“You’re worth it.” This was the message I was determined to convey to the kids as I returned to them this summer. You’re more than worth the journey; we (as representatives of Ecclesia) haven’t forgotten you and, more importantly, your Father in Heaven has never forgotten you and He never will. This was my second year going to Kenya with Ecclesia, and I was really looking forward to seeing some familiar faces and basking in the children’s love and joy once again. My prayer this year was that the children would experience on a real, personal level how very much their Father in Heaven loves them. The fact of the matter is--many of the children of Kibera either don’t have fathers at all, or the fathers they have are less than perfect, to say the least. We experienced the reality of this as we watched the children of Ghetto Light perform skits in which fathers struggled with alcoholism and physically abused their wives and children. This is a reality they face, every day. So when we tell them, “Your Father in Heaven loves you, no matter what,” it is a difficult concept for them to grasp.
Our VBS theme this year was The Lord’s Prayer. The memory verse for our first day was Matthew 6:9—“Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed by Thy name.” I wanted to know—what thoughts entered the children’s minds when they said “Our Father?” Were they thinking of an angry father, who is quick to criticize, slow to love? Were they thinking of a father who can’t be bothered with them; one who sees them as a burden? This was something I felt compelled to address with the children, and it surprised me to learn that many of them believed that we in America have near-perfect fathers, like the dad on the Cosby Show. I shared with them that this is most certainly not the case. In fact, many of us at Ecclesia have had a hard time believing or accepting that God the Father is not ashamed of us, or burdened by us, or disappointed in us, because our relationships with our earthly, human fathers have distorted our perceptions of who God the Father is, and how He loves us. I shared with them a verse my youth leader gave to me when I graduated from high school—Zephaniah 3:17—“The Lord your God is with you, He is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, He will quiet you with His love, He will rejoice over you with singing.” I told them I didn’t believe these words when I first heard them, and I still struggle to believe them to this day. But the fact of the matter is—whether I struggle to accept God’s love for me or not, He does love me, no matter how many mistakes I make or how often I ignore His voice. He loves me, and He loves every single one of those beautiful children of Kibera. I continue to pray, and I ask my friends at Ecclesia to pray that each and every one of these children will come to fully understand how very precious they are to their Father in Heaven, and how nothing can diminish their worth in His eyes.
Many of you may remember how I said last year that I had gone to Kenya asking that God would use me to “be Jesus” to the children, and how He had in turn used them to “be Jesus” to me, even more so. Well, I guess it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to me this summer when God blessed me again by taking the very message I felt called to relay to the children and bouncing it right back at me, loudly and clearly. As the children ran to me each morning, singing out my name, grabbing onto any part of me they could hold on to, I heard my Father saying, "Kerry, you're worth it too." I had struggled for a time with my decision to return to Kenya because part of me actually believed the children wouldn't care to see me again. I knew this was a lie the enemy was trying to sell me, but I didn't realize just how colossal a lie it was until Friday afternoon when I was holding Njeri (pronounced “Nnnnn-jerry”) in my arms. I had met Njeri the previous summer, and we had felt an instant connection, smiling into each other’s eyes and sharing endless hugs and cuddles. And when we walked into the Ghetto Light Center Friday afternoon, it was her sweet voice I heard, calling out my name. And when she ran to me, jumped up into my arms, and wouldn’t let me go I knew why I needed to come back. When people ask me about Africa, I have a hard time putting into words this overwhelming feeling of pure love I experienced. I cannot tell you how overcome with joy I am, to know that we will one day be reunited—if not here on earth, then in Heaven. I recall the extraordinary love the children shared with me, and I imagine Njeri clinging tightly to me, and I can’t wait to see them all again.
