Glorious Fire

“We are now beginning our descent into Kisumu”, the pilots voice crackled into the cabin of the small Kenya Airways plane from Nairobi.

I have travelled this route many times, and now and again this announcement has caught me by surprise. Gazing out of the window at the green, tea covered hillsides far below, or following the winding route of a small road as tiny cars run along the bumpy tracks, red dusty clouds thrown up in their wake I have been lost in the landscape and not noticed that we have started to go down.

But today I knew that we were descending even before the pilot told us.

I knew because, for the last fifteen minutes, we had been skirting around billowing mountains of portentous cumulous, pregnant with storms, before appearing to plunge straight down through the middle of the biggest, greyest and broodiest.

I knew because the small Embraer was being casually and all too easily tossed around by the turbulent air. I wished at that moment that, instead of heading for Kisumu, I had got on the beautifully named “Jambo Jet” (why has no one thought of that before?) to Mombasa for a sunny holiday of beaches and warm seas. Perhaps it would be calmer heading east.

I knew because I was rising and falling in the sky like a ballerina dancing a jubilant solo full of pirouettes and points.

And I knew because my tummy was none too pleased.

I felt Pam’s hand on my arm and glanced across. “That was a bit rocky” she said, demonstrating an effortless mastery of understatement. “It must have been difficult for the pilot to hold it straight” I replied, with only a hint of a smile.

It has been a difficult year for our work in Kibos.

Our landlady, from whom we rented the house in which we have worked and run a rehabilitation home, passed away a couple of years ago and there has been nothing but argument ever since about who should inherit, with two parties staking their claim. To date nothing has been resolved, but things came to a head earlier this year when bailiffs came round, sent by one of the warring factions, threatening to remove all of our furniture and equipment.

We have no quarrel with either party, but, caught in the middle, we felt it was in our best interests to leave and let them fight over it between themselves.

Until a few weeks ago we have been in a house a few kilometres nearer to Kisumu, but one night in the summer robbers came and stole purses and equipment through windows while people slept.

So last month we moved back to Kibos, our home and a village where we feel safe. We are known and respected within the community, where we have provided a small electricity transformer that many houses have benefitted from along with a well and pump that provides a sure source of safe water in the dry seasons. We have rented a new house, much smaller than the last, but very close to our land, whilst we try and build something of our own.

We sat talking with Moses, Tatu and Paul James over a welcome cup of tea in the bright living room. Children played outside and a mechanic worked on the Landrover, trying to get it ready in time for the Ackworth Group to arrive tomorrow.

“It’s much better here”, said Moses, “I know this place, I feel safe”.

He went outside to see how the mechanic was doing and I walked out, cup of tea in hand, to watch. As I looked out towards the hills that tower over Kibos I noticed the light catching the buildings in the distance. 

They shone as if they were gold, the glory of the sun reflected back and standing out against the greyness of the hills. I made a mental note of the image for a future sermon and started to go back inside for my camera

“Have you seen those buildings” said Pam, meeting me in the doorway “Aren’t they beautiful?”.

 

I took a picture or two, then turned to look back at the small house, only to find it set in a glorious fiery landscape. The stormy black rainclouds that had caused such a turbulent arrival, just did not have the power to hold back the majesty of evening.

My hope and prayer is that this is also true for our work here amongst the street children of Kisumu. We have gone through some hard times in the last year or so and we are not yet where we would like to be, but I know that the dark clouds wont always be there.

I am praying for glorious, golden, heavenly fire and I will be thrilled if we can reflect just a little of it.