Our Child Went Missing

69433603_888739851485226_5182694137949847552_nMy Song of Praise today (EXTREMELY LONG TESTIMONY ALERT) : I have not slept much in the last two days. For different reasons, but last night it was because my heart and mind actively remained in a state of worship and praise. Let me share why:

Yesterday – early afternoon – my daughter Shukri left the house to take a walk. She needed time alone to clear stuff on her mind. Gio – my grandson – and I relaxed inside a duvet to watch a cartoon movie as we waited for her to return. I had been writing until around 5am, so i appreciated this time for a series of short power naps. My phone was on a charger beyond my reach so i temporarily ignored the text that came in but then it begun to ring. It was Shukri.

“Mami, please call me back!” I loaded my phone with units wondering what this was about.
“Mami, I have run into Aunty Kitty. She is crying. Leroy has been missing since Sunday. They have not found him and they don’t know what to do. Please come.”

I shot like ten rapid questions at her trying to understand what she was saying but what I now remember is saying “Ok I am on my way.”

I showered quickly – my friend Kitty is extremely keen on things like that🙃 – dressed and left. I had called her first, but she wept mostly and I cried with her before telling her that I was on my way. I started getting that ‘floating feeling’ and prayed “God, please lead me to Leroy so I give Kitty good news when I see her.”

I went to the road but our regular bodaboda (motorbike taxi) guys were not there. I flagged one down, but he wanted too much money for the distance I was going. All this while God kept me in His deep, perplexing peace. I talked to everyone i met on that road – asking if they may have seen him, describing him, telling them to bring him to where we stayed or to the police station if they saw him. I was feeling very light headed and a bit wobbly on my feet and I realized that my BP was getting dangerously high. From the back of my head I noticed a bodaboda heading the opposite direction and called out to him.

We agreed on the fare and I hopped on telling this stranger my mission as I did.
He said “Haiya, I saw him. On Sunday afternoon. He was headed towards Soweto – Kayole. He had on a grey track trouser and green shirt and he behaved as though he was a little out of his mind. I remember him.” (Leroy lives with autism)

Ok…what are the chances…God was already answering our prayers. We met with Kitty, hugged and cried a bit and then Denno the bodaboda guy (God bless him…please bless him) repeated his story. Kitty showed him Leroy’s photo and he confirmed that that was the child he had seen. They exchanged numbers…just in case, and we released him.

We held hands and prayed then decided to walk to Kayole – hmmmm none of us had any idea how far that was (actually I did but my brain was on autopilot…) – as we walked we talked to anyone we met, familiar or not. At one point we got to an apartment building whose caretaker is fondly nicknamed ‘Odiero’. I shared our story with him. A well-dressed man was seated next to him. They asked for our contact details just in case and promised to tell others as well. The well dressed gentleman said to us “We will look but you must also know that some Kenyans are not good people and may ha…” I stopped him there. ” I need for Mama Leroy to be strong…so I understand what you are saying, but we cannot listen to you.”
“But I am just saying so that you know. Some…” I stopped him. Said thanks to everyone and we – Kitty, Shukri and I went on our way. He who has ears…you know we meet well-meaning people like these in our individual pilgrims and sometimes, unfortunately, are them.

We got to where we currently live, and met with a group of pastors who are my immediate neighbors. They told us to go to Soweto Police station as that is where he would be if anyone found him. They also advised us not to ‘catch feelings’ if the police were rude to us – they would be just testing us to see if we genuinely cared. We agreed and took two bodabodas – one with Shukri and Kitty and the other with me (I am wide load – not able to share 🙈)

The ride over the sewage flooded Soweto bridge with its murky green waters brought terrifying thoughts 🥺that I quickly pushed back “God, I KNOW that You are leading us to Leroy. You will not let us down.”

We got to the police station and were warmly received and served by the police officers we found. They too assured us that he would be found. Kitty’s Mum had joined us. She had been searching all of the previous night and all of this day, everywhere including in hospitals. The police told us that if anyone had found him, he would most probably be at a children’s home. We passed by the now closed chief’s camp and begun our walk through the slums of Soweto, looking for Leroy, looking through the children’s homes. One after another, they wished us well but said he had not been by.

Finally we got to one called ‘By Grace’ now in Kayole. The lady received us as she continued to cut vegetables. We repeated Leroy’s details and she looked straight at me and said he had been brought in the morning by police. “You must be his mother – you look exactly the same.” I smiled and shook my head and pointed at Kitty’s retreating back…she was weeping again.

