PROCESSOR OVERLOAD

Every woman that afternoon had opened her heart in a way she had not done before. There was a bond that occurred among the African women that would open the door for future sharing. It was evident these women all shared the same struggles—being a pastor’s wife and fulfilling the expectations of their church families. Even half way around the world they struggle with the same woes as the pastor’s wives I’ve been friends with here in the States.

After the testimonies were given, we shared a scrumptious lunch together. The men—expecting us three hours earlier--were waiting back at OCC for us. It had been a long afternoon. And as we prepared to leave Magdalene’s house, I pondered the irony of how I felt that morning—frustrated by the little time I had to gather stories. This afternoon I had been inundated with them and I wasn’t sure how I would process it all.

The ride back to OCC seemed like it lasted a lifetime. I was fidgety and anxious and needed some space to breath. Staring out the window on the bus, I observed all the congestion—cars and people alike—and felt my world shrinking to the point of hyperventilation. When would the bus arrive? I breathed deeply and closed my eyes. And my memory bombarded me with images of the previous days…

…on our first day travelling through the streets of Nairobi in daylight, I absorbed every cultural detail I could. Dirt paths where sidewalks would reside in an American city…piles of trash dotting the landscape…three lanes of traffic where only two lanes were marked…30 people crammed into matutus designed to hold 15…Hijab-covered Muslim women sprinkled among the modernly dressed…workers sweeping the leaves from the dirt sidewalks…tent villages juxtaposed with manicured mansions…and the vision of a sidewalk merchant striking a thief to protect his goods.

The merchant-thief scene carried with me the rest of the trip. In the 60 seconds it took to pass the scene that morning, I saw the merchant wield a large stick against the head of a grubby, lanky older male causing a gash that bled profusely. As the man raised his hand to protect himself, I witnessed the stick strike his hand leaving his fingers to hang in an unnatural position. Where did one seek medical care? Unless a person has the money in hand to pay the medical fee, a doctor won’t even see him. What would become of this thief? Should I care? Was he hungry with children at home who hadn’t eaten for days? Where do I file this in my processor, Lord? There were no easy answers. I wasn’t in America anymore…and I wasn’t tucked away in the recesses of small town living any longer…and I found that I didn’t want to be.

…Finally, the bus arrived at OCC. I’m not sure how long I had been holding my breath, but, it found its way free as I stepped down from the bus. Craig looked at me like I was turning green and asked if I was alright. Knowing I was apparently wearing my feelings on my face, I said, “I’m not sure what happened in me today. I had an unpleasant experience and I really just need some time to process.”

I was unusually quiet on the ride back to Brackenhurst. When we arrived, I felt an overwhelming need for prayer. Jennie had been conversing with every woman she could back at Magdalene’s house and on the bus ride back she hopped from seat to seat praying with each woman who requested it. Now, it was my turn.

Grabbing Jennie’s arm to get her attention, I said, “Listen, Comforter….I think I need your prayer services right now. Can you do that?”

Jennie replied, “Of course. Follow me to my room?”

“Yep, thanks.”

As we seated ourselves on Jennie’s bed, I lay my concerns in her lap. She put her arm around me and proceeded to lift my petitions toward heaven. I felt myself relax and I embraced Jennie’s role as comforter on this trip. Not only was she here to bring comfort to the brokenhearted in Mathare Valley, she was also here to help comfort her own team member who couldn’t find the words to pray herself. How amazing it was that we were building a new family unit so far from home.

Tomorrow would be a better day.