Strengthening the sick beside streams in the desert

When the pavement ended, we had followed a track in the sand. When that faded, we made our own way.

Before long, we found ourselves driving alongside a thin, meandering line of trees. We had arrived in Eleng’ata Enterit, a place you can’t find on the map, in southwestern Kenya. It wasn’t a village; we saw no dwellings. I felt filthy, sweaty, sticky, and dehydrated. Thank God, we’d finally arrived. (If you missed it, click on I never dreamed I’d live by a stream in a desert.)

As part of our orientation course named Kenya Safari, for the next six weeks we would live in the desert in the shade of massive, spreading fig trees. Oh, blessed, blessed shade. In Seattle, where I grew up, we never got enough sunshine, but in Eleng’ata Enterit—oh, yes, this Seattle girl bowed down and thanked God for shade.

 We soon learned, though, that those fig trees offered us only a mixed blessing because they housed dozens of baboons, which, upset at our invasion, pelted us with figs. And then there were baboon noises—they make a variety of grotesque sounds—the worst a blood-curdling shriek, sounding like a baby’s scream.

Those enormous fig trees grew alongside a narrow, shallow brook in that desert, reminding me of several verses in Isaiah about the way God provides streams in deserts. We would quickly learn how important that dirty little stream would be for our everyday survival!

The first afternoon, we and our fellow orientees cleared spaces in undergrowth and pitched tents under those trees beside that stream.

But I worried about Dave doing that hard work in the heat. A couple of days earlier, he’d gotten sick with an ailment common in Africa: vomiting, diarrhea, fever, and weakness. It hit him hard, really hard. God answered our prayers through our nurse, Jenny Caston, and her trunk of medicines, but recovery would take time.

My response to Dave’s illness surprised me. Since the beginning of our orientation, I’d kept my bravery intact despite living among strangers from countries around the world. I’d been a good sport about roughing it, about birds pooping on my laundry, the hippo charge, using an outhouse—but when Dave got sick, I had to fight discouragement.

I had brought one small chocolate bar with me on Kenya Safari. The time had come to rip open the wrapper. I let myself eat just a half-inch square, though, because that one little candy bar had to last a long time.

If we had stayed a couple of days longer at Lake Naivasha, Dave would have grown healthier and stronger, but the orientation course had to stay on schedule. When we arrived at Eleng’ata Enterit, I helped Dave—in my own wimpy, girly way—to clear the ground for our tent. He never once complained about his hard labor, but I could tell he was still sick and weak. My heart ached for him.

A couple of young single ladies in our group struggled to clear their underbrush so, bless his dear heart, Dave helped them, too. I don’t know how he did it.

All these years later, I still marvel at Dave’s dogged efforts to set up not only our campsite but to help others clear ground and set up their tents, too. God helped him do it. I’m reminded of Isaiah 41:10, “Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you.” I also think of Psalm 41:3 which says God gives strength to those who are sick.

And check out Isaiah 35, picturing Dave’s strenuous efforts while ill, laboring alongside a stream in the desert:

Strengthen the feeble hands,

steady the knees that give way. . . .

Your God will come. . . .

the lame will leap like a deer. . . .

Water will gush forth in the wilderness

and streams in the desert.

(Isaiah 35:3-6, selected)

That day, as I watched Dave, I witnessed

the words of Isaiah and the Psalmist come alive.

God is so good.