It was a whirlwind. The anticipation leading up, the countless to-do lists, out of town guests, last minute errands and changes, a head cold in the midst.....and then it was Saturday. We set everything up, and as I look at all of the beautiful tables and the room that would later be filled with people, it was the moment of Is this real life? Am I really going to be standing and talking in front of 150 people? How did I even get here? And then the event began.
All things considered, everything went very well. Yes, there were some hiccups, and it is easy to become fixated on those things as I evaluate the event. But the truth it was a success. Yes, financially, we were able to raise a good amount of money (hopefully will have the official total soon!). We had a great turnout, almost double of last year. All of the auction items were bid on. The dessert dash was a hit. Both Carol and my sister spoke very well. Those are all great things. Yet now, 10 days later, after getting some much needed rest and time to recuperate, I am just beginning to truly see some of the fruits that we harvested.
I was writing some emails to each of the 3 clinics we support, and I was trying to capture the essence of the event in just a few sentences. If I could tell them just one thing about the event, what would I say? And the thing that I kept coming back to was now 150 people know you exist. They heard the name of your clinic. They saw some of the photos of your staff and your patients. Your story was heard. It gives me chills just writing this, because that is really incredible. At the end of the day, Imani cannot raise enough funds to meet the vast and complex needs of the slums. That is just a fact. The reality is we are just a few drops in a large ocean. But when I tell my friends in Kenya that 150 people came to our event and listened to their story - that means something. That generates hope. Having that personal relationship with the clinics we support is so important to me. It makes those few drops of water mean something. The money we raised isn't just going to Africa or to poor people. It is benefiting Hadijah, the HIV moms group, Moses & Michael, Edwin, Andrew, Peter & Francisca. And in turn, their sacrifice, their love, their commitment to serve their communities touches us, and alters how we perceive and interact with the world.
As 2014 is winding down, it is incredible to me to look at how God has provided and guided us this year. Now comes the time where we ask for discernment and wisdom in what projects to fund, and how to best assist these clinics in a way that is helpful, but not crippling. This is definitely one of the most challenging aspects of non-profit work. I am continually learning and growing in this area, and most of what our board of directors does is wrestle with these difficult decisions. We do plan to send funds so that each of the clinics can have a Christmas meal with their staff and some of the community members. In the big scheme of things, this is a very small thing. However, as I spoke with some of the people who attended this meal last Christmas, their eyes lit up as they reminisced about that day. So it is worthwhile, as a shared meal with all the fixings brings joy and hope in the midst of a lot of despair.
I do not know what is in store for Imani in the months to come, but I am at peace. God has always only shown me one stepping stone ahead....never more, never less. It is a journey that has challenged and strengthened my faith, pushed me out of my comfort zone, brought me to my knees, moved me to tears, and ultimately left me humbled to be used by God in this way. Thank you to all of you who have been a part of supporting Imani in so many different ways. As I shared at the event, we cannot help everyone but we can help someone. We cannot do everything, but we can do something.
Sometimes the most calming, rejuvenating thing that I can do in the midst of a stressful time is to write. It's one of those things you tend to put on the bottom of the priority list. In my recent flurry of list-making, I was hesitant to even put "write a blog post" on there, as I knew there were plenty of more pressing tasks. Yet I also knew myself enough to know the act of putting words together is incredibly therapeutic for me. It is my sanctuary, my purposeful act of slowing down, of taking out a moment to view things from a different angle.
This has been a crazy time of life. Weddings, trips out of town, long stretches of work followed by long stretches off. And a lot of preparation for Harvest of Hope, the upcoming Imani fundraiser dinner event that I have been planning since February. Though it has been a labor of love, trying to essentially do 2 full time jobs is taking its toll. I have been frazzled, stressed, scatterbrained, distracted, tired, but not able (or willing) to sleep with so many unfinished tasks. My mind is constantly racing - problem solving, evaluating, prioritizing, delegated, all to ensure this event is a success. But what does success look like? At the end of the evening, what really matters?
I won't go into the whole story of how Imani came to be, but it really is an incredible act of God's hand in my life. It was not what I had dreamed for myself, and not even something I wanted to do. Yet it was exactly what I needed to do, and now I really cannot imagine not living the life that I do. Still, I do a whole lot of emailing, planning, meeting, brainstorming, communicating, banking, fundraising, etc. because I really believe that the health and the well-being of the people living in the slums in Kenya matters. Those few weeks out of the year I get to spend over there have changed my life. I can never go back to life before falling in love with Kenya, and I never want to. Just thinking about sharing a little bit of that with a room full of people makes me teary-eyed. Though our lives are completely different, the human connection is so powerful.
This photo, in the very literal sense, is me holding the hand of a little boy who I met as we were walking through Mukuru kwa Njenga. He was following me around, and although we could not communicate in words, I reached out my hand so he could hold it. And that is how we walked around, hand in hand. I do not know his name. I don't know how old he was, where his family was, if he had eaten that day, or what his future would hold. But in those moments we were of one heart. Although I will never forget that moment, I wanted to take a picture because I thought it was a good visual image of what my hope for Imani is - partnership. Essentially saying, here is my hand, hold on, and let's continue on our journey together. We are walking side by side, no one leading the other, but a mutual understanding that you will keep each other's pace. There is something so powerful about the human touch - especially in a place where you cannot always communicate in words and where many people are use to being "untouchable." Sometimes just reaching out your hand is the most effective means of doing ministry. A tangible act of love. It is what I imagine Jesus doing as he ministered to those who no one else wanted anything to do with. The lepers. The blind. The widows and orphans.
Break my heart for what breaks yours, Everything I am for your Kingdom's cause
That is my prayer. May I continue to see the heart of God through the hearts of the people He created. May my life be to bring forth the Kingdom, to love deeply and unconditionally, and to reach out my hands.
