Arrival 

I had a ten-minute layover in Amsterdam. Yes.Ten minutes. As in, the kind of layover that makes you question every life choice that led you to booking that ticket. 

As we were taxiing to the gate, the pilot announced we would be stopping at a different gate than originally planned. Normally, that would be terrible news. Except this “different gate” happened to be in the exact same terminal and only two gates away from my next flight. I’m telling you, you know you’re riding on prayers when things like that happen.

Even better news? My Apple AirTag pinged as I exited the first plane… and then again as I boarded the next one. Translation: my luggage had made it too.

Praise the Lord. Somewhere beneath this giant aircraft, all of my suitcases full of supplies, gifts, letters, earrings, Bibles, perfume, and one suspiciously indestructible blue soccer ball were headed to Kenya with me.

A day earlier, I had sent my itinerary to Kristen. I let her know I would arrive that evening and planned to catch a bus the next morning to head toward the shelter.

Simple enough. But because my layover was so short, I never got a response. I tried using the plane Wi-Fi. Negative, ghost rider. Nothing. But no big deal, I mainly just wanted to let her know my game plan.

Then, about an hour and a half before landing, the Wi-Fi suddenly started working. A message from Kristen popped onto my screen. She was planning to pick me up from the airport! I stared at my phone. Wait… what? That made no sense. Kristen lives a good way outside Nairobi. Riots were happening in the city. And in all my years of traveling, I had never had someone offer airport pickup.

I think she assumed I expected it. I absolutely did not. She later laughed and said she wasn’t used to dealing with a seasoned traveler and should have been clearer. But in that moment, I had a decision. Pretend I’m independent and insist I’m fine? Or say yes to help? Considering the next 24 hours could involve taxis, hotel transfers, bus stations, luggage chaos, and the general goal of avoiding both theft and kidnapping… My answer became very simple. Yes.

Yes yes yes.

And somehow, the message got through! When I walked out of the airport, there she was. Big smile. Open arms. Ready to push the luggage cart. Instant relief. She welcomed me into her home for the night, which eliminated a mountain of complications and hundreds of dollars in travel costs. I sunk into the most comfortable bed known to man and shut my eyes to my first night back in Kenya. 

I woke up the next morning surrounded by towering trees, overflowing greenery, and gardens so beautiful they hardly felt real. The air was cool and crisp and I could already tell my allergies were going to be much happier here than back home.  Then I smelled breakfast. Protein pancakes. Listen… my macro-counting heart nearly wept. And coffee….Real coffee. Freshly brewed and waiting. There was also the sweetest little family dog trotting around, fully committed to her role as official greeter and professional snuggler. An absolute lovey-dove. 

I stood there with my cup in hand looking out at the morning and had one overwhelming thought: This feels like Mama God from The Shack loving the heck out of me. Now don’t get me wrong, Kristen in no way resembled Mamma from the movie… or Aunt Jamima from the syrup bottle. But it felt like the same type of lovin’. Just kindness. Unexpected comfort. No striving. No strategizing. Just provision.

We’re about to head out now toward Naivasha and finally make our way to the shelter. So far, this trip has already reminded me of something important:

Sometimes God doesn’t just provide what you need. He provides in ways you never would have thought to ask for. At this point, it feels pretty clear I’m being carried by a whole lot of prayer and a whole lot of grace.  And if this is how the journey is beginning, I’m curious to see what comes next.