“I was not able to take him in because I was full but I want to assure you that he is well and safe.” She continued. ” I could tell that he was not a street child but a well cared for one who baths every day” she said smiling gently.

We thanked her and went to look in the two police locations she had pointed us towards: Komarock and Mihang’o. We had no idea where those were but if Leroy had found his way there, so would we. Outside the home though, we met a friendly “Mama mboga” (Lady vegetable seller). She strongly advised us to first of all pass by the DO’s office as that was where such cases were first reported. She almost physically hauled us into a matatu…God bless you dear angel.

We got to the DOs and linked arms as we walked to the reception of the small police post. Kitty kept telling me “We will find him here.”

We repeated our story to the kind looking female officer…and the two others with her in the booth. She smiled and turned and picked her phone talking as she did. I cannot for the life of me remember what she was saying…just that Leroy was safe. She called a lady who still happened to be in the compound. Susan Owuor Njuguna runs a children’s program called Elroi Hope Center (Leroy:Elroi – see our God!!! El Roi is also a Hebrew name for God – ‘The God Who Sees me”).

The officer introduced us to her and she smiled. Took out her phone and showed use a photo of our baby taken that morning. Ok…here we all broke down and wept as we went into a worship session to the One Who sees us. Kitty ran to the gate saying she would only let up when she saw Leroy. We talked a bit with Susan. She reassured us over Leroy’s well being and that we would go home with him that night.

We got into a very noisy matatu headed to Mihang’o to meet a lady called Maggie who would give us our child. She is a child officer in Komarock. We kept asking the conductor if we were there yet. While alighting the conductor gave further directions to the police station
Vukeni barabara na mupenye hako ka chum hiyo pande ingine. Tembeeni mpaka mwisho utaona kwa polisi.” before whistling sharply and banging the matatu with his hand and taking off. We laughed at this delightful way of showing us the way. ‘Ka chum…”  😂😅.An elderly light skinned lady smiled at us and repeated the instructions in proper Swahili – telling us basically to walk through a path on the opposite side of the road till its end.

It was now about 7pm…and we were at the edge of Kayole. With no idea where we were and how we would get back home…just knowing that we had to have Leroy with us when we did.

We called Maggie and she came to us and led us into the police station. We met with the Child Officer attached to this station – Nduta – who had was already well on her way home before she was called back to assist us in releasing Leroy. They verified Kitty’s relationship with Leroy and then went to get him. Here Kitty broke and wept. And we all joined her when Leroy walked in. He too was in tears. Quietly, gently. We lifted up praise and the police must have taken a photo then.

Back home Leroy’s Nanny and little sisters met us with tearful hugs and we sung along 70201976_888728864819658_5975010660830937088_o.jpgwith a neighbor and praised God. He is worthy. He is Worthy.

We are so grateful for the destiny helpers He sent to protect Leroy on the two nights he was alone, and yesterday (For all who prayed, were kind to him, kept him for us, may you experience The God of Leroy in very special ways in your lives. To Soweto Police, Tassia Police Post, Buruburu Police Station, Kayole Police Station, DO’s Office Kayole, By Grace Children’s Home Kayole, And ESPECIALLY TO Missing Child Kenya, Child officers Maggie (Komarock) and Nduta (Kayole), Susan Owuor Njuguna (Elroi) and the Askari’s who sheltered him Monday night, as well as Denno the bodaboda angel who pointed us to look towards Kayole, to Shukri and Nancy… May God raise you and yours up to Himself to shower you with His Glory in every way. Thank you. Thank You ABBA.).

Truly grateful to Nancy, Sammy and their family for coming to take us home🙌…that’s how we did it and for everyone who prayed, called, searched with us, encouraged us…God bless you.

vipslit@yahoo.ca

#ComeUpHereAndSee #OurAllseeingHope#IHaveAnotherReasonToPraiseTheLORD

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Mud in the House of God

Its been weeks of this…pain…increasing pain, escalating pain –  and then its been a week of intense pain.  I am sitting at a women’s meeting in a church near where I have walked my walk of faith for the last seven years. The worship has bought me peace but the pain, the darkness that clings tenaciously around my heart and head. I deny the weariness I have felt. The onset of my menses come with the call from God and His chosen servant to go in a fast, for this in indeed the gong of a new season. I have danced this morning, for the songs God chose for His daughters this day, resonate with the balm my entire life craves. I am not trying to impress God, nor any of His daughters…am fighting to find Him in this situation. I want to see my Daddy Eternal.

