I open the light blue binder, faded by time and use, to a page filled with words written in teeny tiny cursive.  My mama’s writing. The first page, undated, contains verses from the Psalms. Words of Poetry. Pleas for mercy. Pleas for comfort. Pleas for strength. And, yes, gratitude and praise. Essential words. Tested by time.

“As a deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O Lord.” Psalm 42:1

“Be still and know that I am God.” Psalm 46:10a

I read these words she has written down.  Words she has prayed and pondered. They are as familiar to me as her handwriting and I am calmed and comforted.

There are so many words that clamor for my attention these days. They tumble into my inbox, shout out from newscasts, podcasts and blogposts, until I want to stuff cotton into my ears and turn away.  It is too much. I want to retreat.  And, so I do. I retreat into these familiar essential words my mama has recorded for me.  I find rest and renewal here. I find strength to face the day, and because of this, when the text came early one morning from my friend and colleague in Kenya, David Chuchu, with urgent words, I was ready to listen.  When we talk a few hours later, David begins to describe life during the pandemic in Kenya, and I can hear the desperation in his voice, a desperation not for himself, but those living on the margins.

“I get calls from deaconesses, pastors and people every day. I am in touch with the most vulnerable: widows and orphans and those with HIV/AIDS.  People are desperate.”  He tells me.   “With the imposed curfews and shelter-in-place, people cannot work or support themselves in the smallest of ways. In Kenya, if you cannot work, you cannot eat. And if you cannot eat, you get desperate.  In the words of one woman in the slums of Kibera, ‘I’d rather risk dying from Corona virus, than starve to death.’”

Kenya is no stranger to devastating events, especially in the last few months. Raging floods, swarms of locust and now COVID-19 has ravaged this beautiful country, destroying property and livelihoods and leaving countless numbers of the most vulnerable homeless and hungry.

Pastor Chuchu is reluctant to ask for help.  He is sensitive to the fact that folks in the U.S. have been affected greatly by the pandemic, and that resources are stretched thin. And yet, the need in Kenya is engulfing.  It is a matter of life and death.

David continues, “As coronavirus cases continue to increase, people try to implement social distancing. Washing of hands and wearing of masks or using sanitizers. A mask made locally with a piece of cloth by local tailors cost 50 Kenya Shillings. (50 cents, US). This precious commodity is far beyond the reach of the orphans and the vulnerable families. Talking to Agnes Olela, a 78-year-old grandmother living with four orphans, why she is not wearing a mask at this time as she walks on the street.  She has this to say ‘How can I buy a mask and yet I do not know where I will get the next meal for my grandchildren. That money can buy vegetables if I have it, and we did not even have our meals today. Those who are able may buy them, isolate themselves indoors and food will be delivered to them. Who will do that for me if I do not go out there to look for something to eat for my grandchildren?’”

David and his now whittled down team at Diakonia Compassionate Ministry are working hard to provide for the most vulnerable—widows, orphans and those whose immune systems are compromised by disease. DCM also works to provide for deaconesses and pastors who are suffering greatly during this pandemic. (There are no systems for live streaming church services and no tithes being received to support these workers).

It’s overwhelming. I get it. I too, hesitate to ask for help, but I am reminded of words attributed to Flannery O’Connor,

“The poor live with a little less padding between them and the raw forces of life.”

If you are blessed with an abundance, no matter how small, and want to share, please donate.  

Here’s what $30 will buy to sustain a family for a month:

Cooking oil, maize, beans, tea, sugar, salt, vegetables and soap

Always Mercy,

Pamela