August 1996

His Work Among the Luo People Of Kenya Go ... and make disciples of all nations Matthew 28:19
August 7, 1996

It's 4:30am. I've been awakened by the neighbor boys. They're plowing the cornfield just behind out back fence, not more than twenty feet from where we sleep. We have no glass windows here and lots of overhead ventilation. Sounded to me like they were plowing under my bed. It's the time honored way of farming. Four cows yoked together with a hand hewn and carved wooden yoke. They're using a single blade hand plow. I can hear it squeaking as it's pulled through this tough, hard, sun-dried soil. The boys are using a combination of whistles, catcalls, groans, and a constant wrap of their slender whip-like sticks on the backs of the cows to keep them going. I can tell for sure that one cow is named Owino. He's either the lead cow or the ornery one, I can't be sure which. Yesterday, Kit went with his 9 friends, to help plow the neighbor's field. Each of them had his trusty herd-boy stick in his hand. I felt sorry for the cows.

A coming furlough always makes me so nostalgic. I get so anxious to see you, so excited thinking about catching up on each others lives, so impatient to tell you all about our lives here and miracle of Jesus and our hope in Him. I start thinking about all the goodies I'll soon be eating, and how I can get dressed up everyday, wash my hair and blow dry it everyday, and how smooth the roads will be. I near faint at the thought of visiting a real honest-to-goodness library. But at the same time, I find it so difficult to wrench myself away from my life here where I seem to fit just right, and where I'm fulfilled and feel so much like this is where I fulfill His will to my best ability. I'm already missing this life and I'm still here! It is a long process trying to shed this world and get ready to step into yours. A process I don't ever successfully accomplish, I think. For before I even leave here, I begin to miss it desperately. Even plows and cows and little boys at 4:30am.

This last month I attended my last women's overnight of prayer . Talk about nostalgia. I was feeling it acutely at that meeting. They are a special group of women. We've been close co-workers in His cause for almost ten years now. These women are part of the Christian Hall of Fame. They've given up more than you can imagine, to take up their crosses and follow Him. These women are a part of my heart that I feel almost unable to leave behind. For the last 7 months, we've met at a different congregation to pray the night away. Each of them has given 100 shillings a month in public transportation costs to attend the meetings and encourage Christian women all over South Nyanza. 100 shillings a month is more to them than if you would give $100 per month to do the same thing. And this last month, they had a 100% group consensus to continue on with the plan and continue on with their sacrifice of 100 shillings per month for Jesus sake.

We met at the Gembe congregation, the most remote congregation in the district. Ester Okongo, one of these special women, hosted us in her home. It was Friday, late afternoon, and we were enjoying a cup of tea and some roasted peanuts after our long trip over dusty roads. The nostalgia washed over me. I was sitting by the door of Ester's mud house. Ester lives at the top of a hill, and looking out of her front door, there is a breathtaking view of Lake Victoria far below where I was sitting. Just outside the door, less than thirty feet away, was Ester's corral for her 40 plus cows, complete with their multitude of innumerable flies, standing knee deep in dung (the cows, that is, not the flies). Between me and the cows, Ester had laid out her years harvest of corn and bel (sorghum seeds) in the sun to dry. Ester's herd of about 20 goats were just being brought in from the fields for the night. Her son was driving them home with his inevitable herdboy's stick. They were leaping over the dried corn to reach their small corral around the other side of Ester's little mud house. Two of Ester's younger children were taking their bath in a little plastic basin just outside the front door. Another teenage girl was carrying water uphill with a jug on her head. I was so caught up in the nostalgia of this scene I love so well that I realized I had lost the thread of conversation the women were having over our cups of tea.

So, I turned back to the group of women inside the house and to my surprise and almost utter disbelief , I found they were telling stories about their mothers-in-law. In that instant and just for that split second, I was confused about where I was, in Kenya or in America. Mother-in-law stories!

"I remember the time I bought a little outfit for my first son when he was still a baby," Akeyo was saying. "It was a little pair of pants and a shirt, with a hat to match. I paid 5 shillings (about 10 cents) for that little outfit. A whole month later, my mother-in-law was still berating me for wasting money!"

I burst out laughing as they all turned to me with questioning looks on their faces. Ten minutes later, when I could breath again, I explained why I was laughing. We're not so different after all are we? Whether you live in a mud house, or in a mansion of stone and cement, there comes a time when all women have to complain (just a little bit) about their mothers-in-law.

I miss this place already. But I am anxious to see you too. Not long now. Take care. We love and appreciate you more than you will ever know.

PS. We did have a wonderful night of prayer after that cup of tea, and on Saturday, we finished our study of the book of Hebrews. Pray for these women. They do a wonderful work for Him, but they need your prayers to accomplish it.