On Good Friday, I’m thinking about death. Confusion from the recent deaths of young friends’ swirls around us like wild dervishes. A student, Franklin, and a joyful widowed mom, Benta are gone from our community. Last week overflowed with distress of unavailable medical treatments that could have saved their lives. The grief of a teary-eyed children, now orphaned, feels unbearable. Will extended family help them? Are resources ready to keep them healthy? I’m sitting on my bed, looking at tender flowers climbing over the grey cement wall, trying to make sense of disturbing sadness.
I knew when we came to Kenya we’d experience a raw, scarring life. I studied the plight of vulnerable children traded like commodities. I read the stories of victimized widows who sold their bodies to feed their babies. I understood the statistics on mortality rate, life expectancy, and per capita income.
But now we actually see poverty devour. We hear the anguish cry and taste the hostility. We feel the life of the oppressed, inhaling toxic fumes of too many burning dreams. We are a part of these people, and the recent deaths vibrate an echoing question - WHY? WHY? WHY? …
It’s Good Friday and I’m thinking about life. Tonight, we’ll celebrate worship with Jesus friends, sharing communion. We’ll remember His sacrifice and let death be swallowed in victory. The WHYs will fade because we trust the Eternal - WHO gave His life to save us from the shroud of uncertainty. The grey hardness of suffering is covered with fresh blooms of hope. I’ll place my affections there, on the beauty growing before me.
It’s Good Friday. His sacrifice is enough. Resurrection morning proves it true.
Please pray for Mildred, Franklin’s widowed mamma and Benta’s children, Seth and Winnie.
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