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| My mud hut |
A 10-year old story from my archives on this, another Thanksgiving
“The man or woman who is ready for God and His work is
the one who carries off the prize when the summons comes. Readiness for God
means that we are ready to do the tiniest little thing or the great big thing,
it makes no difference. We have no choice in what we want to do; whatever God’s
program may be, we are there, ready.
Are you prepared to abandon entirely and let go? Abandon
means to refuse the luxury of asking any questions. When you do get through to
abandonment to God, you will be the most surprised and delighted creature on
earth.”
-
Oswald Chambers
When I arrived for another stay at my mud hut, I was as happy to see Charles and the boys again as they
were to see me. The language barrier prevents me from communicating too well
with the boys but as I pedaled onto the compound, their huge grins spoke
volumes. Charles’ wife had been bed-ridden for much of her pregnancy; I hadn’t
even laid eyes on her before this trip to Matunda. When I met Agnes, I liked
her immediately.
A few days later, when I left to return to Nairobi, she said, “Now Deb, who
is going to be with me when this baby comes? It should come any day now. This
pregnancy has had me ill the entire time. I fear giving birth alone.” I
reassured her she’d be just fine.
Secretly, I wished I could be with her when that moment came.
Almost three weeks later - on November 21st - I saw Margaret. Just back from
Matunda, she responded negatively when I asked, “Is there a baby yet?” I was
surprised, but held out hope that maybe I could share in the event after all. I
was to travel to Matunda the following day.
After spending the night in Eldoret, I purchased paint
and food items at Matunda market, and headed on my way. Cycling the last few
hundred meters in the rain, I wondered if I’d find a new baby on the compound.
Jeremiah, a young pastor friend from Nairobi arrived, as
he and I had previously arranged. We visited over peanut butter and jam sandwiches, carrots, and chai. Before he left - and at their
request - he prayed for Charles and Agnes and especially for the baby. Agnes
was quite concerned, confident it was two weeks overdue.
As I gave Jeremiah a push
towards Matunda, the sun had just set in the western sky. Just above the eastern
horizon, a full moon rose. All around us, for an entire 360 degrees, the sky
was absolutely stunning with pink clouds. What a sight!
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| Tony, Pope, Jim, and Adu |
The next day, I loaned Charles my bike and gave them
200/= for a boda boda (bicycle taxi) so they could
go to a clinic to see about the baby. That evening, Charles and Agnes reported that
the nurse at the clinic had concurred - the baby should come any time.
It rained heavy for two hours at night. At midnight, I awoke to
voices. Rousing myself out of bed, and peeking out the window, I saw Charles
and Agnes praying and singing.
Realizing it was time, I threw on my sweatshirt and
joined them. Throughout the night, Agnes laid on a gunnysack on the cold
crumbling cement floor, leaning against an old rolled-up foam mattress. She was
indeed in labor. Mary John, a neighbor who lives just down the hill, was also
present. At their request I retrieved a razor blade from my house. Charles woke
the boys and got them settled in the other tiny house on the compound. As he
did so, Agnes laughed, “If they hear my groans and noises, they’ll mimic me for
a week!”
Throughout the next few hours, and in between the
incessant rain showers, I brought my lantern and small tin lamp, as well as my
flask of leftover chai for Agnes.
Charles tried to light maize cobs.
They weren’t dry enough from the recent harvest; the ensuing smoke made it
difficult for Agnes to breathe. He opened the windows to let the smoke out but
the cool night air made Agnes cold. I brought my jiko (small cooker) and charcoal; eventually the house warmed.
In between contractions we engaged in lively
conversation. We told stories, we laughed. During their narrations, every ten minutes or so, Agnes
would disengage in the conversation and endure a contraction. They told us of her difficult pregnancy that had caused her much pain and suffering.
She was in and out of clinics and the hospital and very weak and bed-ridden for most of the
pregnancy.
Charles added, “You know - God’s ways are not human’s
ways. Sister Deb, it was God that sent you to be our friend. People can say one thing, but God has higher
ways. God is power.” Charles, only educated to fifth grade, talks in broken and
halting English. All the same, I find him quite eloquent.
Circumcision revelers (across the river in the Mawe Tatu
area) serenaded us through the night. It continued to rain off and on. When we
grew tired and the conversation waned, Agnes
pleaded, “Charles, tell us more stories to entertain us.”
Crickets counted the passing minutes. My back grew stiff
and sore from sitting on a bench. Mary sat on a small box on the floor. In
between doing whatever needed to be done, Charles laid down on the mattress on
the floor.
Strong, and enduring the pain and discomfort like a real
trooper, Agnes got weary. “Will this baby ever come?” My phone indicated the
time was 3:07am. Mary suggested we find a vehicle to take her to a clinic. Agnes confided to me she saw no need to
go to a clinic. “Now, what for? Where will we find one? Anyway, I still have
hope.”
Instead, a decision was reached to summon a midwife in
the neighborhood. One had already refused because of the unavailability of
gloves. Charles headed out to find another one. I loaned them
my torch (flashlight). The contractions were now
five minutes apart; Agnes pushed with each one. “This is too much work,” she
asserted. Mary and I occasionally helped her walk around the house. Having admired
her spirited courage all night, it was apparent to me that she was plum worn
out.
An hour passed; still no baby. Agnes soldiered on; it was an agonizing wait. Roosters, in their morning
ritual, announced the approaching dawn. When Charles finally came back, he
informed us the second midwife had also refused to assist without gloves and without being paid in advance.
