This time of year in Northern California, the sun comes up early and graces us with light till late evening. Today, as I headed out for an early morning walk, the sun had long risen, its soft rays peeking through the myriad leaves of trees–who knew green had so many variations?! My day was just beginning. But in Kenya, their day was waning, their sun slipping behind the clouds, putting the day’s equatorial brilliance to bed. As it often happens, my mind and heart were pulled towards those Kenya evenings and on this morning walk, to a particular evening in November, 2022.
Monday, 7 November 2022. Oriang, Kenya
It’s 6:22 PM and the sun is beginning to set in rural western Kenya. I’ve spent the day, alongside Kenyan nurses and physicians teaching palliative care to health professionals and community health volunteers who faithfully serve in their villages. Now the light is beginning to change, and I am drawn to my favorite spot—a scarred wooden desk and old metal chair on the veranda of the Diakonia Resort and Conference Center. (By American standards, this might not be considered a fancy resort, but the enclosed compound is clean, safe and my home for the next two weeks.)
From my familiar perch, I see the brindled cow and her calf grazing on the grass before being shut in for the night. I gaze over the compound’s low-slung buildings fashioned out of railway boxcars, the circular open-air huts with red corrugated tin roofs used for informal gatherings, the concrete wall topped with razor wire to the highway and sky beyond. There is a slight breeze after the late afternoon’s sudden and intense rain. Old, venerable trees silhouette themselves against the gunmetal gray clouds fringed in pink. I can make out the shadows of people walking along the highway’s thin edge, seemingly oblivious to the danger of the cars, trucks, matatus (privately owned mini buses used as taxis, and usually crammed full of people) rumbling past them. Cicadas sing in harmony with the cadence of traffic, bringing a strange hush to the landscape.
Soon, this waning twilight will give way to darkness. Night comes quickly here, near the equator, and the dark of an African night is like no other. (I’ve been caught unawares at night when the electricity goes out. It’s frightening and disorienting. I’ve learned to keep my headlamp around my neck—just in case). But for now, in this moment, as the bats swoop and dip around me under a dim light, I sit in this inky silence and the stillness of wonder.
The stillness of wonder–now it comes unexpectedly to me. Sometimes it’s in the quiet of an evening or a morning walk. Other times, it’s in observing stonecutters chiseling rough-hewn rocks, getting them ready to fit just right in a wall. Sometimes there’s stillness in hearing a buzzing saw cutting steel tubing for the structure of a metal roof. Sometimes it’s in the swish of paintbrushes over a newly sheetrocked ceiling. Or maybe, with a hint of thrill, it comes to me as I’m in a vehicle bumping down a beautiful red-dirt road leading to a place with open doors of mercy. That place is Rehema Open Door, the newest hospice and palliative care center in rural western Kenya.
And once this hospice and clinic building is complete and we can use it, I hope the stillness of wonder comes to me and others sitting faithfully at the bedside of a dying person taking last breaths, and someone praying with that person and the family. Or perhaps, it comes in seeing a patient’s struggle with pain eased with a precious dose of medication bringing much needed relief.
But even as we hope for the future of Rehema Open Door, I marvel now at the stillness of wonder that comes over me every time Kenyan deaconesses and pastors passionately sing hymns of praise, blessing and mercy.
No matter how it comes, God’s wonder is with us, in stillness, in beauty, in care. He continues to invite us on this journey of wonder and mercy. Many of you have traveled with me in the words and photos of this Always Mercy blog for many years. You have prayed for our work in Kenya. You have encouraged us. And you have given generously. You are amazing! With your support, many years ago we stepped out in faith, desiring to bring Christ’s mercy and love to those suffering in pain and hopelessness from life-threatening illnesses. We thank you for that!
We are so close to finishing phase one of Rehema Open Door. To finish, we need $50,000 and hope to get these funds by our hospice center Grand Opening on October 2, 2023.
We ask for your ongoing donations in whatever way you are able. Maybe it’s a $5 monthly donation, or $20 or $100. Maybe it’s a larger gift, $10,000 or $50,000. (Dare we ask for that?) Or, perhaps it’s sharing our message and needs with someone who might want to join us on this journey.
Learn more about how Always Mercy supports Rehema Open Door at www.alwaysmercy.org
Always Mercy,
Pamela
