Christmas: I want lots of PRESENCE

I love Christmas. So many happy memories. I still think that my favorite was 10 grade as I met my biological family again. The feeling of being so loved and welcomed by people I hadn't known in years. I remember other Christmases with my adopted family and feeling the same welcoming and love by people that I was just meeting for the very first time. Christmas was always a special time of the year for me.

I spent two Christmases in Kenya. They were both difficult. Both times I had very bad malaria. My last Christmas there I was so sick that I could barely move. More than once that time I passed out in the hallway trying to make it to the bathroom. Nothing ruins Christmas more than laying in bed begging God to either take the malaria away or kill you - and actually meaning it!!

Christmas in Kenya was also rough because I wasn't with family. I was with people I loved and cared about, but, it wasn't the same. Still, there was one thing that I LOVED about Christmas there. It wasn't so commercialized like it is here. It wasn't all about shopping and buying/receiving tons of presents. The stores would put up some garland and tinsel. There were Christmas cards for sale and a few trinkets. There was no big hype about Santa. No black Friday or cyber Monday advertisements. Malaria and home sickness aside, it was refreshing. There was no pressure to buy the perfect gift or spend tons of money. In fact, the first year there we did a small white elephant. There were joke gifts like holographic photos and funny trinkets. The focus wasn't on the gifts. The focus was on each other.

Christmas, at it's root, is about relationship. The birth of Jesus is 100% relational. The very Son of God entering our dark world and becoming fully human. Intentionally entering our world to solidify a relationship between God and Man; to build relationships with us and to ultimately die for us. The very best Christmas gift was a presence.

So, now that Christmas is a short 11 days away, I challenge you to be present with people. Not just through December but through the year. Take some time to put down the phone and spend time with people. Ignore the Instagram opportunity and create a memory with someone instead. Show people that they matter by giving them presence, not presents.

This year, I don't care if I don't get a single present at all. I'd rather have presence with those that I love and care for. I'd rather have a time to go out for coffee and enjoy time not materials. I want lots of PRESENCE not presents this year.

In honor of my dad, a great man

I know, I don't write very often anymore and I just wrote a blog over the weekend. But this one is too long overdue. My dad had (is still in) surgery today. The doctors found a tumor on his neck. What was supposed to be a rather short, minor, out patient surgery has been going on for the last 12 hours and will still be several hours more. They discovered that the tumor was much larger and more aggressive than they had thought. Good news is that they got it all out. Bad news is that there is a longer recovery time than they thought. For some reason (do I really need one?) I felt a strong desire to write this and brag about him for a minute.

This photo was taken on September 11, 1992, the day my adoption was finalized; I was 8 years old. I still remember that day. I remember the gift I was given was a shirt embroidered with my new initials: RDS - Raymond David Smith. Up until this day, my name was Raymond B Keisser, jr.

The man in the suit is my dad, Luther Smith. I remember the first time that I spent time at his house. This family picked me up from a foster home near Kutztown and drove me to their home outside of Allentown. My dad had an old school Apple IIE computer he taught me to use that day. I played this game called Load Runner. Funny what we remember, huh? After several visits and home studies and court dates, I moved in with this family and on the day this photo was taken, I was officially part of their family.

It wasn't always easy. I told both of my new parents, especially my dad, nearly every day that I hated them. I was jerk. A hurt and wounded, frightened jerk. I always pushed my dad. I wanted to know how long until he would kick me out. I never lived in one home more than a few months at a time and I had trouble understanding that this was now permanent. He never stopped loving me though. He never kicked me out. Instead, he did what I always wanted from my birth dad. He took me outside and taught me to throw a ball. I remember when he brought home a bike and taught me to ride. He taught me to swim. He took me camping. We watched Star Wars together. Actually, since they were re-released in theaters, I have seen every one of them, as well as all of the Star Trek movies in theater with my dad. I was even home form Kenya on a short visit when the last Star Trek came out and we saw the movie together just before I got back on a flight. The new Star Wars is out this summer and I recently asked him if we were going. He said yes as if there was even a question about it - there wasn't in my mind!

