I still tear up when I think of it—it seemed so wrong, so unnecessary

 

All these years later, I still feel pain in my chest when I recall what they did.

 

It seemed so wrong. So unnecessary.

 

And my husband and I sat and squirmed in the middle of it.

 

We were the first, and perhaps last, white people ever to visit that little Anglican church high in the Taita Hills in southeastern Kenya.

 

The congregation welcomed us warmly even though we surely did startle them when we white people stepped through their door. (See We had lived in Kenya only a few weeks and—Wham!)

 

During the three-hour worship service, the congregation took up two offerings. Some people had no money—instead, they brought produce, eggs, milk, or dried beans.

 

Read that again: Some people had no money, so they brought produce, eggs, milk, or dried beans to place in the offering plate.

 

Only then did it start to dawn on me how poor those people were.

 

Then, they auctioned off those items.

 

Everyone bantered and laughed while they converted the food into cash for the church’s expenses. We couldn’t help but laugh with them, enjoying their joy and fellowship.

 

After forty-five minutes, the people had converted into cash four eggs and two bunches of Swiss chard. Dave and I calculated they’d raised the equivalent of thirty-eight cents.

 

Then the auctioneer walked into the congregation and stopped in front of us.

 

I could not believe what I saw him do next.

 

He handed us the eggs and chard.

 

Stunned, I wanted to cry because, as Americans, we were rich—and I mean shamefully rich—compared to them. Every day of our lives, we’ve had more than enough to eat and yet those dear people, who had so little, gave us the food donated to the church.

 

It didn’t seem right—they needed the nutrition and we did not!

 

I wanted to hand back their eggs and chard.

 

What would you have done?

 

I wasn’t sure what to do, but I’m so thankful that God prompted us to notice their delight in giving—their enormous grins and nervous giggles—and that He prompted us to accept their gifts. We did so with a mixture of thanks and deep humility. Overwhelmed by their kindness, I wanted to weep.

 

In them, we beheld God’s grace—they gave us what we did not deserve. I will never forget that as long as I live.

 

Indeed, the Taita people were living, walking, talking, joy-filled examples of God’s generous grace.

 

Looking back on it,

I count that little congregation

among God’s hundred times as much that I blogged about recently

—an answer to my daughter Karen’sprayer

based on Matthew 19:29.

Click on When Jesus’ words are difficult, sharp and real.

Be sure to check it out.

You’ll be glad you did.

(From Grandma’s Letters from Africa, Chapter 3)