Three lunch bags sit stiffly on the counter, their mouths yawning wide like baby birds. I fill them, feeling a bit like the mama bird, though I wonder if mama birds analyze their mundane tasks as much as we human mamas do. 

One kid asks for peanut butter and jelly, and I dig around in the fridge for seedless raspberry jam, her favorite kind. Does the mama bird dig for the best worms the way I do condiments?!

Purpose is more important than need. 

So says Flora, far far away in Kenya. Not just a friend, really. She's more like my sister.

One time, not that long ago, she was a preteen girl in Mathare, who happened to be asked on camera what she wanted to be when she grew up.

"I'd like to be president of the World Bank," was her answer.

My parents, recognizing a fellow optimist when they saw one, took her for her word. They pay for her tuition each term, and pray for her like they pray for their other daughters. Her picture sits framed on their bedside table, right there alongside rosie-cheeked grandbabies. None of Dad and Mom's biological children mind sharing love that multiplies exponentially as it's given, perhaps because we know Flora's need is their purpose. Most of her facebook posts are in Swahili but this one - her personal motto - speaks to me.

Purpose is more important than need.  

I slather peanut butter on bread and consider this. When her needs have been so great, how can she stretch herself to find purpose beyond survival? Self-preservation isn't such a selfish goal, is it? What do I know of self-preservation anyway? Have I ever had to choose between a need and a purpose as she probably has? Is it any wonder she is inspiring to everyone around her, having been refined by these sorts of choices?

But what do you do if the only need you have is for purpose?If these have never been in true conflict?

The mandarin oranges peel in my hands and I pry the pieces into bites, tuck them in to their bed of Ziploc. The sweet smell of orange lifts upward with my prayer, like incense. "Might our kids find purpose, more than need, to move them." In a bit of courage, I pray the same for myself.

I'm interrupted as a little one pleads for hot soup for lunch and I fill a Thermos. Pack a plastic spoon.

These three children of ours - their view of the world is sweet, innocent, picturesque.

I don't feel guilty about this. But I am grateful - oh, so grateful! - as I send them off to school, their heavy backpacks lurching side to side with lunches, clean water, and books rustling.
 
This is a first for me, and them - this morning, school-day rush to find purpose more than need, and to stretch upwards and outwards at an "official" school. The shnookums are in great hands being shaped in wonderful, creative ways.

Here they are after the carpool drops them off.

Real Gil and I are still shaking our heads in wonder as we see the growth our kids are exhibiting in this new learning environment.

What parent would not want this for their kids?

Parents here want the same thing for their children.

Mathare Slum, Nairobi, Kenya.

If you are one of the 600, 000 people to live within this 3-mile square slum (considered one of the oldest and worst slums in Africa), you are no less inclined to want good for your child, just less hopeful of actually acquiring.

My mother's heart can't help but be torn when I consider the odds of kids here in Mathare gaining an education, lumbering to school with full bellies and backpacks.

That's the exciting part though... because kids are beating the odds. Gaining an education. Perhaps more deserving than any other students in the world, the Kenyan students who receive scholarships through Bridge have overcome seemingly insurmountable circumstances and are excelling, planning, dreaming, and leading. Not just academically, either. We are in awe as these students reach out to others around them, seeking tribal reconciliation, spiritual growth, and opportunities to serve.

Here are our current students. Doesn't this picture just shout the truth - we're beating odds!

Andrew and Stephanie Onguka's incredibly consuming task of interviewing our newest year of students - all who are worthy of scholarships! - is almost complete.

 

The applicants are many, the scholarships ready. How do you choose? Though I see this picture of applicants and feel a bit desperate for each of them, thankfully, Andrew and Stephanie know their purpose and do it well. 

I can't wait to meet the roster of chosen students. Already, I am praying for them...and for those who are not accepted too. Can I trust that God takes care of them too?

Today, Mom and I talked on the phone. Well, I talked and she tried not to cry as she saw the picture of this year's scholarship applicants. She reminded me of the story of the starfish on the beach. We might be overwhelmed by the big picture, but we can make a difference for this one, and this one, and this one...

