Joy Comes in the Morning (19 page)

I hoped that it was Joshua, coming to rescue me, to tell me he loved me, to tell me that the wedding was still on, but it wasn't. When I turned around, it was Keith, Taylor's physical therapist, standing in front of me.

“I didn't mean to sneak up on you. I was trying to catch you before you made your flight.”

No this dude was not invading my personal space at a time like this. “Excuse me?”

“I called your father, and he said you were on your way to JFK. I tried calling but—”

“Yeah, my phone is off. What's going on? Is something wrong with my sister?”

“No, there is something very right with her.” Keith smiled.

“Oh, so it's like that?”

“Yes.” I looked him up and down. “So what can I do for you?”

“She looks up to you, and I've messed up my chance with her.”

“Wait a minute, slow down.” I looked around to find a seat.

Keith sat down next to me. “I like Taylor, but she's so hard to get through to. I think I've got her figured out though, but I wanted to know if you think she'll give me another chance.”

“Another chance? What have you done to her?”

“Nothing. It's just that we were talking, and all of a sudden she said she'd like to visit my church with me.”

“So?”

“So . . . I told her I don't have a church home.”

“Keith.”

“Yeah, I know, but I just never got it together when I moved and—”

“You mean you used that as an excuse.”

“Whatever. Anyway, I never figured that would be the one thing standing in the way of . . .” Keith looked down at the floor. “She called me a hypocrite for claiming to love God and not even having a church home.”

“Look, if my sister is asking you about church at all, it's because you must be turning her onto it. And if she called you a hypocrite, she meant it. So get yourself together because you know right from wrong.”

“Yeah.”

“The last time Taylor mentioned church to me was the first day of the Women's Conference, before her accident, and I actually thought she was close to receiving the Lord. But things didn't work out that way.”

“She has been very bitter about everything, but do you think I have a shot with her at all?”

Now I was annoyed. I had my own problems, serious ones. “You came all the way down here to ask me that?”

“I had to know before you went away.”

It's not about you, Alex
. I looked directly into Keith's eyes.

“I'm so sorry about bothering you like this.”

“No, it's okay. Either you must really care, or you're just as crazy as she is.” I shook my head. “To be honest, you're all she ever talks about lately; therapy, therapy, and more therapy.”

“Really?”

“Yes, therapy and that gym she wants so much to own.”

“Thanks. That's all I needed to hear. I'm about to go out on a limb, and I needed to know where I stand.”

“Smart move.” I stood up. “Why don't you join my father and Aunt Dorothy at our church on Sunday? You can all try to get Taylor to come.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Unfortunately, I'll be gone for a while.”

“When will you be back?”

“I was supposed to only be gone for a week, but now I don't know.” I shook my head. “I guess I'll have to see.”

“Again, I'm sorry, but I just had to know. I think I'm in love with your sister.” Keith admitted.I smiled. “You think?”

“Okay, I know I'm in love with your sister.”

On the outside, I smiled because I was happy that Taylor had found someone to love her, but on the inside, I was sad I had lost the one who loved me. “God bless you, then.”

“Thanks.” Keith turned and started to walk away.

“Bye.” I was ready to leave all of this behind and to embark on a new journey.

I put on my shades, looked through the plane window, and let the tears run down my face. I couldn't believe I had lost Joshua forever. My secret was out, and my life was over. The only reason I was still going to Africa was because I needed to escape. Very simply escape. There was no place else I wanted to go. The wedding was off, the love of my life was gone. My reputation at the church and at the affiliated college was smeared forever, which meant I couldn't go back to either of them. I put my head into my hands and let the emotions of the past few days cleanse my soul.

I had never been on a missions trip, and even though this was clearly supposed to be about public relations, I knew I would be staying closely with missionaries. I also knew where my heart truly was and that was in helping people. Public relations? Could I truly do the job and be concerned only with the image and not necessarily with the people? That really wasn't me, and I knew it, but I was still willing to give this new position a try. Not only did I need the money, but after what happened between Joshua and me, I really needed the time away.Time away seemed like an understatement. I had the rest of my life to be away because Joshua wanted no parts of me after my lies and deception. I remembered the way he looked at me with disgust when he found out. Why didn't I just come forward and say it a long time ago before it got too serious, before the stakes became too high? I looked at my empty ring finger again and ached for what would have been.

My flight stopped in London where I had to switch to a British Airways flight, but what would happen once I reached Kenya?

I arrived in Kenya at the Jomo Kenyatta International Airport, the largest airport in the country. Greeted by Sister Martha and Sister Ethel from Missionary Chapel Church, it felt good to see familiar faces. They had been there for a week already with a group of ten. Sister Martha was wrapped from head to toe in traditional African garb, so much so that I almost didn't recognize her. Sister Ethel, however, wore a long sleeved dress and a wide brimmed straw hat. “Sister Alex. We're so glad you decided to join us.” Sister Martha hugged me with her wide arms.

