Building Futures- The Book- The Conclusion

The boys were fed and off to school. The morning routine had been set in place for some time now. What once had been scattered mud huts with young children and widows struggling to survive had become something much different.

Now, there were more than 20 houses, just like hers, within walking distance. And weekly food and other necessities were brought to each family. The children walked together to the school, safety in numbers. What once had been a community where depression and hunger were the norm, where the children languished with nothing to occupy their minds, now it was a place filled with hope. Hope of a better tomorrow. Hope for a new generation that was educated and could contribute to the family and the community as a whole. All because of that one event, she thought. One particular moment in time. It had all come from two strangers and the book.

She couldn’t hold back the tears as she watched her boys and their friends fade from sight in the distance. And she still hadn’t gotten used to the idea of them being gone all day long, even though she knew it was for their own good. They were all she had as far as family was concerned. She would give her life for them without hesitation. She almost had on more than one occasion.

These thoughts were on her mind as she cleaned up from the morning meal. She had scoured the pot and placed it back where it belonged over the top of a newly piled stack of wood. Ready for the next meal, she thought. Next meal. It was still hard to believe that their next meal was in the home, and the meal after that and so on.

It took her back to that first day in the village after she had run away from her cruel uncle and his uncaring family. She had arrived just before dark, and the village had been quiet. She had been ever so hungry, and the empty village square had left her feeling hopeless once again. She had walked to the length of the square, only to find that everyone had gone home. The kiosk interiors were absent of anything useful to her. So, she went to the well and drew a bucket of water, kneeling on the ground and drinking until the dust was gone from her mouth and her thirst was quenched.

She curled up on the ground behind one of the weathered kiosks and fell asleep.

She had awakened to the sound of a calm voice asking her if she was alright. She opened her eyes and wiped away the sleepy blur. As the face above her had come in to focus, she looked up into the worried, brown eyes of an elderly woman. She had forced a smile and pushed herself up, back against the wooden structure behind her. She had told the woman with the worried eyes that she was okay, but hungry. Without a word, the woman had reached out her hands and helped her to her feet.

She had led her down the dusty square to a kiosk at the very end. Two young men had been there, carefully stacking fruits and vegetables on a single shelf inside the kiosk. The old woman took her by the hand and pulled her inside the kiosk and told her to sit. She whispered in the ear of one of the young men, who in turn had gathered two pieces of fruit and handed them to her where she sat. She had hungrily devoured them, unembarrassed by her ravenous behavior.

The old woman had taken her in for a while. Two years or so as she recalled. She had worked in the fields alongside the woman’s grandsons. It was in those fields that she fell in love with the older boy. Or so she had thought at the time. He was handsome. And he had fed her that first day.

How could she have known? How could she have known that he would become the drunken father of her two boys not long from then? That he would become an angry and bitter man. A man who regretted ever meeting her. A man who regretted having children with her. And a man who simply left one day without a word and never returned. She had heard that he had remarried not even six months later. Tribal marriages. Easily entered into. Easily left behind. The kind of marriage that came without the Words of The Book.

At least he hadn’t beaten her or her children. Not like her father had done. She had even learned to forgive him. Thanks to The Book. And even though she now sometimes felt lonely and longed for a strong man to care for her and her boys, she quickly dismissed the thought as one that was selfish. Perhaps one day, but it would have to be a man that read from The Book. A man who knew his place in the world. Not the tribal law that allowed a continual tradition of abuse, neglect and infidelity.

That very thought was what brought her full circle to another day. The day her life had changed forever.

It had been a miserable day. Pouring rain and driving winds. The inside of their mud hut had become a swampy pit! Her boys huddled in a dry corner as she exerted futile efforts to start a warming fire. She remembers shaking her fists at the sky and cursing some unknown source for her misery.

That’s when the van had pulled up in front of the hut, brakes squeaking as it came to a stop just three feet from where she stood. The lights blinded her, and she could not see who was inside. It was a rare event indeed for an automobile to pull up to her house.

The lights on the van went dark and the motor went silent. The doors on either side of the van opened and two men emerged from within. She had smelled the strong scent of what she referred to as “clean” coming from one, or both.

Her eyes had opened wide when she recognized the man who had brought the book. She recognized the other man as well. A preacher from a church in the village a few miles away. She couldn’t help herself. The anger had swelled inside her once again. She was cold, wet and tired. So were her boys and there this man was once again. She had thought he would want to talk about the book. She also had thought that she should have burned it so that there was nothing to talk about. Perhaps that book would have got that fire started!

But then something unexpected happened. The preacher walking towards her uttered a greeting and held up both hands. In them were sacks of rice and beans. He walked over and sat them at her feet and introduced himself. Asked her if it was appropriate for her to accept the food. Told her that they were there in the name of Jesus and that they only wanted to know how they could help her.

She had been taken aback by his question as well as his declaration but had realized that this man was a gentleman. Not the kind of man that she was used to. She had glanced from his face to the face of the other man. She had to know. Had to know why they were there. Had to know why they had come to her in the name of this Jesus. Who was he and why did he care about her? Had he sent them? How did he know her?

And then she had come to a rare moment of clarity and therein a decision. A moment in time that would forever change her life.

She invited them inside. She invited them inside for two reasons that she was convinced were connected. She wanted to ask them about Jesus. Had to ask them about The Book.

Authors note: I used no names in this story for one reason. This is the story of more than 20 orphan and widow families we have built houses for and are caring for in Kenya. Their stories vary slightly but hold one thing in common. They are all tales of triumph, born of tragedy. All tales of transformation from hopelessness and sorrow to hope and joy. Each is a story of a battle won in the name of Jesus and to the glory of God.