to encourage them while telling them how much they meant to me. But I couldn't handle that last part without thinking back over all of the glorious moments, both good and bad, that we shared. My heart spilled out of my eyes and down my nose. My voice started shaking as I told them for the last time that I loved them. And all of the faces I had grown to love displayed the same thoughts that I was feeling: I don't want to leave. I don't want this class to find a new mama. I don't want to go a long time without sharing joy with these incredible kids. My heart longed to be with them teaching, singing, and laughing uncontrollably.

As each child hugged me for the last time, their dirty little tear-covered faces left brown splotches all over my white shirt. But  I didn't care. These children, these loves, these souls: they stole my heart. Forever.

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"Love is a funny word. If English was not so strange, it would be pronounced 'low-vay,' which sounds even funnier. In Kiswahili, there are two ways for this word to be used: mapenzi denotes the noun usage and kupenda is the verb.

"Love is a verb. It's not just some feeling of affection. That seems silly. Since love is a verb, it should be followed by action. True love, thus, is shown by the works, the deeds, the struggles, the hardships, the impossibles attempted, endured, and accomplished by the lover for the benefactor.

"The word we have been confusing for this so called 'love' is affection. Affection isn't love. It is an admiration, a silly little feeling one gets in the pit of his stomach. Love is accompanied by deep accomplishment. I think that is why the Apostle Paul stated, 'And the greatest of these is love.' Faith and hope really aren't actions. They are a state of mind, a phase of heart. But love is so much more than that.

"I can say that I truly love these kids, these teachers, my family members. I don't see these children as cute faces with which I can take incredible 'selfies.' They are my heart, my mind, my being.

"They are my love."

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Those "What if I" statements that I thought at the very beginning of my trip returned at the end. But this time they were different. They became "What if I never see these kids again? What if I never want to eat anything other than rice and beans ever again? What if I never have a chance to use my Kiswahili knowledge when I return to the US? What if I cry anytime I look at a picture of one of my pupils? What if my heart literally rips in half because of the pain I am experiencing due to leaving this home?"

Kericho has changed me. It has added on to my personality, my knowledge, my experiences, and, most importantly, my love. I can't be content until I spend more time with my family and friends in this beautiful land. I suppose, though, that my heart will just have to wait until next time.

Until then, I'll have the chance to pray for strength for my pupils each day, for wisdom for the teachers in charge of the classrooms, for the joy that my tiny friends shared with me, and for the family that opened their arms so wide for me.

I am loving more than I thought possible. My heart is full of the memories made during my time in this blessed land, and my mind is often reminded of the tiny arms wrapped around my body, saying, "Mother Bekah, I love you."

I can't wait to see those faces again.


Loving always,
Bekah

Falling in Love

On my way to the airport on May 11, 2014, my mother spoke to me more seriously than I can ever remember. Most of her speech was about how proud she was of the Greenwood three; she had prayed about us since we were babies that we would go into full time ministry or even missions. She said that now that the day has come, it was harder for her to pray those things because it meant that we would no longer be within her arm's reach. But she still reveled in how amazing God is and how He answered her prayers that started over 23 years ago. The most memorable part of our talk, though, went something along the lines of this:

"Bekah, I gave Rach this same talk when she was leaving for Chile last summer. I want to tell you, too. Maybe the love of your life is in Kenya. Maybe you will find a love so great that you never want to come back. But please guard your heart until you find that love, whether it be in Kenya, the United States, or somewhere else."

Mom, my lovely, I want you to know something: I have found the love for which my heart has been longing. I have discovered a love so great that I hear whispers in my ear, saying, "Bekah, don't leave. Stay." I have experienced a love so deep, deeper than I could have ever imagined.

Mom, the love of my life lives here in Kericho. I guarded my heart like you instructed, but when I realized how great this relationship could be, my heart was opened. And even though I only have a few, short weeks left here in Kenya's tea capitol, I know that the love we have for each other will only continue to bloom and grow.

What is the name of my love, you ask?

Maybe the actual question should be, "What is your love?"

