It has been months since I crossed an ocean to set up house, home, life in a little section of Leeds called Harehills. Yes, I reply to the more Leeds residents who think they've heard wrong, I live in Harehills. The Bayswaters to be precise. Known for a rough exterior, escalating crime, drugs and a myriad of cultures and religions mixing and melding, its not exactly where an average Brit would expect 6 Americans, 1 Dutch and 1 Swiss to live. However somehow, this place has become something like home. Maybe its how the streets stay alive well into the night with boys and their footballs and girls and their giggling gossip. Maybe its how every time we pass our favorite bakery they wave and smile knowing at least one of us will stop in at some point in the day. It might be that the Postal man jokes with me every time I pop into the Postal Office or that the night guard at the community building we go to use internet knows she'll have to gently kick us out at closing time when she sees us come in. Then again, it could just be the simple fact that my feet have tread these streets countless times in the past few months, passed these same shops and markets, illegitimate movie stores and off-licenses all proudly featuring whatever culture's products they supply. The Polish store, the Russian store, the Lithuanian grocery shop, Indian bakery and sweets, Pakistani tailoring, Afro-Carribian catering, and dozens more.
But I realize its not just Harehills that I have connected to. Last week as I was walking up my street a little girl walking home from Mosque with her mother and grandmother ran up to me calling my name. I realized she was one of the girls from Kidz Klub who is on my bus route. It completely made my day to see one of my kids outside of the Kidz Klub context, hearing after the fact that it had completely rocked her world to see me! For some reason it hadn't quite set in that a good percentage of our kids come from Muslim backgrounds, and yet whose parents are more than happy to have them attend our wildly wacky Saturday mornings of nothing but Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. I ran into another of the kids on my bus a few days later and that Saturday it struck me how much relationships have formed in the relatively short time I have been here. The fact that my presence means something to these kids, that their appreciation of consistency and involvement surpasses even my understanding of it.
I see this translating to the nightclub I work in on Tuesday nights, as this past Tuesday I spent the night camped in the Women's Toilets amid the chatter of girls asking me if their dress is too tight, too short, do they look fat, should they go home with the guy who kissed them on the dance floor, ect. ect. As per usual there are two girls who come in and when one of them sees me nudges her friend and whispers, see! Thats her! And they come up to me to tell me that some Tuesday night I helped carry the friend from the bathroom to the safe room and sat with her while she puked holding her hair, rubbing her back and got them both in a taxi back home. That maybe I don't remember them but that they cant believe there are people who volunteer to do that sort of thing and that their mother said the next time they see me to please thank me for her. Then there's Roxy who I see nearly every week and is shocked every time that I remember her name (I don't mention its not that hard since I see her every week) and reminds me of how I helped keep her dress down and talked her through a drunken meltdown one night and then held her hair while she vomited. Because of this connection I chat with her and her friends whether she comes in with them or not and I realize, this is the other reason where I am has started to feel like home. These people know me and I know them. For people I meet on Tuesday nights, I see them at their most vulnerable, hear things they haven't told their dearest friends, things they probably haven't even spoken out loud before. Whether they remember or not, a connection has been formed.
All this having been said, I must acknowledge the possibility of not being able to stay in this place that has become something like home. Because I came on faith the school was able to take me on. However my all finances for the school's tuition have not come in and if the week finishes without the funds, I will have to come home. Possibly sometime next week. Ever since I first recognized that God was calling me here, I have struggled to trust in His unfailingness, His steadfast provision. Even to this very moment I struggle with trusting that this whole matter is up to Him. I'm not sure whether or not I should believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that He will come through or try to accept that things might not happen the way I want them to. I know He has called me here, there is no shortage of confidence that He made a place for me here. But I don't know, I just don't know. Yesterday morning I woke up to sun and a cozy warm bed and couldn't help but think God? I can't do this anymore. I'm tired of trusting, I'm tired of hoping. I'm tired of believing the impossible will happen. Somehow 3600 British Pound Stirling has to appear before Saturday evening.
Rejoice. For whatever reason, this is what He tells me. Rejoice. So here I am. Rejoicing in everything He has done thus far. For my kids at Kidz Klub. The girls I meet, for Roxy, for my nameless friends in Harehills. Thank you Father.
Please please please pray for me! Around 2pm Detroit time we'll all be praying for the financial situation. My friend Geert is in a similar situation as I so please join us in prayer. It would be much appreciated. Love and miss you all!
In Christ,
Kendall