“Yes, we are.” Sister Ethel did the same with her smaller ones.

“Thank you.” I smiled. “I'm glad to be here, and I'm anxious to get started.”

“Well, you're going to have to wait a little bit for that. First our driver is going to take you on a little tour. Dr. Harding insists that anyone who comes here must get an idea of what they're dealing with before you're thrown into the fire.” Sister Martha laughed, but I wasn't really sure what was funny.

I was already nervous about being here to do this public relations thing. I certainly didn't have time for jokes.

“Then we'll show you where you can get settled in.” Sister Ethel's words were more of a comfort.

“Okay, that's fine.” I wasn't sure if it was fine or not, but since I was in unfamiliar surroundings, I didn't complain. In fact, I had never been farther than South Carolina my entire life. Neither had Taylor. A pang of guilt went through me as I thought of her back home in Brooklyn, crumpled over in her wheelchair. I shook the image from my head.

They led me to the 4x4 Landcruiser parked out front and introduced me to the driver. “Jambo,” he said. He was a tall, well built man with incredibly smooth, dark skin.“Jambo,” I answered, which meant hello in Swahili.

As we boarded the vehicle, I saw that it had a game viewing roof since, as they explained to me, it was usually used for safaris. Immediately, I noticed the rolling hills, grassy plains, and humid feel to the air. All of the roads were tarred yet some were rougher than others. The driver cruised down rugged hills and flat lowlands at high speeds. Pedestrians chatted casually while crossing the roads. The driver explained issues of poverty, HIV, cultural, and political importance. While listening to him, I noticed many nice parks and reserves. I also noticed safari vans full of people on their way to study the beautiful wildlife. The mystery of mountain forests, stony Northern deserts, and high moors was inescapable.Then we saw the Great Rift Valley that stretched from Jordan toMozambique. The driver told us that we would have an opportunity for mountain climbing atop Mt. Kenya, which kind of interested me because I always liked heights. I saw beautiful beaches along the coast and the tropical climate soothed me.

“Now this would be a nice place for a honeymoon. Maybe you and Deacon Joshua can check it out.” Sister Martha pointed to the beach.

Sister Ethel just giggled.

“Yeah, maybe.” Sadly I looked away and hid my naked ring finger underneath my bag. Of course they didn't know yet. It was too soon, and they were thousands of miles away from Missionary Baptist Church, so they hadn't heard.

While we were still riding, it started to rain, and the driver explained that it was the rainy season. Finally, we ended our tour in the colonial-built capital, Nairobi. The Methodist Guest House, where were staying, was located in the Lavington Green section of Nairobi. The rooms were a fair size and were equipped with thirteen-inch television sets. There were only about six or eight channels, nothing like the cable I was accustomed to, but it was better than nothing. There was a business center where we could use the Internet and public telephones, so for that I was grateful. There was a small gift shop and a western-style mall named Yaya Center that we could walk to if we wanted. There was also a place for group seating to encourage fellowship amongst the missionaries. I went into my room, closing the door behind me. I kicked off my sandals, peeled off my denim outfit, and took a shower in the small bathroom. When I came out, I threw myself across the bed. I looked at my empty ring finger and began to cry. I had gambled and lost Joshua. I had been living a lie, trying to be self-righteous, and yet I had done the most unrighteous thing.

It was a wonder that I could even lift my head daily and go on with my sham of a life for as long as I did, avoiding innocent children, ducking and hiding like some kind of bandit. For so long I had randomly selected children from a crowd, seeking solace in their eyes, seeking redemption and wondering what if. Not only was I ashamed, but I was missing my calling. What a waste my life was.

Before I could truly sink into the abyss of depression, there was a knock at the door.

“Sister Alex, are you ready?” Sister Ethel's soft voice summoned me.

“Five minutes, please.” I jumped off of the bed and into my clean underwear.

“We'll meet you out front,” Sister Martha said.

I grabbed a long sleeved, pink cotton shirt to go along with my khaki skirt. Dr. Harding had spent a considerable amount of time telling us about the modest dress codes. He made it very clear, no tank tops, sleeveless outfits or low rider jeans. Believe me, I got the picture. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, put a pink Nike cap on my head, and sunglasses on my face. I wore no jewelry or makeup. I grabbed my Bible and a small umbrella, then stuffed them into my canvas bag. I looked around, careful not to leave anything of value in the room. Now I was ready for ministry.

