The Case of the Missing Spoon

‘I don’t believe it, I can’t believe it – it’s been less than an hour!!’ I was shouting to Doug as I returned from the trash bin. ..

This Sunday had been a very long day. A good day, but I was so very tired. As I was pulling up to the house, I was reflecting on what a good day it had been. God had moved and healed during church this morning and I had just finished having a half day of prayer with my Discipleship class. As is our routine, we had a potluck lunch together and once again I had brought home the plastic dishes to wash. But, today I was so tired and just couldn’t bear the thought of washing these plates one more time. For a moment, I reconsidered if throwing the plates away was being wasteful or if I was being lazy, but decided I just couldn’t wash them once again. And besides, these plates were getting a bit old and tired. Decision made, I put them in the trash bin on our compound which is next to the staff quarters, about 30 yards from our house, and went inside.

Once inside I realized my large serving spoon was in the bag with the plastic plates, so I rushed back to retrieve it from the trash. My bag was gone – in less than an hour the staff had gone to the bin and taken the bag with all the plates and my spoon. My first response was “I want my spoon back, it’s mine!” After stopping to think about it, I was reminded that I had thrown the bag in the rubbish so it was no longer mine. I was reminded that what I had considered trash, the staff had thought valuable enough to take it out of the bin for their own use, or possibly to sell for some extra cash.

These 3 men live on our compound just 30 yards from our house, yet we live in completely different worlds and realities - our dwellings are on the same property, yet we live lives that are profoundly different.

Charles is the shamba man (gardener), Stanley opens the gate during the day and Francis is the escari (night guard) as well as earning a bit of extra money (about 75 cents) washing the car for us once a week. We see one another and speak almost daily yet there is a vast difference between us. . .

So, I finally accepted the fact that my serving spoon belongs to someone else now, and each day as I get in the car or take the trash to the bin, I think of these three men and imagine them using it to cook and eating from the plates I considered rubbish. . . or maybe they were sold for a nice profit.

May God bless these men and may I never forget the life of poverty my neighbors live. May I continue to be a good steward of the abundance God has given me, and may He continue to remind me of those in need around me.

You will read in our next posting how He answered this prayer within two weeks as Doug and I traveled to Kitale for a weekend conference. . .