Just the Postman
It’s hard to believe that 3 months has passed so quickly but we will be leaving Tenwek Mission Hospital in the next 24 hours. Over the last few days my family and I have been remembering and recounting the good things that God has done during this trip. We are so thankful for “journey mercies” as we have traveled not only from the States to here but for all the journeys we have taken all along the highways and byways of central and western Kenya. We are so thankful that God has protected us from sickness, and so thankful that God touched and healed little Jack of malaria. We are thankful for the prayers that so many have offered and so thankful for the many people who commented on our blog or sent us notes of encouragement. Your prayers and your support were vital to what we have been able to do here for Jesus. When we were tired or discouraged or homesick we could feel the strength of your prayers helping us make it through.
I was thinking about what all God allowed us to be a part of while we were here. I was able to treat and encourage and bless hundreds of patients during our time here—in the clinic, on daily rounds, in the theatre (OR). I was able to relieve overworked long-term missionary surgeons, giving them a much needed break to recuperate from the hectic pace of this busy hospital and ministry. We were able to help a Rwandan refugee and widow with 6 children—by fencing her shamba (small farm), placing secure windows and doors in her home and building her a separate kitchen. We helped complete the classrooms and sidewalks at Mosop orphanage. We built tables and chairs for the dining hall at Bosto orphanage; we gave money to help support 31 orphanages at Kitoben orphanage and over four hundred orphans on Mfangano Island. We distributed two dozen soccer balls to orphanages and schools all around this area. We were able to bring much needed supplies to Tenwek Hospital (surgical mesh, surgical drains, and x-ray aprons). Jenn and the girls tirelessly cared for newborn orphaned triplets in our home (here on the mission compound) for almost three weeks. We were able to buy and install seat belts in a missionary’s vehicle. I was able to take a trip to explore the area of the Pokot people—to plan a medical and evangelistic outreach next time we are here in Kenya. My youngest daughters—Olivia and Sophia and several of their friends worked every week (baby-sitting, chores, bake sales) to raise money for the needy patient fund here at the hospital. Because of their efforts, one little girl will have a much needed heart operation done at no cost to her family. We were able to help several orphans with their school fees so they could continue their education.
Everything that God allowed us to accomplish here was because of you—your support, your faithful tithes and offerings to Lakewood, the special gifts you entrusted to us. We are so grateful to each and every one of you.
Several years ago something happened to me that forever made an impact on me. I was building an office behind my home so that I could have a quiet place to prepare my sermons. To my dismay and for no apparent reason, the contractor quit the project and would not return my calls. A dear friend of mine (who is a home builder) came to my home, assessed the partially completed project and told me he would help me. Within 3 weeks the office was completely finished. When I asked my friend for the bill, he would always say “later” or “don’t worry about it”. After almost month of trying to pay him he came by the house and said the completed project was his gift to me. I was overwhelmed with gratitude, so overwhelmed that for the next few weeks every time I saw him I would thank him again and again. One day I was being effusive with my gratitude when he said to me, “Paul, when the postman brings you a special gift, you don’t thank him, you thank the person who sent the gift”. He went on, “Paul, I’m just the postman. God is the one who gave the gift.”
So our family wants to thank you for allowing us the honor and the privilege of simply being the “postman” who delivered your gifts and His gifts to the people of western Kenya. And may God receive all the glory.
Pray for our “journey mercies” as we travel home next Monday.
Blessings,
Paul

