God is in it

Today I went running through the Kibera slum. It was one of those things that if I would have thought about it longer than 30 seconds I probably would not have gone. We have six kids that are going to run a 10K race here in Nairobi in one week. We have to train and Kibera to these kids is not a dangerous, overpopulated place, it is their neighborhood. It was our only option as the space outside their school was muddy from the heavy rain last night. A couple of orphans from First Love’s girl’s home joined us, as well as the “aunty”. We were quite a site, 6 Kenyan juniors, 3 from the First Love home, and me, the muzungo (white person). We had little kids following us for blocks chanting “mzungo, muzungo” and “run faster!” – I wonder if they were talking to me? Swerving pot holes, raw sewage, and crazy matatus, we found ourselves running along the infamous train tracks that were filmed in the movie “Constant Gardener.” The run ended when we entered the school gate and the students who had stuck around after school began cheering for their unofficial cross country team. It was exhilarating and the best training run I have ever had!

We interviewed a girl named Phoebe today who needs a sponsor. She was precious and quiet like most 10 year old girls who have been through something like she has would be. She is cared for by her aunt after her parents were both hacked to death in the post election violence. Phoebe and her two younger siblings leave their home at 5:00 am so that she can arrive in time for the 7:00 am start to school. A two hour walk to school. I kept thinking about her parents tonight and their tragic, unnecessary deaths. I was reminded that yesterday as I sat in a hospital waiting room for 3 hours (I was accompanying my friend Agnes for a checkup, who last year was severely burned after a man threw gasoline on her and then lit her on fire) I saw two women who had survived the post-election violence. They were hiding in a church that was locked and doused with gasoline before it was lit on fire. The church had 50 women and children in it. Oh God, I don’t understand. These women had burn scars covering their face. Despite the apparent physical pain, they smiled contagiously and after emerging from the waiting room enjoyed the beautiful sun pouring down on the lusciously green Rift Valley.

Every day I feel like I have been given a rare gift. It is a gift from God in which I am allowed a glimpse of what just might go on at the core of his heart every day. Everyday God’s heart rejoices in our accomplishments, laughter, and rare peaceful moments. But thankfully because he is a real, live God he knows that life is not always so blissful. His heart breaks much more than ours ever could because he experiences not only my pain, but Phoebe’s when she found out about her parents being brutally killed, Agnes as the gasoline doused her skin and the fire spread over her face and neck, and he was even there with those precious children and women who sought false refuge in the church building. God carries that weight that I only get a glimpse of when I happen to hear a story or witness someone’s wounds. I am glad I am not God. I am glad I praise a God who is much bigger than this world’s sadness and destruction. I worship and have devoted my life to a God whose heart not only breaks when ours does, his power heals, restores, and gives us the courage to rejoice again and treasure that peace.