I remember my biological uncle (on my dad's side, my Uncle Joe on my mom's side is amazing! - another post for another day) taking me to fly a kite one day. I had no idea what to I was doing. It got caught in a tree. I got a huge beating for that. And no more kite. My father (Luther) took me to fly a kite. We went to a big open field and he showed me how to do it. We took a giant foam airplane too. One year he made me a bow and arrow set. He even taught me to sneak around the house (with the bow) like an Indian. The same uncle as the one with the kite tripped over what he said was one f my toys and ended up on crutches. Same result as the kite. Throwing a ball (okay, it was a golf ball, but still an accident!) in the yard one day I broke a window in the house. I was scared half to death at what my new dad would do. He never even raised his voice about it. Just told me that it was okay. It was just a window and could be replaced.

This one time I remember asking him to pick a favorite son, me or my brother. He wouldn't. I asked him what he would do if someone put a gun to him and told him to pick. His answer was that he would rather die than have a favorite. I was maybe 9 years old when I asked him this and I've never forgotten that serious look on his face. I knew then that he really loved me.

My new parents divorced when I was 10. But dad never stopped showing up. He was always there for me. We took trips together. Went to DC many times. Went camping in Canada a few years in a row. He showed up to most of my band recitals (yeah, I was bando guy!). When my grades were slipping early in high school he sat me down and taught me to be responsible. He taught me a work ethic. I was 16 and wanted this beautiful 23 karat gold Atlanta Braves watch. Mom's answer was to ask dad to buy it for me. His answer was to get in the car with him. We were going for job applications. I got my first job to buy that watch. I learned the value of a dollar because of him. He took me on college visits and helped me fill out applications. Moved me into college many semesters over.

When I left school the first time and worked full time as a camp program director he would come to my house and visit. Or I would go to his house for weekly dinners (and to watch Lost!). He remarried while I was in college. My brother and I were best men at his wedding. And when my step mom passed away a few years ago my dad and I sat in a hospital room and cried together.

My dad and I have a far from perfect relationship. We have times where we argue just like anyone else. But my dad means the world to me. I didn't have a father for the first 8 years of my life. And I wasn't sure that I could trust having one after that. But my father never stopped loving me and caring for me. He's the best damned father I could ask for and I love him.

Thank you dad for all that you've sacrificed and done for me.

A Year of Rest

"And on the seventh day God finished his work that he had done, and he rested on the seventh day from all his work that he had done. So God blessed the seventh day and made it holy, because on it God rested from all his work that he had done in creation."

Genesis 2:2-3

"My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.” Exodus 33:14

A little while ago I wrote a post called A year of hell. You can read it here. But I cannot leave it there. This past year has, at the same time, been a year filled with rest. 

Years ago, a few weeks before I left my last job for Kenya, a friend pulled me aside and said some words that have never left me. He said, "Ray, you look like peace". It is one of the nicest compliments that anyone has ever given me. And I felt it too. Every part of me felt peaceful. 7 months before I had made the decision to quit my job of almost 10 years to pursue a life in Kitale, Kenya. While leaving friends and family was difficult the decision itself was one of the easiest I've ever made because of how much peace I had.

Shortly after that comment, I was in Kenya. It started as a 3 month trip that turned into 4 by the time I bought a flight. By month one or two, it turned into a 6 month trip. All the while, I felt that same peace. I don't mean to say that there were no difficult times. There were. I experienced many things that greatly challenged me.  There was extreme poverty. There were death threats. There were times I saw some of the worst in humanity - watching a mother punch her baby in the face several times. Seeing parents put their kids to work on the streets. Yet, through it all there was peace. 

I came home from that 6 months and began raising full time support to go back for a few years. I allowed myself 5 or 6 days a week to have a part time job and hold meetings or plan fundraisers. And I was very protective of that seventh day - my sabbath. I didn't hold meetings. I didn't fund raise. I rested. I read books. I walked. I sat for hours sipping coffee and just being. Through it all, I knew who I was and I took joy in that. 