Agnes was disappointed, proclaiming that was a silly reason not to help someone
in need.
A few minutes later, after another couple of strong pushes
with no baby, she stood up, noticeably frustrated and exhausted. Wrapping her
blanket around her shoulders she announced, “I’m walking to the midwife down
the hill here - even if I die at her door!”
I reminded her that the woman had declined to help
earlier. “When she sees my condition, now how can she refuse?” Mary asked her
how she would make it with no vehicle. “I’ll just go pole pole (slowly). This baby has delayed too long!”
Charles grabbed the torch;
he and Mary assisted Agnes on each side. Knowing Agnes was exhausted - and a bit
stunned by her decision - I stood transfixed in the doorway. They’d gone a mere
ten steps when Agnes moaned, squatted, and let out a scream.
The next sound in the still dark night was the cry of a
baby!
Immediately I scooped the crying infant off of the cold
wet grass. As I warmed him in my arms, he stopped crying. Charles supported his
wife; Mary ran for the lantern. “Deb, there’s still something in there,” moaned
Agnes. I told her the placenta hadn’t come out yet. Getting her back into
the house was awkward, as the baby and I had to walk very close to her because the
umbilical cord was still attached.
She moaned again and Charles lowered her. As I simultaneously
squatted down alongside her, a big squirt of blood landed on my foot. Mary
placed a gunnysack underneath to catch the placenta, which quickly followed.
Charles then led Agnes into the house. I followed with the baby in my arms.
Once inside, Mary fumbled around nervously trying to tie
the cord. I helped as best I could by holding back his curled up legs. Having
completed its 9-month task, the cord was already cold to the touch. Mary was
ready to cut it when I noticed she hadn’t tied the thread nearly tight enough.
Eventually she completed the task of retying it; I resumed my seat on the
bench. We discussed what should be done with the afterbirth. With his jembe (hoe) Charles buried it.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the child in my arms. I had
the unreservedly incredible privilege of holding him for the first full hour of
his life. Content and with a full head of curly black hair, he was simply
beautiful. With eyes bright and alert, he looked around at his new environment.
Agnes and I marveled at the way things had developed. I
checked my phone; he’d been born at 4:30am. I informed her that he looked just
like Charles. Too tired to really care, she was simply relieved it was over.
Charles continued to praise God about the course of the
last couple of days. “You know, God’s a power! His ways are not like humans.
People can give advice but God’s ways are higher. God’s a miracle. Look at this
baby. God is a miracle.” His eyes sparkled; he laughed with joy.
“Deb, it’s for you to name this child,” declared Agnes.
“If it had been a girl she was to be called Deb. But I’m not prepared to name a
boy. It seems God only wants me to have boys.”
Hesitating for a moment, I considered what name to choose.
Suddenly Charles asked, “Sister, what is your father’s name? I think you must
have the same character as your father. You’re so kind. I want my son to have
that same character.”
“My Dad’s name is Duane. Yes, he is a very kind man.”
“Then that’s the name of this boy - Duane,” proclaimed
Agnes. Regardless of never having heard of the foreign-sounding name, they
accepted it immediately and practiced pronouncing it.
As we continued to muse over the child’s birth, I told
them today was Thanksgiving in America. I explained it’s a day set aside to
give thanks to God for all our blessings.
"Duane not only has an American name, he was born on an American holiday!"
Charles insisted that I pray and give thanks to God. As I
offered thanksgiving to God for the miracle I still held in my arms, emotion
flooded over me; I was barely able to hold back my tears.
As the night came to a close, Charles gave Mary a push home. I sat next to where Agnes lay
on the floor and laid Duane by her side. I brought the tin lamp close so she
could see him for the first time. “Agnes, here take a look at your
son.” Together we marveled at him.
I left to head to my own house. The sun had just come up over the horizon
revealing a thick fog across the valley. It was beautiful - the dawn of a new
day.
A few hours later, Charles invited me to join them for the simple lunch
he’d prepared. While we ate, we reminisced and rejoiced, repeatedly praising
God.
“Deb, I didn’t know I could ever have a neighbor from
abroad,” stated Charles proudly with his typical big grin revealing two large
dimples. “You are not only my neighbor, you’re my friend. And now this child
has a name from America. There’s no other Duane in Kenya. This child is
special. God is a miracle. God is power.” Turning to Isaiah 55:8, 9 in his
Bible, he read aloud -
“For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your
ways My ways,” declares the Lord. “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so
are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts.”
If truth be told, he had quoted those verses so many
times throughout the night. It seemed to be the theme of Duane’s birth. As he now
read the passage directly from God’s Word, tears once again welled up in my
eyes.
Indeed, God’s ways are
so incredibly remarkable. What
an amazing two days it’d been!
While we ate, I took advantage of the opportunity to hold
Duane again. Agnes announced that I was to also choose Duane’s second name.
Suspecting I may be given that honor I’d already given it some thought. I
conveyed to them I thought it should be Jeremiah, after my pastor friend. In my
eyes, he’d played a very pivotal role in the unfolding story. Charles and Agnes
readily agreed - Duane Jeremiah. We had fun repeating it.
All afternoon, as the intermittent rain showers continued,
I continued to give God the glory. What
a memorable Thanksgiving this had turned out to be!
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| Agnes and Charles with Duane, a few weeks after his birth |
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| current picture of Duane |
As Oswald Chambers says in the opening quote -
I had been ready. I didn’t ask questions. I had simply made myself available for the tiniest little thing that needed to be done. I abandoned myself to God and to His program.
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