At 6:30 I fall out of bed to shut off my alarm before it wakes up my little sister. My feet hit the cold floor. I welcome the twinge of pain up my legs because it means my nerves work. I pry my eyes open with peppermint soap, yank out my retainers, grab my bible and force myself to go read some scripture on our beautiful back porch as the sun rises. I want to be in the Word, but I'm hardly self-motivated. I'm distracted by the bats flying around me and the lizards crawling above me and the mosquitoes biting parts of my flesh. I open to Isaiah somewhere. When you pass through the waters I will be with. God whispers a promise. He doesn't say he'll tell me how to get out. He doesn't say he'll help from drowning. He doesn't say he'll throw me a life-ring. He promises that I’m not alone, and that’s enough for me. I'm motivated by that promise and now I have strength to get through the day. I need grace and mercy because I already can tell I'm going to need it. Patience comes in short supply over here. I'm off to Agape by 7:30 with at least one of my brothers, Jimmy, an older teenager friend who goes to school at Agape and our ever doting "Uncle Steve & Aunt Diane". Once on campus, boys surround me. (Good thing I'm used to it, six brothers and all.) As soon as I see their faces my mind fills with their stories. Their abuse. Their neglect. Their abandonment. Their hopelessness. Their families or lack there of. All the bad things I've read in their files and heard from their mouths come rushing to my mind. I forget they're safe. They have a small hope now. Some hope is better than none. I fight out the images than in 10 years this boy might be back on the streets, drunk on glue and helpless. Who can save them now, but Christ? This is when I remember the power of prayer and exercise that power again and again.

I head to my classroom to organize the lessons for the day. I have just one student. Daniel. He is “my project.” Today I want to strangle him because he thinks its fun to play hide and seek when I want him to clean the classroom. Funny, I'm not in charge. Reality check. I fight with myself. Am I helping, or hurting this child? Am I preparing him for his real future or for a fake parallel universe? Will he actually retain any of this knowledge? What will happen when I'm gone? I fight these questions back for the moment…and focus on the present. Reminded again that I know nothing. Humility is the only way. I whisper a prayer to be patient with the boy who understands and speaks no English. Who shows few facial expressions. Who communicates only via grunts. Who stinks and needs to learn how to wash his clothes. Then I remember...I only need to do one thing, one thing at a time. Serve one person. Help one person. Give to one person to make a difference. I cannot become discontent with what I'm doing or I'll never find any pleasure in serving. I remember that I need to act as if what I do matters. It does. Daniel and I sing songs, we grunt sounds, we add numbers and crawl on the floor playing hide and seek. I can’t wait to become a Special Ed teacher so I can actually help boys like this one. “My project” is changing me into someone who sees the beauty of rehabilitation. I see the boys: Daniel, Bramuel, Jacktone, George, Richard and so many more. I remember how they used to fight me: physically and emotionally. They used to run to the streets weekly. They used to punch me, grab me, insult me and criticize me until I wanted to cry like a baby. I'm not exaggerating. Today these boys don’t stand before me as perfect children, but as boys who are different. They are changing and that’s all we can ask for.

I skip around to the other classes to visit my friends, and on break I lock up my schoolroom and go to take tea with the staff in our dining hall. I take tea here. Everyone does. If you don’t…you’re just not Kenyan. I can only stand sitting for 15 minutes before I’m itching to go outside with my boys. They’re stuck in school so long and their meager breaks are a breath of fresh air for both of us. My arms are never empty and my heart is always full. I continually have to be patient. They’re always asking. They’re always needy. They always want something more that I can’t give. I’m done with Daniel. I pray I did something right, Lord. I check in with my favorite social worker: Winnie, drop by the laundry area where the new boys from the streets are always found, and wave goodbye to my big sister, my Juvenile Remand companion. But I will not be going to Remand today. 

I walk out the gates of Agape by lunch most days; I feel so confident and safe next to my big brothers. Both brothers are bigger, now. I am safe in Christ, so nothing worries me. Well, almost nothing. We hop onto a motorbike as a few street boys yell our names. We’re back home for a bit, resting, eating, laughing, fighting, talking to you back home. We’re a normal family. We’re so not perfect. In the afternoon I either am cooking some delectable food, trying to do a bit of school because surprise surprise, I’m still in 10th grade, or just talking to our favorite guard and house friend: Emmy & Issac. I learn so much from them. They’ve taught me that I’m still a child. They’ve taught me I’ve so much to learn. They’ve taught me most of the Kiswahili I am privileged to speak, which, by the way, is improving by leaps and bounds.