You see, with the silence of family- of friends, with the advice that I have received that points more to the grave…echoes the hollow taste of being useless to the world because you have measured your life by the standards of a system under which you no longer operate. I hear in my mind – a lot – “Did God really say that to you?” “But that is not really God’s MO.” “If this is how God treats you, then I would not follow Him.” “You are foolish to throw your entire lot with Him – you must leave Him just a little and throw your whole lot into surviving this world.” And the ache of hearing the comforted comfortable with whom I have stood saying to me “Your life is worth nothing without money – now look, where will you and your family live.”

I look down at my shoes, cheap rubber shoes, precious to me for they are a sign of a walk I have taken with my God. They remind me of the day God took me to view a house in an area I would never have afforded,even if i had turned my back to Him when He took me on this beloved stroll. They remind me of the many places, the many gates I have knocked, the many doors slammed on my face, the trips to my ATM – hoping and them weeping. They remind me of the morning, earlier this week, when I dared try take a step without them and ended up back home in less than five minutes with muddy sewage clinging on my sandled feet, all the way up my thighs, and up my beautiful orange dress and my sleeveless arms after falling into a pool that stood between me and the place I needed to get to. They remind me of both my yielded obedience, and my attempts at rebellion. They have dust atop and mud on their soles. I look at the floor around my feet and the black sooty mud particles that have soiled the portion around where I danced before weariness took over.

I look at the room full of women, and the aches of their journeys, their triumphs and their defeats crowd in on me. I begin to pray for them. I talk to their Father and mine, I ask Him to meet them here, because they woke up this cold morning to meet Him. I join in to their ululations, their worship of The King of kings, I sit down to listen to the woman of God. Then my phone rings and I see that its Daddy calling and the dams break for me. For the last eight weeks since this orgy of pain begun, i have longed to see his name on my ringing phone – I have longed for his voice telling me that it would be well…but there has been silence. And now I am not able to take his call. The tears escape and flow fast onto my dark blue skirt as I disconnect and text him a short message “I am in church.” I find out later, that he had not really called – his android reached out to me in error. But by then, I am frozen from all the weeping I  have done before The Throne of my Eternal Daddy. Why hasn’t He come? Why is my rescue and that of my family taking so long?

I look to my feet…there is sooty mud under my cheap but faithful rubber shoes…and I have caught the eyes of those that try not to stare at them – the combined dust and mud that have encased my feet. I have a race to run. I rest.

vipslit@yahoo.ca

My One Time at a Time

Many times, you cannot imagine it getting to where you hope it will not: then it does, and God Alone holds you as you take a step at a time. A breath at a time. A word at a time. A tear at a time. A smile at a time. An ache at a time. A lifetime at a time. Sometimes a kick at a time, a setback at a time, an insult at a time, then back to a breath at a time, and His Embraces – one at a time.
Hope has endured. I look at another sunset, and the horrors of the night it heralds, but also the amazing view of what God’s words alone can create and sustain as I look at the moon, the stars, the clouds and sometimes encounter creatures that He made to conquer the nights.
So its gotten here, excruciatingly so, but how else would I have known His enduring Love, Might and Friendship here, if I hadn’t walked this night with Him? So I take another step, another breath, take in another bout of pain, block another onslaught of fear in His Might and allow His Word to take me in and hold me and mine within His Promise, Himself. I rest. I rest. In His Everlasting Arms. I rest.
vipslit@yahoo.ca

They Return

They Return.
They rebel in the dark. Enjoying the companionship, laughing loudly into the night…they think themselves clothed, and luxuriously so…not tattered like those with whom they come into contact and discard as inferior. Those whom God Himself had stripped and caused to fall flat at their onslaught. They capture cities, in the dark. They are well fed, seemingly orderly, considered wealthy by the nations that watch them march past…predictably. They pass by seasonally, and at the sound of their approach the nations flee to hide, for a season. In the dark. They are terrible and fearsome…yet almost frantically, they carry the worship of the conquered and vanquished as cherished and practiced souvenirs. In the dark. Oh, they are mighty, impervious, in the dark. Round and round they march, dying off yet rejoicing at the new births – the greatness of their numbers, in the dark. They are a coveted and covetous army, Laughing loudly, they articulate in their criticism of their God and His chosen leaders, in the dark, they march round and round.
 
Then…The Light dawned on them…and they realized that it had been long since they marched. The ancient chains that had anchored them to a mountain, had reached its limit. That they were hungry, wretched, that their decaying and shredding cloths covered patches of their bodies – just enough to keep them sufficiently deceived that they were luxuriously covered, in the dark. At the full stretch of their chains their left feet were captured tenaciously by concrete pits that produced maggots which crept up their legs, eating through their mobility rendering them dead even as they lived: laughing loudly, raining criticisms on those they could make out in the dark, believing themselves covered, fed,marching as they slowly died.
 