Eventually, towards the end of my time in Kenya something changed. I stopped taking a sabbath every week. I stopped having my personal quiet time. I took on the identity of "missionary" and yet I wasn't finding joy in the work. I felt only the pressure. I was so busy working for God that I forgot how to live for him. In simple words, I was burned out. That' when the most amazing gift was given to me: I was kicked out of the country. It took me a while to see that as the gift that it was. I came back home and started the journey through one of the hardest years in a long time. In January of last year, I made that painful decision to stop pursuing reentry to Kenya. I sat down with some of the pastors at church and told them I wanted a year of being home. No, I needed a year of being home. I don't know where the wisdom in that came from because it sure wasn't mine! I said that I needed a year to find myself again. A year to not have any big decisions to make. A year of blending into the crowd again. I wanted a year out of the spotlight. To not sit down at a coffee shop and be recognized by anyone as "the Kenya guy". I wanted a year to myself. Not up front anymore. Not leading anything. 

It felt so selfish at first. I mean, I had some good mentors over the years and such an incredible experience and I'm taking a year to basically be alone. Now that that year is down to just a month and a half left, let me tell you something. It was the best decision I made in a long time! And it was far from selfish. I tried to be involved in a ministry this past spring and quickly realized I wasn't ready. I had nothing to offer. I was so broken that I couldn't possibly help others. 

This past year of rest has been hard. Very hard. I've doubted. I've been angry. I've been hurt. And I have allowed all of those feelings, and many others. I haven't ignored them. And in them, I have found that rest again. I am beginning to have that itch to be involved again. I don't plan on moving away, but I plan on being actively involved again. I gave myself until January before fully committing to anything. And I know that when I do, I'll be ready and able to commit myself. This year of rest has been so beautiful. 

Last weekend I was exchanging a phone case at Best Buy when this older man got in line behind me. Right away he started to complain that "the line was too long". I found myself not even caring. I was in no rush. And to be honest, I hadn't even noticed that the line was long. I ended up walking aimlessly around the store for about an hour after. Then, I ended up in another store doing the same thing. That's when it hit me: I've found that peace again. I am far from living it out perfectly. But I can taste it again. And it's oh so sweet a taste. 

"Aren't you glad you're not there anymore?"

I've been asked this question so many times in the past year that I've long since lost count. Even more so lately with the Ebola scare. Let me clear that up. There has not been a single reported case of Ebola in Kenya that I am aware of. Quick geography lesson (because I was never good at geography): the 5 countries affected with Ebola are in West Africa; Kenya is in East Africa. Africa is a very large continent (actually, larger than all of North America). The countries affected are further from Kenya than the US is coast to coast. So, even with the small number of cases in the US, We're all closer to it here than I was in Kenya.

Still, my answer to the question is yes, I am glad that I'm back in the US. I've made no secret that the past year has often been difficult. I still feel the loss of the life, purpose and relationships that I once had in Kenya. There are times that I read old blog posts or look at photos and wonder what ever happened to that man. Will he ever be that man again?

Some ask if I'm happy because of the Ebola scare; see first paragraph. Some think that I'm happy because it was "dangerous". I won't deny that I often put myself in situations that were not what we consider "safe". But it was always with a  purpose, often standing up for those that could not stand up for themselves. I never had a "death wish" or anything, but I had a desire to make a difference in others' lives. And I saw it pay off. I saw it when the conmen that threatened my life were finally arrested as the locals on that street started to also stand up to them. I saw it when the kids were less afraid to walk down certain streets because of certain security guards. I saw it over and over again.

Some ask if I'm happy because I'm "running away from relationships". This could not be further from the truth. I often think of those that I left behind in Kenya. I greatly miss the closeness that I once had with so many. Of all that I feel I lost last August, this is amongst the hardest.

Others ask if I'm glad to be home because of fears over immigration. No. Not one bit. I never wanted to go to jail in Kenya. But when that immigration officer threatened it unless I paid a bribe, I calmly put my hands out and told him to "arrest me. We'll fight it out in court".