Mom and I - not in the Valley. And not cooking!

So, we are thankful for our own very small purpose here in the Valley.

The shop has officially closed for the season, but there is a check in the amount of  $14,152 written in wobbly, excited cursive from Hallelujah Toffee. That's 100% of our profits. Accompanied with it goes all the enthusiasm, energy, and wobbly purpose of Mom and I, and our amazing team of volunteers.

 

 

Over thirty volunteers helped with the actual production of 1,100 pounds of Hallelujah Toffee this year.  Sales teams, set-up crews, babysitting daddies, logistical support folks, and lots of enthusiastic shoppers made our season the best yet. (I promise to do better with pictures next year! Sorry to those of you who didn't get your picture taken!)

We even had enough to hand some out to our local marines during their Christmas party.

Marine Christmas Party with our "elves" and a wagon of Hallelujah Toffee

As you can see, it may not be certified education, but we are doing our best to include the younger ones in these endeavors.  

So many reasons to rejoice, I think, as I wipe down the counter's crumbs, put away the lunch fixings, throw away orange peels.

Though there are definitely moments when I feel like nothing more than the mama bird (Do baby birds ever stop to say thank you!??), the gift of gratitude - and purpose - is one that can be received whether I am packing lunches, toffee, or suitcases for Kenya.

I pray the same is true for you today. 

Resting Here,

Karen

Hallelujah Toffee 2012

Yes, I've disappeared for a FULL YEAR.

But I have many partially legitimate reasons - the most recent of which is Hallelujah Toffee.

Last year, we earned enough to sponsor FIFTEEN students, all well-deserving potential freshman high-school-age kids who just needed the tuition for school paid. (High School in Kenya is like our college in America.)

First an update: these students are all finishing their first year of high school. Despite the many adjustments and transitions required of them to move from the Mathare slums to their respective boarding schools, they are excelling, just like we knew they would. Here's a few of them...

Reagan was born in 1994. His father died in a boat accident, he was taken in and raised by his uncle in Mathare slums. Despite pain, loss and hardship, Reagan is full of gratitude; his trust in the Lord has been a source of peace, stability and inspiration in his life. He enjoys social studies and hopes to use his gifts and talents to help others. Reagan scored 408 marks in KCPE 2010, becoming one of the top students from Mathare slums. During his years in primary school, he was appointed  as a "Prime Minister" of Mathare children's parliament; he gave a moving speech at the 2010 International Labor organization conference on child labor in Africa, held in Nairobi. With his education at Dagoretti  High School underway, Reagan is currently thinking through different future careers. We have no doubt that Reagan has what it takes to achieve his dreams in life. 

This is Vivian, born and raised in the Mathare slums. Both of her parents died and she along with her four siblings were left under the care of an uncle who lives in the slums. Vivian says that she misses her parents but also grateful for the opportunities she has been given. She says that she feels like she belongs and is encouraged to work hard in her education. Currently enrolled at Chakol High School in Western Kenya, she is adjusting to the new pace of boarding school life, enjoys mathematics, and hopes to become a pilot. 

Gabriel, also known as Oloo, was born in 1993 to a single mother who died in 2000 when he was seven years old. Oloo and his elder sister are the only ones left in the family after their younger sibling died shortly after their mother's death. After all these tragedies, Oloo and his elder sister were left to face the harsh slum life with no one to care for them. They both struggled to make ends meet with no hope in life. Despite the hardships, Oloo has been very resourceful; he graduated at the top of his class in KCPE 2010 exams and was invited to join Londiani Boys High school where he has contnued to perform at the top of his class. [Biographies courtesy of One Life Africa's website. Thanks, Andrew and Stephanie!]
  
There are twelve more inspiring stories where these came from, but I'll try not to be the mother at the grocery store who has the wallet full of school pictures of "her kids," as I refer to them. I'd like to brag on them all day long, but I'll restrain myself.