The love that has stolen my heart comes in the form of 34 pairs of filthy little hands that won't allow me to exit my classroom at the end of the day before I give each hand a high five or six. It comes in the form of bodies that those hands are attached to that crouch by the door of my classroom, waiting to jump up and surprise me each time I enter. It comes in the form of dark, beautiful faces attached to those bodies that become so bright and smiley each time I tell them the artwork they have put so much effort into is the most wonderful thing I've ever seen. It comes in the form of many young children who do not attend my school that wait for my leave each day just so  they may say, "Teacha! How are you!" and follow me to the door of my house. It comes in the form of a little boy too sick to go to school who grabs my hand every time I see him and says, "I am coming with you to school today!" with the brightest smile I've ever seen. It comes in the form of a precious special needs girl who used to be afraid of me but now so gently holds my hand anytime we meet and longingly looks into my eyes for minutes on end. It comes in the form of my friend who owns a shop next door who is too afraid to enter a church building but still wants to know what this Jesus thing is all about. It comes in the form of sharing tea with a sassy yet loveable four year-old every day after school. It comes in the form of neighbors who so longingly desire to teach me their customs and ways of going about life. It comes in the form of my adoptive family members who care so much for me that the mother calls me "my girl," or "my daughter Bekah."

This love is unfathomable.

It's unfailing.

It's unending.

Even though I will be leaving this area in less than three weeks' time, I know that my heart will continue to love this area and these people.

I am spending the day in bed away from the dust that has caused much sneezing, coughing, and nose-blowing, and I spent a good bit of the morning crying. Not because I am tired of this allergy taking over my body. Not because of the headache accompanying it. Not because of the amount of toilet paper I have used over the past four days that has been dedicated to my snotty needs. I cried because the thought of leaving this place, no matter how controlling this dust allergy has become, hurts my heart. Being unsure of the next time I will see this beautiful land and these captivating people frightens me.

******************************

My favorite spot in all of Kericho is at our church. If you venture to the backside of the building, you may notice a little patio by a side door. It's not much, but if you stand on it, you can see a breathtaking view of the town, the tea fields, and the nearby forests. And if it has just rained, you can almost guarantee that a rainbow will stretch across the sky and over the landscape. Needless to say, I spend quite a bit of time there, simply sitting and thanking my Lord for placing me in this beautiful area. One day as I was reflecting, one of my good teacher friends stopped to talk to me. We spoke for a few minutes, but then got down to business.

"Why Kericho? How did you get here?"

I paused to think about that question. While I was still making plans for Kenya, my dear, dear missionary who has now become like family asked where in Kenya I would like to be placed. She gave me a few options, one of them being Kericho. I was familiar with the other parts of Kenya, but I thought to myself, I've never been there. Maybe I'll give it a try. She told me that I would be staying with a family from the church. At the time, I was slightly nervous about being so far away from her, but she assured me that if I ever felt uncomfortable, I could return to Nairobi and spend the rest of my time in one of the schools there.

I explained this to my friend. I also mentioned that God knew what I needed before I knew.

This friend smiled and said, "God did know what He was doing. I'm so glad you're here."

At the end of last week, I went to this same spot again. That week marked my one monthiversary of teaching at this school. That same friend walked up to me and shared the view I was enjoying. We looked out over the town in silence for some time. But the silence was broken.

"So... You are leaving in three weeks?"

"Yes." was all I could say.

More silence.

"I don't want you to leave."

Neither do I, I thought. But if I dared to whisper those words, I knew that the tears threatening my eyes would spill over onto my cheeks.

******************************

When most people think of Africa, they imagine exotic animals. They imagine trees so big and plants to green that not taking a picture would be considered sinful. They imagine people dressed in tribal apparel, chanting and dancing around a fire late into the night.

When I think of Africa, though, I see the faces of the students in my class, smiling, singing, laughing. I envision the times we spend at break playing football and becoming covered in dirt and grime. I picture the tea fields so vibrantly green in their harvest and the laborers who spend their time picking the fields by hand.

My Africa may be different from your Africa.

While yours has incredible sights to be seen and fantastic animals to be spotted, mine has the word "love" written in every shining eye, in every gorgeous smile, in every eager handshake. The animals and the sceneries are just a perk of this great land.