And The Light came and beckoned them, He broke them, crushed some, and then deliberately mended their hearts, their lives. The Light opened their eyes so that they could take Him in. He soaked into Himself the stench of the rot they had become in the dark; took over the dust that had imprisoned them causing them to tug their left feet free of it and take a step forward. Then another. They walked away from the stench of their own graves, God Himself stripping them of their grave-cloths; He embraced them, washed, refreshed, fed…then dressed them in true luxury…cloths that could not wear out, could not be stripped off them, did not attract decay, armors made to fit – that could not be stolen from them.
 
Now an army marches into the Dawn, limping as they re-learn to walk. They laugh deeply, cry deeper still, speak healing gently into wounds – their own and those of others. They speak and their hearers are no longer condemned but strengthened…they march away from their ancient path, forsaking ancient, rusty chains their heads raised and focused towards The Light. As they come…their true majesty is visible, strong, healed, prosperous, loving, kind, invincible…a people come destroying the feigned valiant, an army that heals the land they march through. Home is beckoning. They Return.
vipslit@yahoo.ca

The Child Would Not Die or Be Silent

How long does it take for one to forgive their mother or father for what they did to them?” the little girl asked me. I smiled, but not from amusement. I was trying not to cry. Which was impossible anyway…because ever since I had walked into this children’s home and rescue center in Nairobi my whole system had frozen. God had taken over…I had known to be in prayer about this particular assignment the whole week. I had been invited to replace Pastor Terry Gobanga who was away – and it was not really about filling her really large and excellent shoes. It was about being asked to share wisdom with about 67 children…who were there not because their parents were no longer alive, but had allegedly become predators that orphaned the children they had borne.

This was the second rescue center, mostly inhabited by children who were healing from sexual violence, that I had been asked to speak at in a month. I wondered about that. But as I held a five week old baby girl in my arms, then later looked around the circle of about 30 eyes (the rest had been excused from my session for a play session with other members of the group we had gone with), I wondered how I could answer that question. Most of us, resent those that call us to account for the way we raise our own children: Mostly because they catch us at a moment, and make it about our entire parenting. But these were not ordinary parenting moments…although it seemed that it was becoming more normalized, this was a crisis.

In this particular home, all ‘except one’ (and I shudder at the use of those two words – because it was still one too many) had been assaulted by a mother, father or uncle – biological. Most of these children were in delicate security situations since their parents’ cases were still ongoing, and there was need by some clans to either “mute or get rid of the evidence.” Most of them were girls…but there were boys too…one too many. There were others who were or had been admitted in hospital, to undergo multiple reconstructive surgeries to lend their lives some semblance of normality. Most of the girls were first borns of at least one of their parents, or their only female child. I looked at their Mum1 – the founder of this home…fourteen (14) years of mothering other people’s children in their worst states had not dimmed her life Light.

How could I answer the children? What would forgiveness look like for them? How do you answer a child who in one moment, or a hundred, had endured war in their genitals to satisfy the hungers of a parent who temporarily forgot that they were supposed to protect not prey on them? Does forgiveness mean that what happened to them was ok? That it should be forgotten? That the children should repent of these (Because they were so often stigmatized – Mum1 shared for instant how one ‘church’ had denied them baptism after going through the classes under the excuse of not being able to afford T-shirts.) Many of these children bore the brunt of these shameful acts against them again and again as they lived each breath with the rejection of the extended families to which they had once belonged – who had perhaps initially celebrated their births and birthdays – who now wanted to forget them for the shame they are accused of bringing home. “For why hadn’t they just died instead of crying out, or getting pregnant, getting an important benefactor and family member whose quaint habits could be ignored into ‘disrepute’ or incarceration for ‘just’ a moment? Why wouldn’t they just let this go and keep up the facade?” This seemed to be the attitude their families had towards them.  What exactly would forgiveness mean for these?

