Jesus in the Market

Last Sunday I went to a Catholic church. In some ways this was refreshing, because the service was in English and I am at least familiar with Catholic theology.

I participated in what prayers I could, clapping when I didn’t know the words and wishing I could learn the dances that were a part of every processional (of which there were three). I also tried to think about something other than my throbbing knees as we knelt for what seemed like hours at a time.


Today I experienced my most difficult home visit. It was a female student from Bar-Andingo Primary School. She was a partial orphan, and had lost her mother. Her father is aging and ailing, and she assists in taking care of him.

While sharing her story, she began to weep.

The Struggle

I came to Kenya believing that I would have no trouble adjusting to whatever Kenya threw at me. I tend to be pretty flexible and don’t put a lot of value on showering in a shower, so really, what could Kenya throw at me that the Appalachian Mountains hadn’t already?

Mzungu! How are you?

On Friday night when I arrived at my first home stay, I found out that I would be preaching on Sunday at the Pentecostal Assemblies of God church. My previous preaching experiences I was told at least a week in advance (with apologies for the late notice). So I asked Mama Rose, the wonderful woman I am staying with, how long I should preach and she said, “Not long…30 minutes?” Now I am a good, traditional Methodist girl and good, traditional Methodist sermons never go longer than 15 minutes. So being expected to preach for 30 minutes with only a day to prepare obviously made me nervous.

Running with the Kenyans

I have run many races before and even a few against Kenyans (though they usually finish hours ahead of me.) I did not expect that in coming to Kenya to work with the Umoja Project, I would find myself competing in a Kenyan track meet. But yes, I recently had my international running debut.