As the beloved apostle Paul wrote in his first letter to the believers in Corinth, "...the greatest of these is love."

And, ooooh boy, was he right.


Loving, loving, loving always,
Bekah

Unity

“At the end of the day, I took class five out to the field to play a game. After the bell was rung to dismiss for the day, several girls stayed behind. They examined my arms as usual. Today they noticed my freckles. So some of them asked, ‘Teacha, what are these dots?’

“ I explained that they were the result of soaking in the sun. ‘When I go outside, my skin gets dark, but not as dark as yours. There are little spots on my arms that so badly want to be Kenyan that they turn dark. That’s what freckles are.’ This made them smile.

“Then one girl said, ‘Teacha, I want to be white like you!”

“I immediately responded. ‘Why do you want to be white? I want to be dark!’

“I told them that since I was white, I was treated differently from them. My skin color sticks out in a crowd like a sore thumb. It is impossible to walk down a road and not hear, ‘Mzungu! I am needing some money,’ or ‘Take me to America!’ Going unnoticed even on my short walk home from school each day is not an option. Children of all ages run up to me, grab my hand, lead me to a shop, point to something in the window, and say, ‘Teacha, buy for me this!’ But how could I explain this to children?

“I continued, ‘…but we should we should each love our own skin color.’

“One of my pupils then asked, ‘Teacha, if you get cut by a razor, what color is your blood?’

“Many argued for a few minutes.

“‘Green!’

“‘Orange!’

“‘No, it’s black! I’ve seen it!’

“Then I stopped them. ‘You have black hair; I have brown. You have dark skin; I have white. You have brown eyes; I have green. But if someone peeled all of our skin off, you would not be able to tell me from you. You would see red blood, two lungs, bones, and a heart. We look different on the outside, but we are exactly the same on the inside. We aren’t different. God gave us different skin colors for a reason, though we don’t know what it is.’”

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Everyone.

Every. Single. Person.

All of the inhabitants of the earth.

All of us.

We need this lesson. To young children, the lesson is easily learned. They can know with confidence that we may look different, but that does not mean that we are different. It is simple to explain to a fifth grader that the blood of a white person is the same as that of a black person. It is simple to explain that we live in different countries and we speak different languages, but we are still united through the love of Jesus. It is simple to explain that skin color does not determine who you are; your heart and your desires are the determining factor. To teach this to ten and eleven year-olds is simple. They understand. But to those of us who are past primary school, who are past the stage of trusting everything we learn, who have entered to stage of doubt and disbelief, who are thought to be wiser than children, this lesson is tough. We have grown up to believe the stereotypes that are associated with each race, gender, and people groups. We refuse to believe that our differences could possibly be united in a common goal. We choose to accept the roles and the labels that society has chosen for us because they must be the truth. 

Along with this, we chose to believe that the lies made up about people who are different from us are the truth.

I don’t know who decided that wazungu blood is black or that white people never get hurt. This portrays us to be individuals who are better than others. But are either of those stereotypes true? No. I have red blood. I hurt myself all the time by tripping over thin air and face planting!

My skin color does not make me better than anyone else.

And neither does yours.

Because, like I told my class five girls, if someone were to peel off all of our skin, we would look exactly the same. Red blood. Lungs. A heart. Bones. Organs. Everything. A difference could not be seen between me and you.

***********************************

“They needed to hear this. But they still had one last question concerning our differences. ‘Cha, when you are running, do you ever fall down?’

“I threw my head back and simply laughed. ‘Girls, I fall down more than you! God created me to be a clumsy person to bring joy to others. Yes, I fall down all the time, and I don’t even have to be running to trip!’

“My girls laughed a little bit. We then walked arm in arm with one another until we needed to part ways to our own homes.”


I am living a life full of sorrow and joy, differences and similarities, prejudice and peace. Most importantly, though, my life is becoming an example that these extremes can be united for the same purpose. And that, my friends, is pure bliss.

Loving always,
Bekah

Kericho

"I had a marvelous learning experience. While teaching my first lesson, we were talking about safety when walking on the roads. We came across the term 'zebra crossing,' and I thought 'Oh! These must be equivalent to deer crossings!' So I told my class how we have these animals called deer that cross the roads and cause accidents. They all knew what deer were and understood about the accidents, but they did not see how this related. It was not until about twenty minutes later that I realized these 'zebra crossings' were for people, not zebras. They were, in fact, crosswalks."