Is it because I'm "just happier here in America"? I don't think so, but I am happy. I enjoy my job. I enjoy serving with my local church. I enjoy the relationships I have here. I'm happy I'm "not being there anymore" because this is where I belong right now. In December I started realizing that I might not go back to Kenya. By January, after much prayer, counsel, and several denied entry permits, that decision was finalized. Like I said, I still feel that sting. Choosing to stay in the US was a much harder decision than it was when I quit my job in 2011 to move there.

In January, when I made my decision public, I took an intentional year to rest. I wanted to be out of the spotlight. I wanted to blend back into the background again. I didn't want to be up on stage speaking, or raising support, hosting fundraisers, publicly sharing stories or being the voice of a ministry. I didn't want everyone to know who I was anymore. I needed to have a year to rest. A year to not feel pressure to make any big decisions. Believe it or not, burnout is HUGE for missionaries. There are things that you can do to prevent burnout. Unfortunately, I started to ignore those things and I felt it big time in such a relatively short period of time. By the time I came home I had lost sight of what was important. This year of rest has shown me what truly matters. I've learned to say no to things I really don't want to do. And the passion that I once had is being reignited again. Those are passions that probably will not have me moving several thousand miles away to another continent. But they are passions that I'm excited to watch blossom.

I'm happy because I am finally starting to feel that fullness of life and purpose again. It doesn't mean that I don't feel loss. It means that I am happy and content right here now. When I left for Kenya in 2011 I knew that it was the right decision. That made it a bit easier to sell everything and go. I know the same is true about moving back. Over the past year I've come to see that it was definitely time to move on. My hand may have been forced initially, but I firmly believe that it has worked out for good.

"And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose." - Romans 8:28

A year of hell

"So this is it. I say goodbye to this chapter of my ever-changing life. And there's mistakes. The path is long. And I'm sure I'll answer for them when I'm gone...The road to hell along the way is paved with good intentions so they say. And some believe that no good deed goes unpunished in the end or so it seems..." Staind, Something To Remind You   Full lyrics here

It's hard to believe that it's been a year since I left Kenya. Actually, the 26th will be one full year. I remember that morning as I was crammed in the back seat of a shuttle on my way from Kitale to Nairobi. I left so early that it was still dark outside. I caught the very first shuttle out of Kitale. The only seat open was in the middle in the back row. If you know anything about a Kenyan shuttle, you know that a 6 foot 3 inch man does not fit very well in the back seat. I was in for a very long 8+ hour ride. I put my iPod on, buried the zipper of my bag into my lap, put my sunglasses on (yes, in the dark) and closed my eyes as I fought back the tears. Then, the above song by Staind came on my iPod. Okay, don't judge me, yes, Staind is my guilty pleasure band. As a child I loved their hard rock. As I've gotten older I've come to appreciate their more lyrical songs like this one a bit more. I found myself listening to this song a few times over. I had no idea just how fitting a song it was and would come to be over the net 12 months. 

About a week before that morning I was sitting at Kenya's Immigration office in Eldoret. I thought nothing of it that morning. I even took my motorcycle on the 2 hour drive to get there. What a blast that was! And somewhat frightening on some of the roads too! And, yes, to those wondering, I wore a helmet. Then the day took a rough turn. I had renewed my visa before with no issues over the years. I've always been in and out in just a few minutes. This time was different. I had my passport confiscated. I was threatened to be arrested. By the end of day two it was more than evident that the choice was simple: Pay a bribe, leave the country (still had to get my passport back though) or go to jail. Very long story short is that the Member of Parliament that sits over immigration in Kenya "did me favor" and gave me 48 hours to be out of the country. Well, due to the airport catching fire just a few weeks before this, I ended up with a week. A week that I hid at a local guest house with very few people knowing where I was. 

That morning of August 26th started a very long year of hell. Some friends very generously opened up their home to me. And they went a step further and drove to JFK to pick me up when I landed. I had the worst jet lag I've ever had, though in all fairness, I think that it was more a combination of some jet lag and a lot of emotional stress. I spent the first two weeks hiding (see the theme?). I didn't tell many people I where I was living. In a very real way, I shut down emotionally. I didn't want to see anyone. I didn't have the energy to really tell the story. And I couldn't stand the thought of people seeing how hurt I really was. I hated the thought of people seeing me as weak. 