Suffice it so say, these kids are so far beyond where I thought they would be in one year. So, as exciting as it is to look at their progress over this past year, now we're looking forward to this upcoming year.

Now, we're working on sending them to Term 2 (sophomore year) for the year. The scholarships provided include the students' school fees for the year, all room and board, a summer camp in their off-time, a mentoring program with like-minded adults, and even a small emergency medical fund in the case of a medical emergency for any of the students. (For those of you interested in the financial side of things, the students' scholarships are $1000 for an entire year. This also includes all of their school supplies and a Christmas party.)

So, if you've got a hankerin' for handmade candy, some great Christmas gifts, or business basket fillers, you can purchase it here in the left-hand column or on our website. 100% of our work is voluntary, and 100% of our profits are donated.  Call it a modern-day sewing circle, if you want. We call it the best Christmas tradition of the year!

Resting Here,
Karen

Hallelujah Toffee

We were hiking in "The Ditch" - the Little man and I. And although it felt like we were going in circles, that aimless feeling of mine was only one-sided. He informed me that he knew exactly where he was going, the empty oatmeal bucket tucked under his chubby arm. Inside the vast depths of that cardboard cylinder lay treasures, soon to be deposited in a well-speculated location. Priceless things like bottle caps, two golf balls, one broken water gun, a piece of Trident gum (unchewed), some paper clips, and one of Mom's Gladware lids. It was an amateur "geocache" in his mind and with confident strides, we meandered around the bushes until the Little Man found the exact place to deposit it.


Job done, we walked back towards our home because I had been informed that it was time to draw the map.

An old man soon overtook us on the walking path, our small steps quickly passed by his long and surprisingly brisk stride. He pointed to my son and smiled at me over his shoulder, only slowing a bit.

"Do you know how many of those I delivered?"

"How many?" Was he speaking about kids, oatmeal boxes, or treasures untold?

"I stopped counting at 5,000 babies," he announced, his sneakers firmly planted and no longer moving forward as he spoke.

"I stopped counting at 2. I think I have three or so," I quipped. He didn't laugh, but he did move back towards us.

"I was the only baby doctor between Boise and Salt Lake City..." Somehow, this old man in sweat pants and a golf invitational t-shirt couldn't come back from the past. After regaling me with stories of women delivering twins and breach babies, he meandered like the Little Man on a hike, wandering to topics like malpractice insurance and educational standards and Halloween candy.

When my son's whine to go home and get a drink shook the doctor from his nostalgia, he waved good bye and sped away, his white sneakers squeaking on the black asphalt as he picked up the pace.

I wondered about that number later on. 5,000. That's all I seemed to remember out of our conversation. A number. And I felt bad that the old man wasn't memorable for just being himself, that it was his work that stuck with me.

Then, I wondered about that whole Dr. 5,000 thing. How do you deliver that many babies and still feel the marvel of each baby? Each forming life? Surely there were days when the work was drudgery, not awe. When mothers came for checkups and nausea complaints and it all just blurred together, and Dr. 5,000 just wanted to get home to barbecue or watch Sportscenter. Did the reverence of new life give way to monotony somewhere around 3,200? It's the thought I have had with every prenatal exam. It's not because they make me feel irrelevant. If anything, they always try to assure me how relevant I am. But sheesh, really? After delivering that first 1,000 babies, doesn't it all blur together? (It's obvious to you all why I am too jaded to be a medical professional.)

Before I could get too judgmental towards Dr. 5,000, I looked at my own little life. As I lug the baby and diaper bag and purse and siblings with lollipops out of the office, might those medical professionals wonder how I survive another day of monotony, so glad he or she doesn't have to understand my drudgery as he or she goes about another exciting day in the office?

And I wonder if the only thing that keeps it all from becoming a blur is the unique moments, in and of themselves. The treasure walk, the stranger on the path, the child right here in front of me. When there is a face to it all, suddenly it is so much more than a number. I'm not sure which number our children were in the long line of baby deliveries our ob/gyn had racked up, but we sent them a baby announcement for each of our children. Because they were ours, and that was something to shout about!