The nightmares needed to end, the healing to come. Forgiveness may be about the offender (e.g. When God forgives our sins it puts us in the best place with Him), but it’s more about the offended (Humanly speaking). You forgive even when the fault is not confessed or admitted to because if allowed to – one offense can define the rest of your life in the worst ways possible. Unforgiveness often translates to meditating on an offence and giving it the power to shut down the functioning of what is still functional in us to hit back at the offender and survive the offense. Meditating constantly on what was done to you gives a grievous injury even more power over you than  it had initially. It can colour, darken everything…take away your smile…your life. I cannot remember what I said to them, because I was praying a lot, and asking God to speak to His little ones.  But they smiled…and they spoke…and they gave me strength as well. There was nothing God could not heal. It was hard leaving the home, leaving them behind to go be with my own household…I had intended to leave by 2pm. I was there till 6:30pm. It was hard to leave these little ones that because they still suffered from parenting wounds had become part of my own story. Their hugs, the whispered stories after the main session, the tears they allowed me to see, and the feel of them as they held onto me while I prayed for them – made them mine – indelibly. As I left though, I realized that they were indeed in the best place they could be for now, having been rescued and that for this moment were truly safer because they cried out and refused to die.

But somewhere in this same neighborhood, in this country, in this globe, other children were unfortunately starting the journey they were walking. I prayed that their parents would be hit by Heaven’s Might, that they would not put their babies through this, and that the babies who had gone through this, would find Hope again, find God, in parental touches by those in whose hands God would place them in. I don’t know…

vipslit@yahoo.ca

Keep Talking Penina

Keep speaking to me Penina, even though I am no longer listening…I am asking of God for myself, what you could never achieve in your strength. For what, if He gave it to me, I could never keep the crown for…but know for sure that I must return to Him – for it is eternally God’s.

Penina…if I were you, I would direct my speech at The Almighty, ask Him for more than this world could give…incomparable to any other; I would not waste my strength raging at my current barrenness…for there is no gain that my grieving could truly give you. I know my waiting and searching has taken long…but I am not cursed as you think.

And even though you use my place of worship, my bended posture before The Almighty God as an occasion for mockery, accusation, and although I have wept at your taunts and slander…I am not cursed…I am more blessed than you could ever imagine me to be. For when silence engulfs your mockery…you eyes will open to the Magnificence of God in my life…and while your name fades into oblivion…or maybe shines for reasons different…God makes mine unforgettable in His books…because of my bended posture before Him – the posture that brings you so much mirth.

I have touched The Scepter of God…I have touched His Heart…because He let me..stand on my knees..before Him. Keep speaking at and about me Penina, for it is your route to oblivion and my platform to eternity.

#HeHeardHeGave

“And her rival also provoked her severely, to make her miserable, because the Lord had closed her womb. So it was, YEAR BY YEAR, WHEN SHE WENT UP TO THE HOUSE OF THE LORD, that she provoked her; therefore she wept and did not eat.”
1 Samuel 1:6-7

Behold The Man

The Man is betrayed by his friend in the inner circle; and his friends scatter because of the menacing cloud of enemies that surround Him; one of His friends stands his ground a while, and takes out his sword to inflict injury on one of His enemies, but The Man, stays his hand, and performs First-Aid on His enemy, in a way that would be envy of the best cosmetic/reconstructive/plastic surgeons of this century.
The friend who stood up for him, who follows stealthily somewhere within his crowd of enemies, will a few hours later deny ever knowing him. The accusations against The Man are flimsy at best, ridiculous, false, but not one of the ones He so powerfully blessed is brave enough to stand up for Him. So they take away His name, tarnish His reputation, and He will not defend Himself. The slander against Him, kills Him literally. And yet His enemy is given no reprieve, for God rises to now cloud and shake the world, to open and spill out the contents of graves, and to tear at religious barriers that kept His people estranged from Him. Three days later, The Man walks – no longer dead. And God lifts Him up, and seats Him on a Throne before which both His friends and enemies must stand at some point in eternity. For The Man, on earth robbed of His Name, Heaven bestows A Name, The Name at which all knees buckle either in Loving Faith or in Terror.
 
Let Heaven name you for the name the earth has taken from you for your loving service for God. God is Worthy!
 
“Kite ne kit Nyasaye nyaka e chakruok,
to ne ok otuere ni nyaka osik marom gi Nyasaye,
to notimore gima nono,
Nokawo kit misumba,
mi odok dhano mana ka wan,
kendo konenore ka dhano kamano,
to nobolore, kendo no winjo wach nyaka tho,
mana tho mar msalaba!
 
Mano eomiyo Nyasaye ne Omiye duong’ ahinya e polo,
kendo Omiye Nying’ moloyo nying’ duto.
Kamano gik moko duto manie polo
gi manie piny kon manie bwo piny,
Omi Nying Yesu duong’,
kendo ji duto mondo ohul ni
Yesu Kristo e Ruoth,
Mondo Nyasaye Wuoro Bende Oyud Duong’.”
Jo-Filipi 2:6-11 (Philippians 2:6-11)
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