That's when I ended up seeing a counselor at Serving Leaders Ministries (check them out). I began working through what happened. I began to allow myself to be vulnerable again. I very truly believe that this was a turning point in the journey. A HUGE thank you to Dave Wiedis at Serving Leaders! Without you, the journey would have come to an abrupt stop right there. With your help, I was able to move on.  

I wish I could say that everything was easy after that. But it wasn't. As the months dragged on I finally came to the very difficult decision to stop trying to get back into Kenya; it became clear that I am on a permanent "no entry" list. In early January I made that decision known to the home I worked at in Kenya. I initially gave myself a year before I would look into other countries to serve. I took a job at TheFireStore.  I worked in the warehouse for a while. It was a challenge. I went from, first, a job that I worked in for just shy of 10 years, to a life of ministry in Kenya. All of a sudden, I was in a warehouse wondering what my purpose was anymore. Wasn't I supposed to do something greater? Is this what I had become after all that I gave up?

Eventually I decided that moving overseas was something I would no longer pursue. To be completely honest, I even questioned what the point was in the first place. It all ended so violently as many relationships I built over a few years had collapsed or otherwise drastically changed. I sat back one day and realized that since my first trip to Kenya in 2009 I made moving there a number 1 priority in my life. I watched so many of my friends and family get married, have kids, buy houses, etc. And I gave that up in order to pursue Kenya. Part of me (being honest here) really wondered what the point ever was. I questioned God when my turn for those things would be; when would I experience those same joys. I painfully wrestled with so many questions as I wondered just who I was anymore. For a while I took on the identity of "the missionary". But I'm not anymore. So "who am I?" became a very real question I struggled to answer almost every single day. 

As the year carried on I continued to be vulnerable with a few trusted individuals and I allowed them really see my hurt in a way that I had forgotten how to do. Some took advantage of that while others, the ones who really have my extreme gratitude, truly supported me, even when I was miserable and not much fun to be around. I cannot thank those people enough for helping me grow through this year. Thank you for encouraging me. Thank you for allowing me to be in the place I was but loving me enough to not allow me to stay there. Thank you for lovingly calling me out in some issues that I needed to address. 

I began to relearn a lesson about who I really am. My identity is so much more than the work that I choose. And my fulfillment cannot come from my work. It comes from the identity written out through the book of Ephesians: as a child of the living God. I accepted that being in Kenya while I was there WAS the right decision. The experiences that I had will be with me for the rest of my life. Another part of this song says, "look in my face, all the stories it will tell I can't erase...". So very true Mr. Aaron Lewis, so very true. I have countless stories I can tell. Stories that will bring you to tears, both of happiness and of sadness. Stories of extreme highs and stories of extreme lows. But all of the stories have a common theme: hope. Stories I still long to tell, and if you ask, I'll gladly share until you tell me to stop.  

As this year rounds out, things are looking good. In June I accepted a job in our purchasing department. It was a very entry level job. I knew that going into the job and I accepted it knowing that it was a chance to possibly move up. And on August 7th, the day before I turned 30, I was offered a new position in government sales. A position that I eagerly start on the 25th. 

I've lost quite a few friends this past year, but I have also seen who some of my truest friends are. And I've built some new relationships. Ones that I am excited about. 

So, yes, I say goodbye to this chapter. But at the same time as I say goodbye to the chapter of life in Kenya, I also say hello. I say hello to a new chapter of my ever-changing life. One that I am so eager to read. 

Another lyric that sums up some of this year comes from the chorus of a new OAR song:

"Hey, don't say goodbye, just say goodnight

And we'll pick up where we left off.

We'll say hello and welcome home

And we'll pick up where we left off"

OAR, We'll Pick Up Where We Left Off

THANK YOU to all that have welcomed me home. We'll pick up where we left off.  