I have probably treated hundreds of patients during the last 3 months here at Tenwek mission hospital. Sometimes our patients come to us through the outpatient clinics or through a referral from another hospital or often through the casualty. It seems the patients often come in large numbers, all at once. In just one busy night here at Tenwek we admitted fourteen patients to the surgery service alone. And the patients that come to us are usually very sick, or badly injured or burned or have advanced diseases. It’s not unusual to spend hours at night or on weekends operating on the endless emergencies that need surgery. Quite honestly, sometimes the patients come in at such a frenetic pace they become just a blur in the constant activity of trying to do what you can to help them. And try as you may, it is often hard to put a face with a name with a specific disease being treated or operation that has been done for them. But then there are patients that come to you…and something about their story, or something about their situation, or something about their illness causes you to never forget them. Names and faces like Benta and Jackie and Brenda and Tidcus. Names and faces that, for some reason I will never forget.
One such patient presented to us not long ago. His name is Kipkurui and he is fourteen years old. He is from a small village called Konoin tucked into the mountainside two hours from here. He presented to us because he couldn’t eat…when he tried he would vomit. This has been going on for two years and because of his illness he hasn’t grown properly, he has become emaciated, he can no longer run or play with the other children and he has fallen far behind in his studies at school. He is the last of five children, his dad is alcoholic, and his mother works tirelessly in her shamba (small farm) just to have food for her family. They are very poor. Kipkurui was wearing a tattered, dirty, flowered dress when he presented to us. Here in this part of Africa, you can recognize really poor people when the boys come into the hospital wearing the only clothes available, even if it is a dress. His eyes were sunken, he could stand only with assistance, he weighed just over fifty pounds (at fourteen years) and his arms and legs and face looked like a skeleton with skin tightly stretched over it. We were all very concerned that he had an infection with the HIV virus, but multiple tests were negative. We immediately started IV fluids and took x-rays which showed an intestinal obstruction. When I operated on him later in the week, his intestines were completely blocked by chronic scar tissue from an operation he had had several years before. He is now a few days post op and doing well—slowly gaining strength as he is able to eat for the first time in almost two years. Since I cannot speak his language—Kipsigis, our friend and hospital Chaplain Helen Towett is spending time with him, telling him and his dad about Jesus and letting him know that God spared his life because God has special things for Kipkurui’s future. We remind him of Jeremiah 29:11…the plans God has for Kipkurui are for good and not evil to give him a future full of hope. This past Tuesday Jenn and I took a trip to a larger city—Nakuru where we visited (our) triplets in the Baby Center. While there we bought Kipkurui some new pants and shirts, a warm coat and a back pack for his school books. We were very intentional about tucking a few shillings into every pocket we could find. Probably in less than a week Kipkurui will be leaving Tenwek hospital—on his way to regaining his health, with some new clothes on his back , a warm coat for the cool nights and the first-hand knowledge that here on a hill in western Kenya there is a group of people who demonstrate the love and compassion and care of our Savior.
I will be leaving Tenwek tomorrow, but I don’t think I will ever forget Kipkurui. I’ll never forget his story; I’ll never forget his emaciated little body and face but what is forever etched in my memory are his eyes. When you look into his eyes you might say you see despair or exhaustion or a someone very near death. But it’s interesting, I see something different. What I see in that deep, almost haunting stare is hope—just a glimmer, but if you look close enough, it is there. Hope that someone still cares for him, hope that someone might reach out a hand to help him, hope that someone might offer him treatment that could make a difference in his life, hope that someone might feed him and clothe him, hope that someone might still believe that there is still a chance that his future might be good and bright and full of meaning and purpose.
Just one face in the hundreds I’ve seen this trip…but one I won’t soon forget.
~Paul

We went to visit a new orphanage this week, Kitoben, which is not far from the hospital to assess the needs and see how God might use us there. There are 60 children at Kitoben, 40 of which are in school. One woman and her family run Kitoben and she uses mostly her own resources (she works at Tenwek Hospital as a clerk) to feed, clothe and educate the children. These are just a few pictures from our visit. We were able to give them soccer balls for the older kids, pray with the family caring for the children and bless them with some financial resources. We hope to continue building a relationship with Kitoben as they care for the orphans in the area.

Bosto is an orphanage about an hour from the mission hospital. We have partnered with Bosto before to help them build coops and raise chickens which provide eggs for the children and extra eggs to sell. We have built fencing and purchased a cow for them. A need was presented to us this time for tables and benches to be built for the dining hall so the children won’t have to eat on the floor any longer. We hired a fundi and have transfered the funds through a local missionary who will oversee while we are in the states. The project has been started but is not complete but we hope to get pictures soon to share with you.

