Tears and anxiety filled my night.
Would photos ever remind me of my past 3 years in Kenya?
Would I ever get those memories back? My faith was tested.
It wasn’t that I didn’t believe.
I just didn’t know if God really was all that concerned about a digital
camera, memory cards, journals, medication, or a jar of Jiffy Peanut Butter.
Mum Bonny walked in confidence. I could barely sleep that first night. When I woke Sunday morning
I was informed of her dream. She was given an image of Migori Teacher’s College. She assured me I would have the bag in my hand that week.
I couldn’t keep focused on the task I was given with her class eight students. I was angry with
God. I had been forsaken by him. Here I had sacrificed all the comforts of America to share a room with strangers and eat foreign food. Why did I have to give up everything? Did God not care about my happiness?
I was so sick over my bag that I found myself traveling back to Kisumu to be with family. During
this visit I found four ill children. I went back and forth to the hospital caring for them. One had such an awful condition that I cried out to God on her behalf. I no longer was concerned about my bag. It meant nothing to me in comparison to my baby girl. I would trade any comfort so she could have a life of ease.
Just when I gave up, I received a phone call. I was with my host and these children in the doctor’s office.
Mum Bonny was screaming over top the noise of traffic and wind, "I found it. I know where your bag is. I see the vehicle now and I’m tracking them down.”
I nearly cried but still harbored disbelief. It couldn’t be. How on earth do you leave a bag with expensive equipment in a stranger’s vehicle, in a foreign country and get it back? My heart beat like a Kalengin drum during a rites of passage ceremony.
My phone rang once more. Her voice had come off the side of the train. “I had a dream last night. I was shown a police officer who escorted me to the owners of the vehicle.” She woke up Saturday morning from the dream determined the bag would be in her hands by afternoon. She took a vehicle some thirty minutes to Migori. She explained the story of the missing bag to the officer from her dream. Just as she spoke to him the vehicle where we’d forgotten the bag drove past the station. She jumped on a motorbike following the driver over the bridge demanding she pull over. The driver feared this mad woman on the motorbike. Mum Bonny managed to memorize the license plate number.
She travelled back to the station with the number. Instead of waiting on the officer, she travelled to the learners’ school near Migori Teacher’s College, remembering the “L” on the vehicle. She was given information about the driver. Within no time she obtained the phone number of the driver. The driver led her to the man who had given us the lift. He handed her the bag with everything, including my Jiffy Peanut Butter still intact.
Mum Bonny was so thrilled to return the bag to me. I couldn’t help but cry.
God really did care about the small things.
God really was concerned about my happiness.
Faith believes there’s a way even when there’s no clear path ahead. God used this experience and Mum Bonny
to strengthen my faith.