"Let the redeemed of the LORD say so, whom he has redeemed from trouble." Psalm 107:2. This entire past year has been redeemed in a mighty way. This is merely a glimpse at what it has looked like. Thank you for allowing me to share it with you.   

30 by 30

I'm not really the guy that celebrates birthdays; they're just another day to me. I love celebrating other peoples' birthday, just not my own. While I don't care much about celebrating them, they still happen. And this year is apparently a big one. The big 3-0 coming up in a less than 2 months. In honor of that, I'm sharing a list of things I thought I'd do by 30, things I actually have and things I still plan to.

Things I thought I would do:

1. Be a high school English teacher

Ever since middle school I really wanted to be a teacher. By the time I got to college, I started to realize that it's not really what I wanted.

2. Be married and have a kid

This one speaks for itself. I thought I'd be married by 25 and my first kid by 30. 

3. Own my own home

Considering how much I've been traveling the past few years, this was not a high priority.

4. Own a BMW

Again, wasn't a high priority with the travel.

5. Write a book

Along with teaching, I wanted to be a successful author by 30 too.

6. Go skydiving

I remember turing 18 and my friend Jim and I thought about it. Then we saw how expensive it was. 

7. Have a PhD

haha....

8. Place my feet in all 50 states

I was pretty serious about this at one point. I probably have about half of them in if you can't layovers

9. Get a tattoo

I actually did that one...three times.  

10. Visit Germany

Always wanted to since taking German in high school. I ended up in a different country 

Things I actually did:

1. Moved out of the country

Still can't believe I actually did that! I feel like I lived a full life in that time. 

2. Had a few death threats

I guess technically it was just one, but it was repeated daily for 4 months. All because I exposed a few conmen and their scam. The phrase "I will end your life" or "I will cut your head" became a regular part of my day. 

3. Nearly got arrested in another country...

For being honest enough to refuse to pay a bribe. 

4. Learned to ride a motorcycle

Ended up buying one in Kenya too. Starting to save up to buy one here in the US now. 

5. Owned my own gun

Yeah, I know, lots of mixed opinions on this. But my gun never once shot a bullet that wasn't facing a safe direction. Truth be told, as much as I goof around daily, when it comes to firearms, I'm the guy you want to have one.

6. Starting living on my own

Well, mostly. I just moved into an in-law suit this weekend. No roommates. It's a strange feeling, but I kind of like it. I'm also realizing that I 

7. Spent just shy of a full decade working for one company

I learned a lot working there. Not only about business but about myself as well.
8. Owned my own kayak
I miss my kayak. I had so many great days on the lake with it.
9. Went snorkeling 
I can honestly say that the Kenyan Coast is probably the most beautiful beach I have ever seen. And snorkeling there was an incredible experience
10. Learned to forgive
I grew up with a lot of anger and hurt towards some biological family. While those are people I have no contact with, I have learned to let that anger go and forgive.

Things I plan to do:

1. Finish the book Wild at Heart again.
I've read it a few times and its that time to read it again
2. Run a 5K
I did an event called a Goliathon in April that was a 4 mile run with a bunch of obstacles. It was so much fun that I want t try a 5K. But I HATE running!
3. Read two fun books
I'm reading Marcus Luttrell's second book to start. Then to find one more. I used to love reading, but I've fallen out of it lately.
4. Build a ship in a bottle
Or at least start to. I just need to find a kit. I've wanted to do this for a while but never got around to it
5. Spend a day on a lake in a kayak
Speaks for itself.
6. Have Rita's Water Ice twice
I threw something easy in here :)
7. Cook chamosas 
It's an amazing recipe that we came up with in Kenya. I haven't made them in a long time though.
8. Spend a day on the beach
I can't remember the last time that I spent a day on the beach in the US. It's been a while since I've been around long enough during the summer to do that!
9. Go on a roller coaster. 
I'm terrified of heights but I kind of enjoy roller coasters...except for the hill going up part. I despise that part of the ride.
10. Write a total of 15 blogs on my other writing site
Yeah, I keep a second page too. Mainly devotionals I started to write out. I only have 3 so far, but I'd like to get to 15 before I turn 30. I have the ideas, I just haven't been able to write recently.

