While watching Micah jump on a neighbors’ trampoline today, I went through my cell phone contacts to delete ones that aren’t applicable anymore. I do this about once a year, and it’s rather shocking how many get axed each year. And in some senses, it’s like a little life-history lesson of the last four years.
Bonface. My language helper had to sell his cell when his drunk brother got beat up on his way home. To pay the hospital bill, he needed Bonface’s help and so Bonface sold his phone. Bonface’s sacrifice and Christian love for his brother inspired him to quit drinking and start going to church.
Dr. Patel. He delivered Asher. Asher’s here. We’re not pregnant. No need for that one anymore.
Elias. A driver to get us around Nairobi for shopping and business before we bought our own vehicle. Lord willing, we won’t be needing him anytime soon. Living here is so, so, so much easier with transportation.
Jeremy. A senior I’ve been discipling for two years. He got a new cell, but I
haven’t gotten the number yet. I just met with him today to talk about the challenges of college but again forgot to ask him.
Mike. Probably my closest friend on the mission field. He’s in the States on home assignment until August. We don’t get back until August 2010. Since his phone number will be new when he gets back, his old digits are useless to me. About 20 months without seeing each other. Ouch.
Moses. A Kenya guy in Nairobi who used to cut my hair. He died in a house fire. One of these days I’ll write a blog about his life and his impact on me personally. A hard number to erase.
Naomi. A tour guide we employed when we had visitors here a few years ago. She gave us one of our first (and worst) tastes of Kenyan business. A vengeful number to erase.
The Richersons. A missionary family that Heather, the boys, and I are very close to. Because they couldn’t raise enough support to be at Rift Valley Academy anymore, they had to return to the States. Painful to erase.
Salim. Salim is the carpenter who made all of our mahogany furniture when we moved here. During the post-election violence in 2008, Salim was beaten and chased from his business in Nairobi. He went back to be with his own tribe. I learned this story from the person who answered his cell phone—a friend? a foe?—when I called it last year.
Sami. I have no idea who this was. Deleted.
Zac. A Kenyan guy with a heart for ministry to AIDS widows and children but who only wants to run his own program. I gave him some money each month to feed and counsel some people, but since he won’t accept accountability for his work from outsiders, I’ve cut ties with his ministry. A sad deletion.
So many relationships in four years. So many different reasons for fading out of relationship. So many sad goodbyes. So many blessings.
And in two months, I’ll need to buy a new cell phone and start populating it with dozens more numbers of friends and family members in America, leaving my Kenyan cell phone—and all that it represents—behind.
Bonface. My language helper had to sell his cell when his drunk brother got beat up on his way home. To pay the hospital bill, he needed Bonface’s help and so Bonface sold his phone. Bonface’s sacrifice and Christian love for his brother inspired him to quit drinking and start going to church.
Dr. Patel. He delivered Asher. Asher’s here. We’re not pregnant. No need for that one anymore.
Elias. A driver to get us around Nairobi for shopping and business before we bought our own vehicle. Lord willing, we won’t be needing him anytime soon. Living here is so, so, so much easier with transportation.
Jeremy. A senior I’ve been discipling for two years. He got a new cell, but I
haven’t gotten the number yet. I just met with him today to talk about the challenges of college but again forgot to ask him.
Mike. Probably my closest friend on the mission field. He’s in the States on home assignment until August. We don’t get back until August 2010. Since his phone number will be new when he gets back, his old digits are useless to me. About 20 months without seeing each other. Ouch.
Moses. A Kenya guy in Nairobi who used to cut my hair. He died in a house fire. One of these days I’ll write a blog about his life and his impact on me personally. A hard number to erase.
Naomi. A tour guide we employed when we had visitors here a few years ago. She gave us one of our first (and worst) tastes of Kenyan business. A vengeful number to erase.
The Richersons. A missionary family that Heather, the boys, and I are very close to. Because they couldn’t raise enough support to be at Rift Valley Academy anymore, they had to return to the States. Painful to erase.
Salim. Salim is the carpenter who made all of our mahogany furniture when we moved here. During the post-election violence in 2008, Salim was beaten and chased from his business in Nairobi. He went back to be with his own tribe. I learned this story from the person who answered his cell phone—a friend? a foe?—when I called it last year.
Sami. I have no idea who this was. Deleted.
Zac. A Kenyan guy with a heart for ministry to AIDS widows and children but who only wants to run his own program. I gave him some money each month to feed and counsel some people, but since he won’t accept accountability for his work from outsiders, I’ve cut ties with his ministry. A sad deletion.
So many relationships in four years. So many different reasons for fading out of relationship. So many sad goodbyes. So many blessings.
And in two months, I’ll need to buy a new cell phone and start populating it with dozens more numbers of friends and family members in America, leaving my Kenyan cell phone—and all that it represents—behind.
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