Habari friends, family, others who have stumbled across the blog,

Two weeks have flown by since the last blog post. It is hard for us to fathom that we’ve been in Kenya two and a half months. We’ve been too busy to be homesick, yet we’ve missed the color change and fall of the leaves in Wisconsin, we’ve missed the first snow fall. Last week in church, I had an acute attack of longing for Luther Memorial—for the worshipful, quiet, reverent awe-filled liturgy, the familiar (and formal) hymns, the wonderful complex harmonies of the choir and Bruce Bengtson’s masterful leadership. I cried silently while the prayer was hollered (definitely not a Lutheran pray-er). After the service (and a thoughtful sermon by Pastor Muhota), we had our communion of bread cubes and grape juice—and yet—yet God was there in that service and in that communion every bit as much as at Luther Memorial.

Over the past two weeks, we’ve seen about 4 children who have big heads and essentially no brain tissue—it is so hard to make decisions about treatment for them when so many other children need operations—and will have benefit from them. We have been inundated with sick children—there are beds lining the corridor; still Bethany Kids at Kijabe Hospital (BKKH) has had to turn away hypoxic children because of lack of bed space. Probably 2/3 of the children are on the neurosurgery service, the rest are on the paediatric or general surgery service. On Monday, a child came in to OPD pulseless and not breathing---we started CPR but we had no working oxygen or suction—not to mention any medications; it was unsuccessful. The baby’s name was Pollyanne and she was 4 days younger than my granddaughter Evelyn. She had hydrocephalus and spina bifida—we will never know why she died—maybe seizures, maybe a shunt malfunction, maybe something else. I sat with the RN, Chaplain Mercy, and Pollyanne’s mum while we told her that the baby had died. It’s hard for me because Mercy believes fervently that spina bifida, death, illness, all are part of God’s will and we need to accept that. I sit silently through these explanations—I admire and respect Mercy but I adamantly disagree—I don’t believe any of this is God’s will. Later, I stood with the baby’s father while he held Pollyanne’s hand and wept. He finally said something—Agnes the RN translated it for me. “He says, ‘Why did God let this happen?’” Then everyone waited for my response. Finally, I said, “I don’t know why God allows these things to happen. I do know that God stays with us through every terrible time.” I had nothing more to say—I still don’t know the answer to his question.

We were blessed this week by a visit from Scott Ward and David Etzwiler, two gentlemen (and I mean that literally) who are leaders of Medtronic Foundation, the charitable arm of a medical device company that is very generously supporting our work here. Through them, Medtronic Foundation has donated funds for wireless/highspeed internet to be developed at Kijabe Hospital. The company has also been instrumental in funding the pediatric neurosurgery fellowship that Leland is offering here. It was good to talk with people whose accent I can easily “read.” (They are from Min-ne-soh-ta). They spent 3 days in the OR with Leland—and were a bit blown away when they arrived in the OPD—the cacophony of languages, babies crying, the SHEER NOISE just amazed them. On Wednesday, we drove with them to Mary and Stephen Njenga’s ministry in Ebburu north of Naivasha. There they have established a school for 125 children—most of whom are “functional” orphans with little effective parenting. As soon as we got out of the car, we were overrun with little hands reaching out for us—most of the children had never touched a muzungu before—I had about 5 children on each arm (some of whom were trying hard to see if my white color would rub off). Leland made the mistake of putting a small child on the roof of the car and suddenly had about 30 children to lift up and down. Scott acquired instant friends by taking everyone’s picture; David made a great hit with the kids by using a rugby ball as a missile to shoot the well-ensconced soccer ball out of a tree (made more exciting by the presence of a very active beehive in said tree.)

Mary and Stephen have a dream--to have a ministry to the children and families in that small town on a mountaintop. They have bought some acreage and have built the school. A dormitory for boarding students is nearing completion. Mary works 6 days a week at Kijabe Hospital (she is head nurse of the OR) and then goes up to cook for the children—they realized early on that the children needed nutritious food in order to learn in school. Mary also has a clinic nearby—and they are farming on the land—planning to add 997 more goats to the 3 that they already have. Their vision is to be self-sustaining in 9 more years. The land formerly belonged to a British “Baron” who used Italian POWs to build a Tuscan villa overlooking the Abedere mountains and Lake Naivasha. As we toured the ruins of the house, Stephen reminded us of how futile it is to build treasures on earth, where rust and moth decay—instead of building treasure in heaven. It isn’t often one has such a stark reminder of that.

That is the impressive quality of so many of the Kenyans we have met here in Kijabe—they not only have dreams but they use the few resources they have to follow their dreams. If we look at the needs of Kenya with human eyes, we are tempted to throw up our hands and say the needs are too vast to even begin to address. Yet so many people are taking a small piece and saying, “yes, with God’s help, we CAN.” They are answering the call they hear. Can you imagine what the world would be like if we all did that?

Well, the electricity has just gone off for the third time in about 10 minutes—again reminding me of the quirks of living here. I drove for the first time yesterday—white knuckles all the way (for both me and Leland—he kept muttering something about falling off the side of the road). It was exhilarating (though we appreciated that more after getting home). The weather is downright Portlandesque—it changes from misty moisty morning to brilliant sunshine to driving rain to spectacular sunset. (The weather is the only thing that could remotely be called Portlandesque).

The most striking and wonderful facet of our lives here is the opportunity to minister to the mums and children—we have opportunities every day to show the love of Christ, to be his hands, voice. I talked with one young single mom whose baby has hydranencephaly—absence of the brain above the level of the brainstem. With Mercy’s help, I explained that the child (about 16 months) would never see or hear, would never speak, would always be like a newborn baby—and no surgery would change that fact. She cried—then on her way out of the hospital with her baby strapped to her back, she came to OPD—to thank me; we hugged. Those are the moments when I hope the people feel God’s arms, not mine, holding them.

Please continue to pray that we do the work that God wants done here—that we follow and not go our own way. We also pray for you—that God will lead you in your corner of his world—to be his hands, voice, feet, mind to the people to whom you minister.

Till next time…
The Lord bless you and keep you.
The Lord make his face shine on you and be gracious to you.
The Lord look upon you with favor and give you peace.

Susan