There's my list of 30. There are others in all three categories, but this will have to suffice. And because I've shared it, I guess I have to complete most of the last list, huh?

The final chapter of Peter Lojore

I have avoided this for a long time now. I have sat down to write this and abandoned it so many times. Part of me wants to say that Peter is gone and there is no point in writing about him anymore. Still, there is one final story to write.

Brief history: Peter is a boy that I met during my first 6 months in Kenya. When I found him he was beaten half to death. He was covered in blood and barely had a pulse. He was so badly dehydrated. I knew that if he wasn't treated soon he would die. I got him to the hospital (which was quite a production as we loaded this boy on the back of a motorcycle taxi!) and got him some help.

Peter and I became friends over the next few weeks. When I had him discharged from the hospital I offered to get him off of the streets and into a home. That's what we did. It felt so good! This 18 year old was no longer a street boy. Three days is all that the joy lasted for. That's when he went back to the streets. I left Kenya shortly after. When I got back I did not see him. My friends in town said that he was not doing well though. In early December of 2012 Peter died.

I wrote several times sharing his story, but I don't know that I ever wrote what it did to me. A few weeks ago I sat with someone and openly and honestly shared this, probably for the first time. I knew some things about Peter. He drank.  A lot. Most street boys in Kenya huff glue. It's a cheap drug that kills hunger and keeps them warm at night. Peter didn't do glue. But I knew that he drank. One of my friends, who happened to be our social worker at the time, told me how she knew Peter and often saw him drunk. I brushed it off, unable to fully understand how tight a grip that addiction had on Peter.

All I could think was that I would do it too if I lived on the streets. Before you judge that statement, I will challenge you with what I challenge so many with. Wait until late September or early October when the overnight temperatures are in the low 40's or upper 30's (yeah, it gets that cold in Kenya, believe it or not). Put on a ripped up t-shirt, ripped shorts and go barefoot. Eat a piece of bread for dinner and go sleep outside for the night with no blanket and no pillow. To get a true experience, have someone come and kick you overnight as the cops and security guards will often do to these boys. How many nights like that will you last like that? How long until you are willing to down a bottle of alcohol or huff some glue just to feel warm and help you fall asleep? I will start the answering. I give myself one night. Maybe. How about you?

So, I pushed aside the issue. I put Peter in the home of a man that I admired and greatly trusted. I will call him "John" (his real name does not deserve as mention). Peter warned me about John. Peter told me that he was ripping me off and was dishonest. I would not believe that. I had known John for too long. I trusted him. Eventually, after Peter ran away, I found out that Peter was right. John had me, and many others, fooled. He's nothing more than a common criminal that hides behind a few seemingly good deeds. The things that have come up about him since make me sick. I saw him twice before I left Kenya in August. It took every once of self control in my body to walk away from him.

Since the time that Peter died I felt guilty. But I don't think that I shared it very openly. When I sat with someone recently I finally said the words that I had been hiding from for over a year. "I killed Peter". That's what I had been hiding in my heart for so long. The thought that I killed him. I saved his life the day I met him, then I killed him. As I heard myself say the words out loud it sounded almost stupid.

There are so many things that I wish I had done differently. I wish that I had paid more attention to his alcohol abuse. I could have found him help for that. I wish that I had believed him when he warned me about John. I wish that I had tried harder to find him when I got back to Kenya. I wish that...

In the end I have to accept that I did the very best that I could with what I knew at the time. Peter made a choice. One that I wish he did not make. But it was his choice to make. And I know that I did not kill Peter, nor am I responsible for his death. This does not take the heartache that I feel for Peter away. The lessons I learned from his story are some of the most difficult lessons that I've ever had to learn. But they are some of the most important ones too. Even now, his story teaches me new things. Looking back knowing how Peter's story ended there are some things I would definitely do differently. One thing that I would not change is the first day that I met Peter. If I had it to do all over again, nothing I did that day or shortly after would change.

Rest in Peace my friend.