I am still going

I woke up this morning from texts from my sisters. My dad called, then my best friend Jade. They all had one question: “Are you still going?”

“What?” I responded, “what are you talking about?”

“There was a terrorist attack in Kenya, 147 killed.”

My heart sank. Tears formed in my eyes. So many questions raced through my head. Where was the attack? Who did it? ARE MY KIDS OKAY? I quickly grabbed my computer and googled “terrorist attack in Kenya”, a search term I dreaded typing with every keystroke. My heart pounded as I considered all the possibilities.  The thought of terrorism was hitting more close to home. I quickly scanned through the articles looking for anything familiar. I mapped out the distance from the attack to the school I’m planning to move to. I looked for any familiar names or faces. Those faces I did not recognize, but my heart still ached for a people I consider my own.

Three years ago, I made my first trek to Kenya, 1 year ago I went again, and 5 months ago I decided to move there. Unbothered by the threat of disease, unmoved by the “potential” risk of terrorism. Unfazed by the distance from home, the limited internet, and the lack of modern conveniences. My resolve never changed: “I’m moving to Kenya. My heart is already there.” It had become an automatic response anytime anyone questioned my move or my motives. The Lord is calling me there, surely I can face any of these “risks.” Surely, right?

This morning my resolve was shaken. My once automatic response replaced with an unsteady unsureness. My faith tested. “Am I really brave enough?” I asked myself.

The articles I’ve read about the attack say they separated the Christians from the Muslims, then executed all the Christians. These young students gathered for morning prayer and killed for their faith, for their belief in the one true King, killed for their devotion to the Father. Could I be that brave?

Probably not. But thankfully I don’t have to rely on my strength and courage. As Paul wrote, “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.” Dying is not the end, it’s the beginning of eternity. To be sure, I am filled with fear at the thought of moving to a country privy to terrorist attacks, but am I still going? Yes, I am still going. Of course, I am still going. Aren’t my kids still there? Is not my heart already there? Have I not been praying for this move?

Putting my life on the line for Christ just got more real for me. But isn’t that the way it should be. Shouldn’t believers of Christ be considered the crazy ones, the bold ones, the daring ones? My prayers aren’t that the Lord would keep me safe and comfortable while I am there, but that I would be poured out for Him and be used to spread His message and give Him glory. I’ll let Him figure out the rest.

“Kristen, did you hear what happened? Are you still going?”

“Yes, I am still going.”

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One Journey- -Two Years

God is eternal. He has no time, no beginning, and no ending. He has lived all of our yesterdays and all of our tomorrows. His story is better than the finest book crafted by the finest author. This is what happens when God is the author— all of His glory and redemptive power on full display. How can I know that God has lived all of my days? Well because what was two years in my life, was just a blink in Eternity.

I don’t even know where to begin. I guess it started two years ago when I heard God calling me to Kenya. I answered his call. I didn’t share the gospel. I didn’t talk about God. I formed relationships.

It was then that I met Elizabeth and her brother Charles. After some warming up, they welcomed me in their home in the Kibera slums. Though just a few cardboard boxes stitched together, it was their home and they were proud of every inch of it. My first Sunday back, I saw Elizabeth again, the tall, lanky, shy teenage girl. She briefly smiled and waved and continued to go on her way. Her brother, on the other hand, being polar opposites, greeted me excitedly when he saw me, recalling our last meeting together. Charles proudly shared that he and his sister now lived at Sadili, and his mom had a job working at the pool. It was as if two years had not passed between our last meeting.

I wanted badly for the same with Elizabeth, but I knew I couldn’t rush it. I knew she’d have to open to me again, to trust me again, to believe in me again. Well after a few brief interactions, the spark was ignited. She opened up like a gift on Christmas morning. Then, just like that, I was standing after dinner talking about the gospel to a group of about 8 girls and 2 boys. Enamored, they clung to my every word, asking questions, and then it was Elizabeth, shy Elizabeth that said “tomorrow, we will meet again.” Yes, tomorrow we can meet again, I thought, it’s just too few tomorrows. But God has no limits.

 

Married to Jesus

Sitting at dinner with the girls, we jokingly said who was dating whom, and which girl had a crush on which guy. They kind of talk that makes girls giggle and blush. Then, one of them asked me about my boyfriend. And I said that I didn’t have one. Elizabeth’s brother, Charles, who had migrated over to the table at this point, asked pretty seriously, “well why not?” After thinking for a minute, I knew I had two options: I could continue the lighthearted joking conversation or I could speak the truth and share the good news of Jesus Christ. I chose the latter.

“Well, God hasn’t chosen anyone for me yet, so I’m married to Jesus until he gives me a husband,” I began, “And he’s the best husband because he’s good and kind.”  Elizabeth beamed, “I like that…I like that a lot”

At this point, I noticed that I had garnered quite the gathering, and I was standing up. This outside eating area, built on a garbage site, with all reused and recycled material had become my pulpit and these kids my congregation. They asked me about dating, and church, and relationships. Two Muslims girls sat listening electrified. At one point I was interrupted, and they all said what were you saying about Jesus. When they departed, a few of the kids asked if we could talk more tomorrow. And I smiled and said yes.

Then, I recalled all the people who questioned me about this trip. “What are you going to do?” “So is this a mission trip?” You’re going to teach tennis where?” Why are you going all the way to Africa?”

My response now. Tennis is the means. God is the end. My life is a mission trip.