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I have finally begun teaching for the summer. I am now located in Kericho, Kenya, about five hours (depending on the driver of the vehicle) away from Nairobi. I am in charge of 32 eager fifth graders for two subjects, and I love it. It's only been a week, but I already know that leaving them will be tough. My classroom is composed of so many different personalities, and all of them shine like diamonds. As my mother would say, "There's not a rotten one in the bunch!"

Honestly speaking, I adore being able to walk into my humble classroom each day and receive the greeting, "Good morning, Madame Bekah! We are fine; how are you!" as each student stands and smiles. I more than love walking around the campus and having hands of the younger students extend toward me for a handshake (or two or five) while they carefully try to balance both porridge and book bags in their other hand. I cannot express my thankfulness for the teachers of the school who have taken me under wing to show me how things around here are done and have given me tips and suggestions as to how I can better connect with the students. I love everything about where I am.

I live with a family from the school. All three of the children attend Light and Life Academy, and the father is the head teacher as well as the pastor of the church, which is located on the school property. The mother of the family works at a different school across town. They are too good to me. Being able to spend time with each of them and get to know their personalities brings me joy.

The house I live in is similar to an apartment; nineteen other homes are connected to mine. They form a rectangle with shared quarters in the middle. In this little area, the children from these households as well as some others play and sing and shout from the time they get off of school until about seven or eight at night. This has given me an opportunity to get to know children other than my fifth graders. I love going outside and hearing "Baykah! Baykah!" as they run toward me with their hands extended for a hug. I am surrounded by children 24/7, but I'm definitely not complaining. I wouldn't trade it for the world.

I shouldn't have favorites. I don't. But there is one particular little girl who maybe brings me a little bit more joy than some of the others. This girl is cute beyond compare and more precious than anything. She is often in our home because she is best friends with everyone in the house. This four year old and I often bond. She speaks to me as if I speak fluent Kiswahili, and, try as I might, I cannot get through to her that I, in fact, only know very little of Kenya's official language. Therefore, when she asks me a question I do not understand, I tell her, "Kiswahili kidogo (a little Swahili)" or make some kind of gesture to indicate that I have no clue what she is trying to ask me. Instead of taking these as hints that maybe we should have someone interpret for us, she will continue to repeat the question six or seven times until I distract her with something else.

Even though our communication is limited, I still love spending time with her. One evening, I was coloring with several kids at the dining room table. My precious little friend walked up and asked for a colored pencil, so I handed her the orange of my set. And then I saw her run home. Though I thought I was only letting her borrow it, it was not a big deal. It would be easy for me to get another when I get back to the United States. The next day when I arrived home from school, she was already in our kitchen chatting with the members of the house. She saw me walk in and smiled, but quickly ran out of the room after. She returned a few moments later and thrust into my hand that orange colored pencil. It had a bit more wear-and-tear than yesterday: the majority of the paint had been chewed off, the lead had been eaten, and the whole pencil was covered in slobber. I looked up from my hand to the face of my four-year-old friend. She had a smile from ear to ear. I must say, I was trying extremely hard not to laugh at the gift she bestowed upon me; she was so very proud of the returned pencil. I decided that it did not bother me if I was missing an orange colored pencil. So I gave it back to her, this time to keep forever.

******************************

"As I take a break from my lesson planning, I straighten my back from the contorted position I had subconsciously been sitting in for an hour or two. I lean my head against the wall, close my eyes, and position my chin toward the roof. The tin covering this house is alive with pitter-patters of rain droplets singing in the evening sky. A small child stands near my window and hums the melody of 'God is so Good' over and over again in near-perfect pitch. The house has calmed after the chaos of the school day. Birds harmonically sing in unison of the joy of the light rain shower they are receiving. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world. No. But really. As I sit up in a good posture-improving position with my head resting against the wall of my bedroom and my eyes closed, I reflect on the day. I love teaching these children who are more than eager to learn whatever I tell them. I love hearing the 'How are YOU!'s and seeing the smiling faces of children who are simply happy to be at school for the day. I love receiving handshakes from hundreds of children, and even noticing those who have already received a handshake getting back in line for another. I shake every desiring hand as many times as they want. So as I think back over the day and over my first few days at this school, I ask myself, 'Could heaven be like this?'

