Training in Nairobi

When one of our contacts sets up a gathering of new church planters we’ve not met before, it’s always exciting to see who will be there.  This was the case as we waited last Sunday for our ride to a training in Nairobi.  Pretty soon we were greeted by our friend Jimmy (of blue shirt fame) and taken through the hectic, crazy, fume-filled streets into one of the worst slums we’ve encountered.  Jimmy had rented a small cement open-air room for us to meet with men and women who live and work mostly in this area.  Now, there is a system in Africa we have grown quite accustomed to, and that is the issue of time.  There is U.S. time and there is Africa time.  For example, this morning, we were to be met at 10.  It’s now 11:30, and I am quite grateful to have the extra time for reflection and writing.  Jimmy told us that Africa has a lot more time than the U.S., and I think it’s true.  It seems here everything one wants to accomplish in one day easily happens.  For us (at least speaking for myself), we are extremely stressed, because we think we never have enough time.  Another reason why I love Africa so much.  There’s plenty of time! All of this to say, our Sunday meeting was scheduled for 9 a.m.  When we arrived at 9:30, there were a few men there and five or six women.  After singing and dancing for a while, the room was packed, with maybe 40 men and a dozen women.  It was then that each person was given the opportunity to introduce themselves and talk.  Now, for the African, this is a chance to stand up and say whatever is on your mind and heart for that day.  It could be anything…so again, the issue of time.  For Americans, would we take the time?  I doubt it.  It was so worth it, though.  When everyone had finished, I had a glimpse of each one, who they were, what they thought.  I also had a lot to say when it was finally my turn to speak! I had listened to a lot of men talk about this and that and the women, strong and confident, but clearly outnumbered, were sitting more or less content in their subservient role assigned by African culture.  Because of conversations with many Kenyan women, I have my own prejudices and frustrations, in agreement with theirs, concerning their demeaning roles and how they are treated.  This only fueled the flame when one man spoke and expressed his disappointment over the time in March, when Roger made a quick and hasty departure back to the U.S. when our son was so very close to death.  His disappointment was real in that Roger had been able to spend time in other parts of Kenya, but now due to this family crisis was not able to be with them in Nairobi.  He questioned did we not have enough faith to believe that God would heal Tim and that Roger could stay here and continue with God’s work?  No need to say, I was fuming!  This man does not represent all African men, in fact, many that we work closely have a primary commitment to their families.  But, for many other men, like this one, their priorities place wife and children at the bottom of the list. Notwithstanding this good man’s intention to honor Roger, I thought this perhaps an opportune moment to speak into the lives of the men and women present…hopefully, without offense.  I gathered my thoughts quickly and hoped for love and grace in the message.  The women, typical of others I’ve met, were strong.  One, a refugee from war-torn Uganda, another a widow, and others, others are wives who are severely neglected, and yet all of them existing, supporting, sustaining any way they can their own lives and the lives of their children.  I had to tell them how happy I was they were there.  I blessed, encouraged, affirmed and spoke of my joy and gratitude in the work of the men and how much I respected their persevering efforts.  “But,” I said, “Women, the men are doing a good, good job, but they need our help.  They have not been able to do this alone.  Thank you for what you are doing, because without us women Kenya will not be changed.  It hasn’t happened til now and without us, it won’t.”  You should have seen them jump up and clap with smiles and giggles of delight.  I then turned to the man, front row, of course, and told him how much I thanked God for Roger, his commitment to me as his wife, his commitment to our marriage.  Is it not true that “church” starts at home before we can go out and share God’s love with our neighbor?  Roger reflects this.  His faith for his son was not the question.  He had faith enough to believe that if God so desired, He would send him back to Kenya.  More importantly, when I had called and said, “Our son is dying,” he came to his side…and mine.  Did he not teach more in that moment what it means to love his wife as Christ loves the church?  Did he not reflect more to the Kenyan what it means to be the church, a disciple of Christ, than any teaching he could have done otherwise?  It is only in being loved that we can love.  I pray the women in Kenya will be so loved and respected and honored and lifted up.