Dr. Ralph, a friend of ours who had visited Tenwek previously, sent some soccer balls with us along with pumps and requested that we write scriptures on them before giving them away. So, our children sat down one afternoon and pumped up the balls and wrote scriptures on the balls in Swahili, Kipsigis and English. We have had the privilege of giving them to a few orphanages and some local boys who play around Tenwek. The boys usually roll up bags and trash until they get a good ‘ball’ to kick around so they were thrilled to get a real ball! We hope long after the handwritten message wears off, the gift of love and kindness will remain and remind them that God truly does love them and have a plan for them.

We have some very good friends here–James and Faith (names changed). They are both Kenyan, they have been married to each other for several years now and suffice it to say James and Faith are very much “in love”. When they are together, they have that “look” of deep admiration and love and devotion for each other. She waits on him hand and foot, he is always so tender and kind and gentle with her. Interestingly,they married each other despite the fact they were from different tribes—something not always looked upon favorably here. In this culture, one of the things a wife always wants to give her husband is children, despite years of trying, Faith is yet to conceive. In a culture where emotional connection is rarely demonstrated, James goes out of his way to express the love he has for his wife. In a culture where the role of a wife can sometimes be seen as “beneath” her husband or the wife can almost be seen as a “possession”, James uses every opportunity to respect and honor and elevate his wife.

Not long ago over lunch Faith began to recount to us how incredibly good and kind and generous James has been to her since their marriage. She related that recently James unexpectedly announced that he had to make a trip to Nairobi for the day. When he returned later in the evening he excitedly told her that he had a gift for her and beckoned her outdoors. Surprised she walked outside to find that James had bought her a brand new car (he had been secretly saving for a long time). But Faith protested, “James, you know I don’t know how to drive!” “No worries Faith, that’s why I am sending you to driving school next week” he countered. Then Faith asked a very interesting question: “but James, no women drive cars out here, why would you do this?”, James’ reply caught her off guard…”You are my wife, I love you, I want people to know you are free”.

So when I see Faith driving along the pot hole riddled highways and byways of this area of western Kenya, to me, it is a testimony to a husband who loves his wife…across tribal lines, even though his wife has yet to give him children,to a husband who is kind and generous and tender with his wife, a husband who loves sacrificially, and a husband who wants his wife to be free.

And then I thought about what Jesus (the Bridegroom) did for us (His bride)…how He reached out across “tribal lines” to bring us into His family, how He is so good to us, how He gives to us when we are underserving, how He loves us tenderly and sacrificially and how He too came to set us free.
~Paul

It’s been almost three months since we set foot in Africa. This trip has absolutely flown by; I don’t know where all the time went! As this trip comes to an end I can’t help but think back on our time here—all the adventures, all the lives that have been touched and the people who have been healed. We have seen God do some amazing things this trip from the people helped and healed at the hospital through my dad’s surgery to the orphans that we helped my mom care for. As I began to think about our time here, something troubled me and for the longest time I couldn’t put my finger on it. Finally, I realized that I was frustrated because of all the great things God has done here, none of them directly involved me. This made me so upset! We are on a mission trip and we are supposed to be making an impact, but as far as I could see, I didn’t do any of it. My mom organized all the care for the orphans while my dad worked hard in the hospital all day. People were being touched and lives were being changed, but it didn’t seem like I was a part of it. Sure, I went to the orphanages and sometimes helped out in the hospital but I didn’t think this added up to much. I selfishly thought to myself, “Good grief! I’m on a mission trip and when we get home people are going to bombard me with questions about the projects we were a part of and I’ll have nothing to say! I don’t have any interesting stories or any fascinating surgeries to report on. What will I say?” Thinking and praying on this, God really began to help me better understand why I’m here (in Kenya).

God showed me that my assignment on this mission trip is one of the most important that I could have been given. My mission and my assignment is to be a cheerleader—cheering my dad on and supporting him in what he knows God has called him to do. It may sound simple, it certainly isn’t very “glamorous”, but this is what God asked me to do this trip. As I thought more about it, everything would be different if I or one of my siblings had a problem with coming here to Kenya. What would happen if I constantly complained about being here all the time or complained about the food or accommodations or the lack of friends or the comforts of home? It would be incredibly hard on my dad and he wouldn’t be able to fulfill, to the fullest, what God has called him to do.

