From: Kevin Bonzo - Kenya Team, 8/5/10 1:30pm

Have you ever had that feeling like you're torn?

I referenced to it a bit in my last entry. It's like this: there is such joy and consistent happiness around me, yet such pain and tragedy.

For instance, I recall a week or two ago, where we (the entire Kenya team was still here) were all gathered around Chris and Irene's dinner table. The conversation was light, and the jokes flowed freely. Suddenly and without warning, Irene told us in a quiet voice that a girl from the Raila Educational Center died from TB. Not only that, but the condition had been treatable - First Love representatives had confronted her father and strongly advised him to take his Form 4 daughter (the equivalent of a senior in our high schools) to a medical doctor immediately. Instead, he took her to a witch doctor, which pretty much always makes things worse. By the time the First Love representatives had checked back with the father and gotten her some medical help, her lungs already had fluid in them and the disease had progressed to the terminal stage. She died, and her father will forever live to know he could have saved her.

You can bet there was a bit of silence after that news got to the table. It wasn't meant to shut us up. It wasn't meant to depress us. No, it was actually just meant to inform us. A daily report sort of thing. That's the daily sort of news the Okunas, as First Love’s head representatives, are liable to receive.

How is it like this, and yet they are still contented in their lives?

Earlier this afternoon, I was assisting someone who aspires to be a lawyer and a doctor with her composition skills. I have currently gone over three of the stories she has written all by herself. They are all extremely well-written, save for a few grammatical and spelling errors here and there. But, what stuck out to me from the first story was the dark introduction - it starts from the perspective of an innocent, female character that wonders where everyone is. Then, three men with black gloves and suspicious expressions come. When the character tries to call the police, they grab her, bind and blindfold her, then kidnap her. Luckily for the character (and my heart, that was racing by that point), it turns out that these three men were actually hired to surprise the daylights out of her and bring her to her surprise birthday party, where her whole family was waiting.

The second story went by with less incident, describing a teenage girl being punished by her father for sneaking out with a boy to a party with alcohol at it. I put it shortly, since I don't want to make this blog about her stories.

Now, I corrected these first two drafts yesterday. By then, the thought had already crossed my mind that perhaps these stories were based on some truth. But, I said nothing - until she had me proofread a third story that she had written overnight:

It starts with even more beauty, innocence, and naivety than the first story, with the girl awakening to observe the morning dew. You can tell the character can't wait to start her day, but when she reaches the bus stop, the bus is seen leaving around a corner. Just then, a good-looking man in a nice car rolls up to ask her if she needs a ride. Desperate and taken by his "kindness", she accepts. While he drives farther and farther in the wrong direction, she is distracted by the music (and her own naivety). Finally, she realizes what's going on and starts screaming; that's when his whole "nice-guy" attitude changes. Soon, he stops the car, and the author writes that he drags her into the bushes and tortures her. Finally, when he pauses to bring a knife out, she uses the chance to knock him out and get to the road to flag down policemen. The story ends with her recovering in the hospital.

When the author of this gruesome story sat down beside me to see the corrections I had made, I had to stop in the middle of it and finally ask her, "Is any of this true?" Her response - "Yes, my uncle raped me." And in the same breathe, she added, "But I forgave him." She later told me that she forgave him a year ago tomorrow (August 7th, 2009).

This talented writer who aspires to be a lawyer and a doctor is 14-and-a-half years old, can quote Scriptural circles around me, and passionately loves the Lord with all her heart. In fact, she loves Him so much that she'll forgive and love the man who raped her sometime before she was 13.

Jordan and I have been reading through a "textbook" while here. In it, one finds a picture of each orphan at the Karen Orphanage with an attached biography. As we read, we find ourselves moving between extreme emotions of overwhelming sadness and intense anger. The overwhelming sadness comes from understanding each girl's unfortunate past. The intense anger comes from not being able to understand why anyone would ever think to bring physical, emotional, mental, and/or sexual harm to any of these. I find myself beginning to burn even as I write this.

Yet, the girl I spoke of before discussing the orphans has no anger. She has no hate. She seeks no revenge. She has only love and grace in her heart - the Spirit of the Lord. She is, truly, a new creature (2 Cor 5:17).

The Okunas who continually subject themselves to hearing of and involving themselves in the desperate lives of those in the slums are content. The reason they do not despair every time they hear or relate a tragic story - like Irene did earlier - is because they put their trust wholly in God's goodness. Not just their trust - they know that He is good. And, in knowing this, they can carry on in the ministry He has set before them, despite sharing in the pain with their Fellows in Christ. In knowing of His goodness, they can also share in the joy of the Father with their Fellows in Christ.

Our Fellows in Christ in the slums do not waste time groaning over their circumstances - it would be too much precious energy that they would want to be using to glorify the Lord. Whether praising in song or in work, the ones I have met here do so with glad hearts for the glory of God (1 Cor 10:31).

I am reminded of a short video I just saw the other night, thanks to a very encouraging Kenyan Brother - "When's the last time you drank a glass of water to the glory of God?" And when's the last time you drank a glass of clean water to the glory of God?

I ought to stop grumbling about preparing my own food - many don't have food to cook. I ought to stop complaining that I have "too much" homework - some start off for school at 4AM, then don't leave (by choice) until 9PM because they want to study. I ought to be very silent about tuition costs rising so high - many don't have the ability to pay $150 of school expenditures per year for their kids. I ought to know my place when dreading my one-mile bike rides to school this coming college semester - even the elementary students may walk at least two miles.

I ought to be thankful for my pleasures - our fellow Christians here in Kenyan slums are thankful for whatever necessities are given to them by God.
Come to think of it, I think the Lord feels torn, too - He did once, at least. Imagine the pain and suffering God has endured throughout the history of His creation, including the most painful event of all time – taking out all His wrath on His own, undeserving Son. And not just pain from outright sin, but pain from being misunderstood as a distant God, a God that loves to punish, a God that causes suffering, a God that just, plain doesn’t care.
And then imagine how He has told us time and again through His word that none of that is true – that we’re worth His suffering.

The Father loves us that much.

So, we’re worth feeling torn over.