In 2007 I was excited as we planned for our trip to Kenya. Gary had been to Kenya in 2005, and he and Allie had been to Chile in 2006, but this would be our first mission trip as a family. By the time we boarded the plane our bags were filled with supplies to teach Bible studies, materials to do crafts with the children, and everything I could possibly think of we may need for two weeks away from everything familiar. We were ready for anything. What I didn’t prepare for was the feeling that came over me as I climbed down the stairs of the plane into the early morning air of Nairobi. The smells of the cooking fires, the sounds of the city waking up, the feel of the air on my skin, all swept me away. In that moment I knew God had called my heart to Kenya and I was home.
As we gathered our bags and prepared for the eight hour drive to the village where we planned to stay and work for the next two weeks, a storm was brewing. We were aware Kenya had held a presidential election a few days before, but assumed whatever party won, the transition would be a smooth one. After all, the smooth transition of power is one of the hallmarks of a democracy, and Kenya had been a beacon of democracy in East Africa for many years. As we rode in the unairconditioned vans, we couldn’t believe our eyes—baboons walked lazily down the side of the road, some with babies on their backs; zebra grazed in fields; motorcycles whizzed by loaded with firewood and even goats; we shared the road with wooden carts filled with goods pulled by mules; and matatus with fringe in the windows, blaring music, were filled to overflowing with people. We were blissfully unaware of any problems until we reached the halfway point in our journey—Nakuru.
Our drivers made an unexpected stop and we became aware of the first hint of the problems to come. The election results had just been announced; rioters were beginning to gather, and the epicenter of the unrest was the area where we were headed. It was not safe for us to continue our journey to our original destination; we would be stuck in Nakuru for the foreseeable future. We were driven to the Hotel Kunste, which sat behind a tall, thick wall, and prepared to wait until it was safe to continue our trip. However, we soon realized that the chaos and violence would not end quickly. By the end of January when order was restored, the violence would claim the lives of over 1,300 people and roughly 600,000 people had fled their homes, many never to return. In the area where we were originally to go, a church sheltering about 200 people from the violence was burned to the ground by rioters on New Years Day.
Although we were isolated and not where we were supposed to be, God used us those two weeks. Our days did not look like what we had so meticulously planned. (Kind of like 2020.) At our hotel we met another church group from the US, and we worked together to paint a school building for kids who had been rescued from the street. We went with a group who ministered to street children who huffed glue and feed them beans and rice and shared Jesus. We spent time at the Red Cross IDP (Internally Displaced People) camp listening to their stories, playing with children, doing whatever we could to help. We took buckets of foodstuffs to widows living in the city dump among the refuse, flys and pigs and were blessed beyond measure. The way we saw the world and our place in it was forever changed.
At the end of those two weeks we had to somehow get back to Nairobi for our flight home. The roads were still dangerous and blocked by gangs and rioters, but our driver, Peter, had a plan. For much of our journey we traveled on back roads, literally dirt trails. Sometimes he would get a call and we would leave the road and drive through fields, bumping our heads on the top of the van and praying we did not get stuck. After several hours of anxiety and bumps and dust, we arrived safely at the Presbyterian Guest House in Nairobi where we could shower, have dinner, and wait until it was time to leave for the airport for our midnight flight home. As I stood outside in the courtyard talking on the phone, I turned around and saw the cornerstone of the building. On it was the verse, “Then Samuel took a stone and set it between Mizpah and Shen, and named it Ebenezer, saying, ‘Thus far the LORD has helped us.’”1 Samuel 7:12 It was a reminder to me that God had been with us all along and kept us safe. Nothing in our journey had been a surprise to Him. He had provided opportunities for us to share His love where we were, not where we thought we needed to be. He used the time we were there to solidify in my heart a love for the people of Kenya that continues to grow. “Thus far” also reminds me He’s not done with me yet.
Having cancer during COVID has felt kind of like our time at the Hotel Kunste; walled off from the world, unable to continue to do the things I had planned to do, waiting to see what the future brings. Just when I think I have been sidelined by cancer and no longer useful to God, He has provided opportunities I never could have imagined to share His love. Heading to surgery feels kind of like that wild ride to Nairobi through the bush; racing into the unknown at breakneck speed. Surgery any time is anxiety producing, but the thought of walking into that hospital on my own without my family there is overwhelming. But I won’t really be on my own. God has been with me every step of the way and has brought me safe thus far. He will walk beside me on the rest of this journey. As I head into surgery on the 31st, I will set my own Ebenezer Stone as a reminder of God’s constant care and faithful love, and as a symbol of my faith in His continued provision.
Here I raise my Ebenezer
Here there by Thy great help I’ve come
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure
Safely to arrive at home
Jesus sought me when a stranger
Wandering from the fold of God
He, to rescue me from danger
Interposed His precious blood
Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing by Chris Rice
T.S.CONLAY 