Saturday, May 30, 2009

"And now Mama Vinton has a few thoughts to share with us," the village
chairman loudly announced in Swahili. I certainly hadn't planned that this
morning I would be in a cemetery, but Mjei had been at my door first thing
in the morning to let me know that Lidia had died and would I please come.
Lidia was from the village of Mkonge, a tough place where tea picking is the
local occupation and AIDS reigns. People drink a lot and really my Mkonge
friends are a troublesome lot. When I arrived at the pre-burial, I was
invited in to talk to a group of the village leaders. The conversation, of
course, quickly moved to the whole matter of AIDS. I said that as
Christians, since "Christ will always be with us," that we should lead the
people through this time of fear and be the first to go and get tested and
to show the way, and that if we don't have the virus, following Christ's
example, we have to help our neighbors who do. Really, I didn't know that
morning who my audience was (Christian or not), so I was a little surprised
when the village chairman asked Mjei to go call the village "catechist" (as
in most villages here, the little catholic church in Mkonge doesn't have a
priest so they have a man called a catechist who normally leads their
services) so that we could talk about that! It was a great conversation,
and that is how I ended up, at the catechist's insistence, next to Lidia's
grave telling the crowd about HIV/AIDS and the special responsibilities that
those who are Christians have during this terrible time. I let them know
that it affects absolutely everyone: the good, the bad, the Christians, the
pagans, the Muslims, all ages and every color of person alive. I asked them
to recognize the miracle that somehow God in His great mercy and brought
right here to our villages - we have free testing, free transport, free
medicine -- all we have to do is to not reach out and accept it. Just as it
is with God's gift of salvation - free - all we have to do is reach out and
accept it - so it is with help in these villages for those who are sick. I
asked them to be part of the solution - to go get tested, and to help those
who are ill, and those who are widowed, and those who are orphaned. The
women cheered wildly, and a few men chuckled, and a few others looked away.


Lidia left her twin sons who are in the 7th grade. It breaks my heart.

And then there is Luka. I was about to leave for his village of Lulanda
when we learned that we had lost Luka's mom. On Friday, I had sent Luka
home from school with a small gift and greetings for his mom, only for Luka
to arrive home to the wails of family and neighbors. He was the third
student of ours to lose a mom or dad this month. The obstacles to getting
our "high risk kids" through school are great, but I am convinced that they
are one of the reasons that God sent us to these particular villages at this
time. We packed up and started on our journey because I wanted to make sure
Luka would return to school, and wouldn't you know it after a few kilometers
into the journey, there was Luka and a few of our Lulanda kids looking
slightly like refugees, carrying huge bundles on their heads so that they
could return to school. We packed them all into my car and took them back
to our village. Luka's future isn't bright, it isn't bright at all, but
there is hope, hope in our loving Father and His goodness.

This whole AIDS outreach is a walk in faith in which I can't pretend that I
know all of the answers. Sometimes I don't even know what to pray for. I
remember while Steve was in the States, our bus Huruma ("Compassion") was in
serious need of repairs, so we made the decision to pull her off the route
and to borrow the big Fuso truck so people could get to the hospital. That
was a very hard month with so many complications and frustrations and
heartaches that I just asked God for help without even knowing how to
propose to Him what help I thought I needed! You can only imagine my
overwhelming joy and relief when Steve returned from America with "Namba
Mbili" (Number Two is what they call our new bus). And to top it off, that
beautiful new bus was carrying 25 cases of baby formula! My heart sang,
"Thank you Lord, .." And it hasn't stopped singing.

Because this second bus looks just like Huruma (hence the name Namba Mbili),
a lot of people thought at first that perhaps we had just bought some new
curtains to spruce it up a bit, but after hearing its motor going down and
around the hills (every vehicle has it's own distinctive sound, something
you learn when you're in a place with so few vehicles), they knew that God
had indeed sent a new bus. Another intervention. Without the continual
interventions that I know in my heart has come from Him, these people would
not have free transport and free treatment, and very few kids in these
villages would still have mothers and fathers. Every time I see our bus
filled with people heading to the hospital, I recognize the miracle of it
all. These folks would all be dead had He not intervened.

But God intervenes through people! And so I want to thank all of you who
over the past three years have helped in one way or another. I really do
thank you. You have done a great thing.

In His service,
Susan