At first, I didn’t think this was fair! How come He got to have all the “glory” of actually being one on one doing all the important work on the mission field? Why does he get to experience all the cool stories? Why is he the one who gets to lead all the people to Jesus? I will be honest, I was jealous! It didn’t seem right to me, I was making a sacrifice just like he was…so what’s the deal?

Well, just this past weekend I spent my 14th birthday in Nairobi with my parents. We had tons of fun, getting away from the mission compound and hospital. We laughed and did a whole lot of talking! As we were talking I was sharing with my parents these feelings and through their encouragement and loving acceptance of my feelings, I realized so much! I began to realize that being a support to others in ministry isn’t so bad. My dad told me the story we all know so well, the story of Moses and the Israelites battle against the Amalekites. As the story goes, Joshua was leading the Israelites in battle against the Amalekites. As long as Moses held his staff in the air, the Israelites would be winning but whenever it he lowered his hands the enemy would have the advantage. I’m sure after hours of holding his staff in the air, Moses grew tired and weary. His arms grew wobbly and unstable. He couldn’t let his arms down or the Amalekites would win! But then along came Aaron and Hur to help Moses, to hold his hands in the air. I can imagine this image so vividly! Moses, being an old man, probably somewhat frail and feeble grew weary of holding his heavy staff above his head. Aaron and (especially) Hur, I imagine to be strong young men, tall and masculine. Surely they wanted the excitement and the adventure of being down in the heat of the battle. Instead, Aaron and Hur had to set aside their chance to be brave in battle and instead take a supporting role holding up Moses’ arms.

This makes me cry as I write because this story so well paints the picture of the last 3 months for me. How frustrated and jealous I was that my Moses and my Joshua, my dad and mom, were in the middle of the so apparent mission God set for them. I didn’t like that I didn’t have clear mission like them! But then my view was altered by the grace of God! He showed me that my mission was being an Aaron and a Hur. My mission is to lift up my dad’s arms when he grows weary. My mission is being in second place. I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else but where God wants me.

Georgia

Not long ago we were traveling from Nairobi to Tenwek mission hospital. The trip takes almost four hours, so about half way we take a break to stretch our legs, refuel and grab something to drink. I had a Coke light in my hand and was enjoying the absolute breathtaking scenery of the Rift Valley. You could see for miles–beautiful Acacia trees, grasslands, an occasional Masaii herding his cattle and goats. I was simply soaking in the beauty of God’s creation and reflecting on how good He has been to me, when a massive bus (the size of our Greyhound buses) pulled RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME totally blocking my view. This was slightly aggravating, but when I began to study the bus, to my surprise there were several bigger-than-life-size pictures of my brother plastered all over the side of this bus. His gaze was prayerfully towards the heavens, his hands clasped together in an angelic pose. As I reflect on this event, I began to ponder this question: he is 9000 miles away, he knows exactly when I’m stopped at a petrol station and he somehow arranges to have this bus interrupt my personal meditaions and obstruct my view with four of his pictures. Here’s my question: how does he do it? It’s one thing to poke fun at me in front of a national and international audience, but the complex logistics of this particular prank are still beyond me.

