It's Going to be OK

He is the Lord of the desert . . . even your desert.

Chuck Swindoll

Our tiny plane landed with a thud and skidded to a halt on the short airstrip.  Passengers disembarked while the crew unloaded the luggage, which included a large shipment of live chickens and a body that had been sent home for traditional burial. 

As soon as you arrive in Turkana, you know you're in a different world.  This county lies in the far northwest of Kenya, and it essentially consists of a 1,700 million-acre desert.  Gazing over the arid, desolate landscape, it's hard to imagine how anyone could survive there.

The realities of life in Turkana are overwhelming.  Severe drought over the last decade has left the people (and their herds) in desperate need of food and water.  More than 83 percent of the people earn less than $18 per month, which means that virtually all of them are below the poverty line.  Only three in every 100 children will ever have the chance to attend secondary school.  In fact, more than 80 percent of Turkana's people have never even set foot in a classroom.

Women leaving their traditional homes to fetch water.
 

But I didn't have time to reflect on these facts.  Instead, my attention was quickly directed to the people who had come to greet us.  Our plane had been delayed by fifteen hours, but they didn't seem to care.  They smiled, waved, and shouted their greetings to Ken and me.  A few of them ran forward to take our bags, all the time asking, "How is Kenya?"  Then we were whisked away to the Army's compound, where we were warmly welcomed by more than 100 officers, soldiers, men, women, and children, all of whom were eager to see the strangers who had come to visit them.

Over the course of the weekend, I would learn a great deal more about Turkana and the Army's work there, and quite frankly, the results that our officers and soldiers are able to achieve are nothing short of miraculous.  The vast majority of people in Turkana still follow traditional religion, but because of the perseverance and dedication of our dedicated team, more and more are being introduced to Christ.  Salvation Army programmes are growing, and we were even able to celebrate the opening of two new corps.  It was thrilling.

Most churches in Turkana ask women to remove their beads as soon as they become Christians.
 But not the Army.  The Army only asks them to remove the beads when they choose to wear uniform.

But whenever Ken and I had the opportunity to speak with officers about their personal situations, my heart broke.  Our people are starving, and no matter how hard they work or what they sacrifice, sending even one of their children to school remains a dream.  And don't even get me started on the deadly snakes, spiders, scorpions, and plants that pose a daily threat to the children. 

As I lay in bed that first night, I begged the Lord to show me what to do.  How could we help our Turkana family?  It is one thing to read about the situation in reports, I told Him, but putting faces to the stories made it almost too much to bear.  So couldn't He please give me an answer?  There was no response.

Ken and I have talked about Turkana every day since we got back to Kakamega, but the Lord still hasn't given me an answer to my plea.  But He has reminded me of His promise in  Revelations 7:16-17:

Never again will they hunger; never again will they thirst. The sun will not beat down on them, nor any scorching heat.   For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd; he will lead them to springs of living water.  And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes. 

That's right.  On top of everything else, He's the God of the desert.  He promises that, in the midst of our suffering, everything will one day be alright.  My prayers might not be answered immediately, but in His time and in His way, I can be confident that His people will one day feast at His banquet table, and that all of them will be more than satisfied.

When my own situation is desperate, when my spirit is forlorn, and when I'm tempted to see life as  empty as a wasteland, I must also remember to hold on.  Because He's the Lord of my desert too.