On Tuesday morning I walked from my cottage room to the dining hall and prayed for a shorter day than the previous one. The dream of being a little girl in Mathare Valley had left me short on sleep and I wasn’t sure how far I would make it. I remembered my life verse—I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength. I prayed for Jesus to give me what I needed and to help me lean on him for rest.
Although my body was a little travel weary, my mind and heart were ready to accept what God had in store for the day. I stood in my cottage room and loaded my small pack with the essentials. Our plans included visiting the Mathare school again. We were warned not to wear any jewelry or take anything that might make us targets in the valley. Yet, I found irony in feeling no fear about the day. Checking twice for bottled water, a granola bar, shillings, passport, pictures to share and my camera, I zipped up the pack and headed out the door to meet the team.
Staring out the window of the bus as we travelled through the serenity of the hills toward Nairobi, my mind wandered back to the previous day at the orphanage...
It was getting toward dusk as Alex maneuvered the bus into a narrow alley and wound his way around the garbage covered dirt-rock path toward the orphanage at Kariobangi. Finally, the yard was in sight. Red and gray uniformed figures dotted the open dirt area. Giggles permeated the air. The bus rolled through the dirt yard and a gang of children ran alongside waving in an attempt to get our attention. I smiled at their exuberance. And I watched one of the teachers shoo them out of the bus path and usher them into the concrete auditorium where we would be officially greeted.
Henry, the orphanage director, took us on a guided tour of the facilities. As I walked through the dorms and buildings of the orphanage, I imagined what it would be like to be one of 100 children sharing the commonality of no biological parents. Would I be thankful for the shelter, food, clothing, education and care? Would I realize that I would be out on the streets alone if not for the orphanage? Would I wonder what it’s like having parents and a home? Would I feel loved? Would I feel invisible? Or would I be able to experience the immutable love of a God who sees me and knows me by name?
My thoughts were interrupted with sound of over 100 students welcoming us in unison—“karibu”—as our team entered the open-air, concrete auditorium. This is where we would experience the talent of the each classroom…singing, dancing and reciting Bible verses to us…their new friends.
As I listened to the a cappella serenade, I felt the tap of a small hand on my shoulder. I turned to look straight into the eyes of a five-year-old boy with a sheepish grin on his face. He said, “Take a picture.” So, I snapped a memory of two bright smiles and turned the came
ra to show them. As I drank in their wonder over the picture, I considered how this might be the first time they had seen themselves. And I wondered if they felt invisible.
I pushed the feeling of sadness aside for a moment as I returned to focus on the current presentation by the group of high school students. The musical tones surrounded me and I felt compelled to really see each individual student. So, I scanned the singing group and focused on each child allowing our eyes to meet for a moment. This transaction took me from sitting in the audience to standing before the crowd…as an orphaned teenager. Can anyone see me? Can anyone see how much I cling to Jeremiah 29:11…looking for the hope and the future we are promised? Does anyone understand my grief? Does anyone have the answers to my questions?
The sense of invisibleness I once felt flooded my soul. God had prepared me for this moment with my own sense of rejection four years ago. During that time he showed me the story of Hagar and how much she understood this kind of pain as “Sarai treated her harshly and she fled from her presence.” (Genesis 16:6). Hagar left her home and fled to the wilderness and in the midst of discouragement and despair she encounters an angel of the Lord. The angel encourages her and provides direction. This is when Hagar understands she has encountered El Roi, the God Who Sees.
It comforts me to know that there is no place God cannot see…no place too dark…no place too remote…no place too forgotten by human minds. God sees Kariobangi Orphanage. He knows each child by name. He has not forgotten. He sees each child. And, now, so do I.
…My thoughts returned to the present moment as we arrived at the OCC parking area just outside Mathare Valley. It was time to return to the school in Mathare and share our stories with the children. Little did I know how much more I would learn that day!
Although my body was a little travel weary, my mind and heart were ready to accept what God had in store for the day. I stood in my cottage room and loaded my small pack with the essentials. Our plans included visiting the Mathare school again. We were warned not to wear any jewelry or take anything that might make us targets in the valley. Yet, I found irony in feeling no fear about the day. Checking twice for bottled water, a granola bar, shillings, passport, pictures to share and my camera, I zipped up the pack and headed out the door to meet the team.
Staring out the window of the bus as we travelled through the serenity of the hills toward Nairobi, my mind wandered back to the previous day at the orphanage...
It was getting toward dusk as Alex maneuvered the bus into a narrow alley and wound his way around the garbage covered dirt-rock path toward the orphanage at Kariobangi. Finally, the yard was in sight. Red and gray uniformed figures dotted the open dirt area. Giggles permeated the air. The bus rolled through the dirt yard and a gang of children ran alongside waving in an attempt to get our attention. I smiled at their exuberance. And I watched one of the teachers shoo them out of the bus path and usher them into the concrete auditorium where we would be officially greeted.
Henry, the orphanage director, took us on a guided tour of the facilities. As I walked through the dorms and buildings of the orphanage, I imagined what it would be like to be one of 100 children sharing the commonality of no biological parents. Would I be thankful for the shelter, food, clothing, education and care? Would I realize that I would be out on the streets alone if not for the orphanage? Would I wonder what it’s like having parents and a home? Would I feel loved? Would I feel invisible? Or would I be able to experience the immutable love of a God who sees me and knows me by name?
My thoughts were interrupted with sound of over 100 students welcoming us in unison—“karibu”—as our team entered the open-air, concrete auditorium. This is where we would experience the talent of the each classroom…singing, dancing and reciting Bible verses to us…their new friends.
As I listened to the a cappella serenade, I felt the tap of a small hand on my shoulder. I turned to look straight into the eyes of a five-year-old boy with a sheepish grin on his face. He said, “Take a picture.” So, I snapped a memory of two bright smiles and turned the came
ra to show them. As I drank in their wonder over the picture, I considered how this might be the first time they had seen themselves. And I wondered if they felt invisible.I pushed the feeling of sadness aside for a moment as I returned to focus on the current presentation by the group of high school students. The musical tones surrounded me and I felt compelled to really see each individual student. So, I scanned the singing group and focused on each child allowing our eyes to meet for a moment. This transaction took me from sitting in the audience to standing before the crowd…as an orphaned teenager. Can anyone see me? Can anyone see how much I cling to Jeremiah 29:11…looking for the hope and the future we are promised? Does anyone understand my grief? Does anyone have the answers to my questions?
The sense of invisibleness I once felt flooded my soul. God had prepared me for this moment with my own sense of rejection four years ago. During that time he showed me the story of Hagar and how much she understood this kind of pain as “Sarai treated her harshly and she fled from her presence.” (Genesis 16:6). Hagar left her home and fled to the wilderness and in the midst of discouragement and despair she encounters an angel of the Lord. The angel encourages her and provides direction. This is when Hagar understands she has encountered El Roi, the God Who Sees.
It comforts me to know that there is no place God cannot see…no place too dark…no place too remote…no place too forgotten by human minds. God sees Kariobangi Orphanage. He knows each child by name. He has not forgotten. He sees each child. And, now, so do I.
…My thoughts returned to the present moment as we arrived at the OCC parking area just outside Mathare Valley. It was time to return to the school in Mathare and share our stories with the children. Little did I know how much more I would learn that day!
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