Perhaps because it's the individuals that make the day-in-day-out life suddenly pop with...well...with life.

Other numbers are resonating in my head today - it's the curse of loving numbers mixed with a little obsessive-compulsive tendencies. Thirteen stairs to the bonus room. Four fingers tapping seems so much better than when you try to throw the thumb in there to make five.

In the overwhelming fight against poverty, numbers like 27 million (the number of people living as modern-day slaves) or 26% (the percentage of people worldwide that live in extreme poverty - this is an improvement from 52% only 30 years ago). These numbers don't really make sense to me. If I'm supposed to be encouraged that only 21,000 children die each day from preventable causes instead of 40,000 (the rate in the 1980s), it's still such an unfathomable number.



Until you put a face to it.

Suddenly, you can never lose count, even after 5,000...because they have faces and stories. Life beckons with something more than a number.

Number 15 is Benard, and he is our family's newest member.



So, he's no longer just Number 15. He's ours. My kids talk about him like he's a brother living in another state, they pray for him at night, we write to him when we know he can receive an email.
He tells us to be careful of the bears in Nevada!

An orphan living in the Mitumba slums of Nairobi, there was no hope for this sixteen-year old. With good school records but no funds or family, Benard was certainly facing insurmountable odds.

Picture taken by Greg Burns, Nairobi, Kenya.

Odds - those funny things. Another math term I love, or hate, depending on the context.

In this case, though, odds could not predict what would happen to Benard. God Himself intervened and Benard is now in a boarding school, all food, books, and other necessities supplied. There is a tidy amount of money available if he should have a medical emergency. There is a bi-annual summer camp held where Benard sees friends in the program, and sees life outside of the congested city. Perhaps best of all, Benard will soon have legal guardians, the closest thing to parents he has had in a long time. And not just any legal guardians. These two.


Andrew and Stephanie.

While Compassion International must draw the line somewhere and stops sponsorship of children after the eighth grade in Kenya, Bridge Ministries now comes alongside and sponsors these older at-risk and orphan kids who would otherwise be left behind.

For many years, we have watched Andrew and Stephanie prepare for their God-given mission to these young people. And we have prayed as Bridge Ministries came alongside to support them.

But I have felt a bit powerless. I'm a stay-at-home mom. My income for the year - $0. When your heart is so moved by something, and you have very little power to help, sometimes you almost wish you didn't even know about it.

However, this year might be a little different. Finally, I think there might be something I can do. And maybe you can too!

My family has a secret toffee recipe that we love to stir up at Christmastime. This year, we are selling it, and all of our profits will be going to OneLifeAfrica. Hooray! For every 70 pounds of toffee that we sell, one more student will get food, education, school supplies, mentoring, even summer camp.

If you are local and would like to help, you don't have to have a large bank account to be a part of this. The goal is not to just make money for these kids, but to spread the message.

• Come pack toffee on October 29th or November 5th (email me for location and confirmation).
• Come out and buy some toffee at the Minden Gazebo Lighting and Santa Parade (Dec. 2-3). Or the Douglas High School Craft Fair (Dec. 3, 9-3). We are selling Hallelujah Toffee in 1-pound and 1/2-pound sizes. Check out hallelujahtoffee.org for more information.
  
• Throw a Christmas party and offer toffee samples. Tell the story of what we are doing. And if anyone wants to be a part of it, they can throw their own Christmas party or purchase some online.
  
• Pray for these students. Their names and stories are listed at OneLifeAfrica.
  

Last week, Andrew and Stephanie came and ate hamburgers at our house. Funny, huh? Next month, they will be in Nairobi and we sat around eating burgers and watching the kids show off for the guests. We talked about Hallelujah Toffee and they smiled big smiles, dreaming of what it might mean for their students.


Join us if you would like.

We love because He first loved us. Such freedom here.

Resting in Him,
Karen