When we entered the Land Cruiser this time, it was filled with other American missionaries. The driver took us to the largest slum in Kenya, Kibera. We climbed up a hillside where I saw a mess of rusted metal roofs joined together. There were windows without glass panes. There was sewage from outside the city running into the city to join with the sewage from inside the city that already had no way out. Consequently, the stench was horrible. We met families of eight who lived in one room shacks without a toilet. The conditions were horrendous, and I immediately felt the pain of these people. I could see that just as I had heard about, sanitation was one of their biggest issues. Yet because of their ability to survive on a dollar in Kibera, and the close proximity to the rich who would hire them, they continued to live in this slum. I shook my head because these made the slums back home look like paradise.

As we talked with some of the natives, who spoke a mixture of broken English and Swahili, I discovered that some of them were quite happy where they were, helping each other and enjoying a great sense of community. One lady explained how a neighbor had given her sugar cane for her and her son. Another told us how her neighbors helped with chores when she was sick. We prayed with them, sang songs out in the fields, and passed Bible tracs out to the occasional passerby. The next day the entire missionary group was up at dawn. We had devotion together, and then Sister Martha dispersed the assignments for the day, which I wouldn't be able to participate in. Instead, I had a press conference scheduled at the Minister for Education's office. Unfortunately, it was time to start fulfilling my public relations obligations, which I was not at all excited about. I could probably do the job with my hands behind my back, but missions seemed much more interesting.

The only bright spot, however, was Missionary Seger Abasi, who was also on assignment from the United States. He was actually a native Kenyan who had been working in The United States for the past ten years. He had quite a sense of humor, and after all I had been through, surprisingly, he was able to make me laugh.

Upon entering the office of the minister for education, Dr. Wanjii greeted me with, “Jambo.”

“Jambo,” I replied. Then he proceeded to speak in his native language. So I pulled out my notes and said, “Sisemi kiswahili, lakini” which meant that I didn't speak Swahili. We spoke briefly in English. Then when the press arrived, I took my place in front of the camera and simply shared all the information I had about Missionary Bible College. That was the easy part because after working there for three years, I knew it inside and out. I not only discussed all of the academic programs, but I highlighted all of the outreach programs as well. Needless to say, the crowd seemed to be impressed. Dr. Wanjii spoke of modeling one of the newer Bible schools like ours. He introduced me to a few of his colleagues, and we spoke intensely about the vision of Missionary Bible College. I knew it well. Then we all sat down to eat nyama choma-grilled goat and Sukumu wiki-collard greens. At the end of our meeting we said, “kwaheri” to each other, which means good-bye.

After the van dropped me off at the guest house, upon seeing that everyone was still out on their afternoon duties, Seger and I left to take a short walk. Down through the brush and up a slippery hillside, I found a tiny one room schoolhouse. I peeked inside the window and saw young children between the ages of five and ten sitting on the floor. The children fascinated me in every way. I stood gazing at them through the window until their teacher soon invited me in.

“I'm sorry. I don't mean to disturb you.” I turned to go, filled with embarrassment.

The teacher put her hand on my shoulder to stop me. “No problem. You here to help us, to teach us.”

“Oh no, just the Bible, not—” I shook my head frantically.

She put the chalk in my hand. “This is Vacation Bible School. You teach us.”

I looked at the teacher, then the chalk, then into the eyes of the students who sat silently waiting for what I had to say.

So Seger and I walked in and started talking about Jesus, His life, His love, and how He died on the cross for our sins. The next thing I knew, I was talking about how precious life is, and going on and on about the goodness of God. I always did love talking about the Lord, and if the right folk were asked, they'd say I always loved to talk period. We sang “Jesus Loves Me” and I was filled. Following the children's lead and the beat of my own heart, I didn't return to the guesthouse until dinnertime.

The missionaries and I worked very closely every day, especially Seger and me. He seemed to love teaching also. Daily we walked barefoot through the tall thick trees, eating papayas, and talking about the vision God had placed in his heart, and about the vision I was discovering in mine. I could tell that he was beginning to like me. Once when we were walking by a waterfall, he reached out for my hand, but I resisted.

“I can tell you've been hurt,” he said with his Kenyan accent.

“Yes, I have. Twice, actually.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. It's just life. Besides, the second time was my fault.”

Seger smiled. “I don't believe that.”

“It's true. I wasn't honest about my past so—”

“But why should something from the past make such a difference to the present?”

“Well, it's hard to explain, but it did.”

“I don't care about anything from your past. I just want you in my future.”

He had smooth, dark, Belgium chocolate colored skin and eyes that sparkled like fine onyx. When he put his hand under my chin and lifted it, I thought I was ready, but as much as I wanted to forget about Joshua, I couldn't.

“I'm sorry. I need more time,” I said.

“He must be someone really special.”

“He is.”

“I understand. Your wounds are fresh. But I promise to make you forget all about him.”

I smiled as I watched him walk away.