April Newsletter

Nearing the end of my stay, I have begun to think of my legacy. What will I leave behind? What will I take with me? Who will remember me? Who will I remember? What connections will sever and which ones will last long after I board the plane home?

As usual, I’m being melodramatic and a bit egotistical thinking about how much impact I can really have as one person in a foreign culture for a year. Being here this long has made me realize how little I will leave behind and yet how much I will take with me. So much of my experience is intangible, and yet if I could point it out to someone, saying, “There: see what I’ve done, how I’ve changed?” I’m not sure I would.

The development initiatives I cover in various human-interest stories are a helpful reminder that we are but one small piece of the puzzle. There are the soft faces and the hard projects.

I stare into the nooks and crannies of a grandmother’s face, eons of experience hidden within the folds of skin. She has lost her sons to AIDS and now their wives care for her grandchildren. Which is the lost generation? This woman has much to teach me if I’m attentive and patient enough to listen. And there is still much I will never understand.


The TD Jakes/Potterhouse borehole built and commemorated last September had ceased functioning by November. We were able to call all the partners together and work out a solution, but what will happen in the next crisis? I won’t be there; will Potterhouse? How about Church World Service?

I remember Joseph, the pump attendant with metals keys in one hand and a wooden staff in the other. I remember Noah, the man who donated the land for the borehole to the community, proudly gesturing to the stone storage house with a light in his eyes. I remember his wife, Esther, bending over to turn on the water and letting it run over her worn hands. I have much to learn from these simple, grateful people.

Over the course of this year, I have wanted to start a computing program for night watchmen, establish microfinance businesses with single mothers in a Nairobi slum, and encourage young people interested in NGO work abroad to connect with our partners here in Kenya. I have not lost hope with any of these projects, but how many are my own aspirations rather than God’s vision?

I marvel at other missionaries here, part in admiration and part in sympathy as I sometimes think they’re fooling themselves if they think they can make a difference. How can we make change in our own communities, let alone ones we are still adjusting to? There is room (and need) for much grace.

I’m reminded of my friend Dale Hamilton and how he has followed a vision to buy a float plane and create a spiritual and health ministry in the islands of Lake Victoria. He pursues the vision, not entirely certain whether it is his or God’s. And still people are benefiting from his and his wife’s effort to bring both physical and spiritual healing to a people largely ignored.

We live by faith, not by sight (2 Corinthians 5:7). If we can see where we’re headed, then where’s the faith? If we know where we are going, then why go? There is something terribly exciting and tremendously humbling about not knowing what kind of impact we have on others… or others on us.


And so I continue to engage in life: the gift God has given to everyone, not to be cherished selfishly but rather shared joyfully. Wherever you are, whatever you do, engage for change in your life and others – if you dare.