Feasting at the Table

At the close of the second complete day of the July 2010 Kenya mission, I am pensive though not melancholy. The mission team is beginning to cohere, collaborate, and cooperate as they should. Our travel was uneventful, with all our bags arriving with us. The Kenyans, as is their custom, are hospitable and warm, effusive with profound gratitude for all we do and give, and robust in their living. The daily drug runs are now flowing smoothly, as is the construction work, children's Bible school, and discipleship course.

But I am pensive. Yesterday morning, Pastor Linus requested that we come to the Christlike Academy and pray for the children. Upon his arrival, we were grouped with four children each, and Pastor Linus requested that, with the assistance of a translator, we pray for each child by name. Our group is, for the most part, quite compliant, and so we began to gather in small groups for prayer.

I was placed with two brothers and their sister: Ken, John, and Magdalene. Pastor Linus and Principal Anne report to me in whispered tones, that they found the three children locked in a small hut not far from the Christlike. Ken (the oldest at ten) takes care of his two younger siblings. Mom's whereabouts are known (Mombasa--about 12 hours by matatu), though nothing is known of her work or schedule.

"Do you know how to cook?" I query the bright though quiet Ken.

"Yes, Sir," is the quick reply.

Anne chimes in that in addition to cooking, Ken (remember, a ten year old boy) cleans, does the laundry (by hand, of course; this is Kenya), irons (with an old fashioned iron like my grandmother used), and makes sure his younger brother and sister are in school punctually everyday.

My heart, always so tender to children, breaks as I look at this chocolate-colored young boy. He is clean and eager for the prayer. I can tell. I place my big white hands on his brown head, and plead with the LORD for this boy. My prayers focus on God's blessings and provision and protection and shelter. I am impassioned as I pray, emotion (praying with my spirit) and intellect (praying with my mind) commingling and erupting in tears and huskiness of voice.

I pray for his brother and his sister. After I stand back up, the three little children hug me. My mind wanders back in my life to when I was ten. What was I like? What did I do? Did I know how to cook? Clean? Iron?

I am reminded of the story of the Syro Phoenician woman who begs Jesus to heal her demon-possessed daughter.

My friends, I have feasted at the table of God's grace for 48 years. Never lacking for anything, blessed abundantly beyond measure with an incredible wife, four amazing children, a wonderful, fulfilling job, multiple friends, wealth . . .

While feasting with most of you, there are millions around the world who long in utter desperation for the smallest crumb to fall from the table.