"I certainly hope so."

Bless you all,
Bekah

Ethiopia

A new country, a new language, a new people. Ethiopia is proudly known as one of the only two un-colonized nations in Africa. From its discovery of coffee to its embracing hospitality, Ethiopia has left a lasting mark in the hearts of many, including me.

We were able to visit a few schools while there. I loved seeing the children line up to sing to us as we walked into the campus of a well-advanced school system on the top of a mountain in upcountry Ethiopia. I loved feeling like royalty as I participated in a coffee ceremony and was distinguished as a guest of honor by means of dawning a scarf and holding a rose. But some of my favorite moments came when the children who did not go to school, who were maybe not as well off as others, saw me and grabbed my heart.

"We traveled a long, uncomfortable way up to the peak of a mountain to a school in the ICCM system today. We did not go to teach, to serve, or to work. We simply went to see the school. And because we were visitors, we were treated like royalty. It was incredible.

"While feeling like the most important person in the world is nice from time to time, I have two favorite parts of the day that involved being humbled. While we were walking from one campus to another, we attracted a large group of street children. I gave out my last two candy bars and tried to communicate with them. As we walked, it was not long before a felt a little hand slip into mine. As soon as the other children saw that it was safe to touch the hand of this strange-looking person, my vacant hand was battled over. We walked hand-in-hand (-in-hand-in-hand-in-hand-in-hand-in-hand...) for quite a ways. They led me around muddy areas and through the smoothest parts in the road. It was beautiful to bond with these children, even though I will probably never see them again.

"My second experience of humbleness occurred several hours later. A group of boys gathered around our bus. As we were waiting to leave, I opened a window and spoke to them. I gave them all a piece of gum, a 3/4 empty water bottle, a package of nuts, or simply a handshake. I know they were hoping for money, but I'd rather give them something instead of money. One little boy hacked off a piece of sugarcane for me. While I did not eat it, I was grateful for his generosity. But there was another young man that really touched me. I had explained to some of the kids that I did not have any money on me, so I was unable to give them anything. This precious little special needs boy must have heard me say this, because he reached into his pocket and pulled out a bill worth 10 birr (about $.50) and tried to give it to me. I was so floored at this boy's generosity, even when he has none."

******************************

As I earlier mentioned, I had the opportunity to spend the last ten days in Ethiopia with quite a wonderful mixture of people. The group I was with was composed of people from eleven different countries, eight from Africa and three from North America. These people are all leaders of International Childcare Ministries in their countries (Not sure what ICCM is? Check it out here!). It was such an honor to be able to attend this conference with these incredible people. However, I had a thought concerning these marvelous souls.

"I was thinking about our group today. Eleven different countries from two different continents composed our group. I don't even know how many languages could come from the lips of our group as a whole. There were times when the language played a role as a blockade in communication; yet there were also times when each of us lifted up the name of Jesus in our native tongues. Though we were all praising in our own languages, we were united through the bond and declaration of the greatness of our God. It's very possible that our group will not again be all together this side of heaven. But I'm already looking forward to that day of reunion, whether it be in this lifetime or our next perfect one.

"Either way, that day will be full of hugs, laughs, and another union in our sweet Savior."

******************************

"I told myself as soon as I landed in Addis Ababa that one visit to Ethiopia in my lifetime was enough, that I would live in Kenya for the rest of my life, that I didn't even need to visit other parts of Africa because I knew exactly where I was going to be and what I was going to do. But maybe that's not true.

"Maybe there is more that I still need to see."