This past week I went to Nakuru to drop off “my babies” at the African Gospel Church Baby Center. I must admit it was one of the most difficult days I have had on the mission field- ever. I have had a lump in my throat and empty place in my heart since but because so many of you encouraged me, prayed for the triplets and asked about their future, I wanted to let you know where ‘our’ babies have gone.
It was very hard to let them go after weeks of investing my time, my energy and my love. I had grown very attached, and like any mother knew each of their little individual cries. I could not only tell their cries from one another but could distinguish between the hunger cry and the sleepy whimper from the dirty diaper scream. I had figured out that Ben was too big to be next to Lydia but Caleb loved the comfort of his big brother next to him. I felt like I knew them intimately as my own children. While the challenges of triplets were new to me, the instincts of mothering, loving and nurturing little babies were not. Every parent, whether natural or not, knows the depths of the love you feel for your children.
I am reminded that if I loved them that much and grew to know them that well, how much more deeply He must love and care for us. If we love with an imperfect human love-what love He lavishes on us as a perfect Heavenly Father. They were ‘fostered’ into my family for just a few short weeks and He has adopted us as His own forever. They were formed in someone else womb, yet I loved them like my own and He is the one who has formed us all and knows every hair on our head.
The Baby Center is a wonderfully clean, safe and warm place. There is plenty of food, clothes, diapers and essentials but mostly love. The workers are Christian, good and caring and if I had to leave them anywhere I am glad it could be there with them. All the children there are under three and waiting to be fostered and ultimately adopted. Already an American missionary there has emailed me a picture and an update of how Benjamin, Lydia and Caleb are doing. I am thankful for that.
I did not take any pictures that day. I wanted to preserve all the sweet pictures in my mind of the weeks before when God gave me a glimpse into His own heart for His children. While the triplets are not physically in my care, I still feel a great burden to care for them through prayer. Will you continue to pray for all 31 children left at the baby center? You can call three by name. ~Jenn

Scientists tell us that smells and scents can trigger powerful memories. I know this is especially true for me—smells bring back such vivid, “full color” pictures in my mind. When I smell the cologne that my dad wore, it is as if I can see his face, hear his voice and feel his embrace. I still have my grandfather’s shaving brush, when I put the bristles next to my face, I can still see myself as a little 6 year old boy, intently watching him mix the shaving cream, lather up and shave at the sink and mirror in his tiny work shed. My grandmother’s home was a combination of the most pleasant smells you could imagine—pies baking in the oven, beans boiling on the stove, coffee gently percolating. One of my favorites though is the smell of a hospital—something about that clean, distinct aroma speaks deeply to the calling I have as a physician. I love the smell of our cows in the back pasture and the smell of horses when they have been sweating, when you take off their saddles and the smell of fresh hay in our barn. Johnson’s baby powder will always bring back precious memories of tenderly holding the five little babies that God blessed me with. I love the smell of the people here in rural Kenya—the smell of the outdoors and charcoal fires and hard work and the animals they tend to. I love one particular kind of soap that we use here in Africa—Imperial Leather. I take some home with me when I return to the U.S.—when I wash my face, it reminds me of the people of Africa that I so love, and the incredible memories I have of working here in rural Kenya at Tenwek mission hospital and it always makes me long to return.
I was thinking about the scripture…we are the aroma of Christ. I hope that when people see me and interact with me… the aroma of my life somehow makes Jesus just a little more clear and attractive to them and creates a memory of Him that they won’t ever forget.

Most of you know that we have been taking care of 6-week old orphaned triplets for the last 3 weeks. I so look forward to coming home and holding them and feeding them and helping put them to bed. Jenn gets up many times during the night to feed them but occasionally when one (or more!) is stirring or crying early in the morning I pick him (her) up and hold him (her). The other morning, long before daylight, I heard little Caleb crying so I picked him up and brought him to bed with us and held him in the darkness as I drank my coffee. Even though he had been crying pretty hard, when I picked him up and held him close he immediately became so calm and quiet and still. I thought he was asleep so I took my alarm clock and pressed the little button that activiates the light to let you see the time and in the soft green, barely perceptible glow of the light I saw two little eyes, wide open looking up at me. Somehow in that moment something shifted inside me. For many years we have cared about orphaned children, we have prayed for them, we have supported them montlhly, we have sent them clothes, we have befriended and help build and resource orphanages…but as I held little Caleb in the darkness of night and saw those little eyes wide open looking at me–what once was somehow just a “concept” of caring for orphans became very much a reality that will forever be a part of my heart. I am so thankful for the opportunity to care for these little ones and so thankful that no matter what home they eventually are a part of…they will always be a part of my heart.~Paul