Mothers of H.O.P.E.

After thirty years in Kenya, Art and Mariellen have accomplished a lot. They’re involved in many missions projects, not just in the Pokot region, but also in nearby cities and towns. David and I got to witness first hand the power and effectiveness of one of these ministries in the city of Nakuru. About seven years ago, the Davises started a ministry with the single mothers of the city. Being a single mother in Kenya is lightyears more difficult than in the states. David and I got to sit in on a meeting with the Mothers of H.O.P.E. and hear some stories of their journeys as single moms. There were six women at the meeting who shared with us.
The stories were all different. Some were widows, others had left their husbands out of desperation. Men in Kenya, the women told us, generally do not care about their families. Even women who have husbands with jobs struggle to provide for their children. It isn’t uncommon for the man of the house to go and blow his paycheck on booze, leaving nothing for his wife and children to live on. Mothers, the women told us, are desperate to provide for their kids. Those who have no skills-set or outside support often turn to prostitution as a means of feeding their families.
So we sat and listened to the women’s stories. Janet, the most fluent English speaker of the women, told us how she supports her three children by going door-to-door to sell insurance in a country that doesn’t believe in the concept. Josephine lamented on her inability to find stead work. She also goes door to door, looking for what little work she can do everyday to earn a few shillings.
The room we met in was small. There was hardly any space for the ten people packed into it, much less the three or four people who used it as a bedroom, a kitchen and a sitting room all in one.
Sitting in such cramped corridors, listening to the hardships of these women’s lives, I was struck by a single, resonating feeling. Joy. These women were all filled with joy. It didn’t make sense. Most of them lived on such a basic, day-to-day method of survival. They should be filled with worry, dread, despair. Why would they feel such joy when their lives were, by any means of measure, miserable?
“We know,” Janet tells me. “That God has not abandoned us. He loves us and provides for us, even when others will not.”
I encountered these women’s faith and I was humbled. They had nothing. They worked hard. They suffered. And yet they still had faith. A faith that costs much more than I’ve ever had to pay.
The women sat and prayed for each other, offering each other encouragement and fellowship. Each woman also offered 200 shillings (about $2.50) into the community pot, which was left with a different woman at each meeting. It was like a sisterhood—bound together by extreme hardship and intense faith.
They expressed how glad they were that David and I had come to fellowship with them. They were so grateful just for the fact that we’d come to listen to their stories, that we’d set aside time to spend with them. I felt unworthy of their gratitude. After all, I have so much and they have so little. Was sitting and listening to them really worth that much?
“Please tell our stories,” they said once I got up to leave. “Pray for us.”
And that’s what I decided to do.