Blessings,
Bekah

Early Encounters

"After becoming very cozy in my bed at this guest house [in Johannesburg, South Africa], I quickly fell into a deep sleep. In the morning, I awoke to the sounds of another guest chattering to someone as he was walking past my room. I stretched, yawned, and prepared to get up and get ready for the day. Then I checked the time. 10:08. I suddenly began to panic. I knew that I had to be checked out of my room before 10, and the stern reminder of the receptionist from the night before started playing in my head: 'Brehkfahst ess from hahf pahst seeks to hahf pahst nine. Don't be late.' I immediately checked my phone to determine why my alarm didn't go off; it must have died during the night since I don't have a proper outlet for charging purposes [Looking back, it makes no sense as to why I thought my phone had died. It was obviously not dead since I just checked the time on it...]. I checked my alarm app, and my alarm was still set for 8:00 AM of May 13, 2014. Then it hit me: my home screen was still displaying the date 'May 12, 2014.' It was still the day that I arrived in Johannesburg. This means that I slept for one hour (I dozed off around 9) and had awoken feeling fully rested. After just one. hour. of. sleep."

************************************

I thought I would start off with an amusing experience on my way here. So much has happened since that time. Let me quickly catch you up to date:

• I landed in Kenya around 1 AM local time on the 14th.
• Later that day, Vickie (my host missionary) and I went to downtown Nairobi to run some errands.
• That next day (the 15th), I journeyed about 6 hours upcountry with Vickie and some familiar and not so familiar people to introduce Bible Quizzing to two schools around that area.
• I just got back from that little jaunt about 2 hours ago.

Congratulations! You are now (in general) up to speed with what has happened so far. I left out several key and not so key details. Some of those involve seeing wild zebras along the highway, getting lost several times on our way upcountry, and getting a flat tire while driving to our accommodations. However, all of these things that happened, whether good or bad, have made my trip so far memorable and exciting. I cannot explain the depth of my love for these people and this land.

************************************

"I am a spectacle.
To some, I am famous.
To some, I am ignorant.
I am hope.
I am help.
I am a disturbance.
I am hatred.
I present a chance for relief as well as an opportunity to be taken advantage of.
I am a spectacle."

I'm not going to pretend that being here is all fun and games. I love the prospect of spending my summer with beautiful little faces, smiling and chanting "How are YOU!" as I pass by. I love being able to see animals that most people only see in zoos and even having the chance to get very close to them. I love being able to experience a culture that most simply read about in books or watch a Discovery documentary about. But I am not ignorant. I know of the violence and outbreaks happening here. I know about what could happen to me simply because I am a "mzungu." I know that I have the possibility of being harmed or worse while I am here.

But I am not afraid. No, I am not seeking out danger, but I know that no matter what happens to me, God is still my protector, my provision. He will keep me safe and take care of me, even if that means welcoming me into his courts earlier than I expect.

Everything, no matter how big or how small, has a special place in His hands.

For that, I am eternally grateful.

*************************************

"The company and souls full of Christ that I have encountered on this trip are overwhelming and beautiful. Last night we ate a fully Kenyan meal composed of ugali, chipatis, greens, and meats prepared by an elderly lady who lived on the school's property. She did not have much, but compared to others, she did. She praised God for everything. At one point, she told us that nothing was hers; it is all God's. She was happy to cook for us and serve us because she knew that everything in her house, and even her very life was not hers, but all God's. I want that mentality. We all need that view."

*************************************

Thank you for following me on this journey. I would not be here if it was not for your support and encouragement. You all mean the world to me, and I mean it with all of my heart.

God bless,
Bekah

One Week

In one week, I will be back in Kenya.

In one week, I will be submerged into a culture so different from that of North America.

In one week, I will be independent from the rushed society of this fast-paced nation.

In one week, I will be surrounding by a language that is not my own.

In one week, I will be adjusting to a different time zone.

In one week, I will be noticed as a "sore thumb."

In one week, I will be back in Kenya.

In one week, I will be beginning my three month stay.

In one week, I will be greeted by the Swahili word "Jambo!"

In one week, I will be back in the land that stole my heart two years ago.

In one week, I will be back in the streets of a country for which I have a soft spot.

In one week, I will see friendly strangers with smiles consuming the entirety of their faces.

In one week, I will be back in Kenya.

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This blog will serve as an update for my experiences and encounters as I spend my summer in Kenya. Please join me on this adventure. My journey begins in one week.

Until then, Kenya take me back to Africa?



Love always,
Bekah