By 4:30 I’m back on the motorbike with one of our pastors who drives a motorbike as his primary source of income and we're off to soccer practice. Most days I love soccer. On some days, like this one, I loathe playing soccer. Most often the girls are sweet, protective and helpful. But often they’re hurtful, rude and tiresome. But I remind myself it’s another mission field. These girls are my peers. This is who I would be if I were a Kenyan right now. Maybe that’s where I’d be…or I’d be like the girls on the street who sell their bodies just to eat. I’m reminded that their rude comments about my inability to play well really have no eternal weight. I’m just hurt, nothing more. I get over myself and make sure to hug the girls with a smile on my face as I leave. Maybe I’m vulnerable. Maybe I’m naive. Maybe I’m innocent and blonde and ditsy. But I have a heart to serve Christ…and that’s the one thing I’m proud of. Because I know what I’m supposed to do and what I’d love to do isn’t what He would do. I make my way home and collapse, spending time with my priceless family. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without them and the other incredibly supportive missionaries here, Chris & Tammy, Blake & Esther, Steve & Diane. They bless me so much.

By 10 I collapse into bed, retainers back in, bed net tucked in, praying for the street boys, sleeping in my room we’re re-modeling and painting. I might as well be in America at this moment, but then again…in America: I act like I don’t need God so much. I’m thankful for another day to be a Kenyan, for another day to be in God’s presence. 
What are you thankful for?

Love and stuff, K. 

I can’t really begin to explain the past three days. I don’t know how to update my Facebook status. I don’t know what to email my best friend. I don’t know who to call that will understand. . . So I'll post day by day and let my brain slowly unwind. 

Kenyan culture Shock: I like to think of myself as a free spirit who has all the options she has so that she can bless others with them. But guess what? Blessing other people here is HARD. It’s hard to just say, here is a water bottle. Because odds are if they know you have it they’ll ask you for it. It’s totally culturally unacceptable in the US, but here, everyone asks and everyone shares. It’s not easy. It’s not fun. But somehow it’s Christ. Confession: I'm sick of the phrase, "Help me, Please."

But what about those three days I don’t know how to explain?  

Friday: God loves you more than the sun and stars THAT HE TAUGHT how to shine. He loves you spoiled person because you are just as broken as the Kenyan who lives on the streets as an orphan with no chance to ever have an education or family. Today I taught my student, Daniel, like I do every other weekday. Daniel is 15 years old and makes me want to ring my neck sometimes and spastically hug him others. He speaks “Kidogo English.” [very, very, very little] It's one of those days when I'm reminded I'm human. When I'm reminded I'm selfish and inpatient and would rather be sitting comfortably at home with my friends. Pray for Daniel. His brain damaged head needs so much more than I can offer and there are thousands of boys just like him. My dream is that a full-blown program can be created to help boys that don’t fit into the Kenyan school system and frankly don’t have any other option. [watch out, I have many dreams.] He’s our ginnie pig. Pray we don’t kill him in the process.

By lunch our great friend, Allison, came and picked us by tuk tuk to go visit her project.

Kenyan Culture Shock: Everyone here is our great friend but Allison really is great. Tuk Tuks are little three wheeled motor cycle-type things. It’s perfectly safe.

Allison is 31 years old and for nine years has worked in the biggest slum in Kisumu, Obunga as a single woman. Crazy? Aye! Perfect. 

She started the non-profit Ndoto in the states and came here to implement it. She has always lived either by herself or with Kenyan families. Some days she has wanted to kill herself and others she has gone home crying at the destructive Kenyan ways. But still, she has persevered and finally she is seeing the results. Nine years later, she is seeing the fruit of her labors. Can we get a round of applaus for this incredible woman who stuck it out through the good times and bad? Because let's be honest, few of us would. Her story is book worthy but there is more waiting to happen.

Her project does nothing for free. Nothing. It doesn't matter if they charge 10 shillings ($0.12) to use their incredible library or Sh//3 to make a copy. They find sponsors similar to what one of my favorite ministries, Compassion International, does and then search appropriate schools for these slum children to attend. They do Jesus & Jobs. Currently boys and girls ages 5-30 are positively affected by the educational sponsorship through nursery, primary, secondary and college education they would other-wise not be receiving. Don't forget the discipleship of these precious people to come back and be leaders of their community, church and family. Apart from Allison, Ndogo is Kenyan run, and fabulous. 

Kenyan Culture Shock: I never knew education was such a big deal until I got here. If you don't go to primary school, you can't get into secondary school and never university. If you don't have an 8th grade certificate, which is academically hard to achieve, you will rarely have a decent job or do anything other than push a cart, sell things on the side of the road or drive a bike. I'm not exaggerating here. This is normal life. The way some families will live JUST so their children can go to school is un-imaginable. The amount of children who go without education because they can't afford the outrageous school fees is even more atrocious.

What did I learn last Friday? God uses whoever, whenever and wherever HE wants. I can try as hard as I can to get you to sponsor one of my favorite boys in the world through Agape's Kitanda sponsorship project, but God will move your heart, not me. And I would be so excited to hear that you sponsored a slum child through Allison's Ndoto. God uses different ministries in different continents, in different countries, in different regions and on different roads to do different things for the Least of These he tells us to serve every day. 

I'll post my Saturday and Sunday very soon, because they are equally as exciting.
Love to All! -Auntie Agape