It was late last night when Patricia gave us an overview of what we’d be doing today in Kenya.

“So tomorrow we’ll be riding in safari vehicles,” she said. “We have to travel down a dirt road that can be a bit bumpy, and it’s safer for us to be in the bigger vehicles in case the road washes out.”

I didn’t think too much about the details Patricia mentioned; maybe the emotions of the day had clouded my reason, or maybe I’ve just come to expect some outside-of-my-ordinary travel conditions when I’m with Compassion. So instead of thinking through what Patricia said, I kind of mentally acknowledged Safari vehicles, dirt road, check before I continued working on my blog post.

Let me tell you something: hindsight is a killer, y’all. Because knowing what I know now, MAYBE I SHOULD HAVE ASKED MORE QUESTIONS.

On top of that, maybe I shouldn’t have jumped on the very back row of the truck with Alex this morning because “Oh I’ll be so fine – I never get car sick.” Or maybe I should have heeded the warning when my knees felt a little quivery as we were riding along the edge of the road that overlooks the (stunningly beautiful) Rift Valley.

(True story: It’s a view that will make you ponder the value of some guardrails.)

I can say without hesitation, though, that I definitely should have gathered a little more info on what exactly riding on that dirt road would entail. We needed to travel it so that we could spend the day with a Maasai tribe that lives in the Rift Valley. The church in their community is also a Compassion partner, so we were super excited about getting to meet and worship with some of the families that Compassion serves. The only thing standing between us and them, really, was that dirt road that leads to their village. So after we wound around the Rift Valley overlook and turned off the highway, that dirt road officially made itself known to our group.

I will say that for the first fifteen-ish minutes, traveling down the dirt road was kind of fun in that same way amusement park rides can be. It was bumpy, and it was curvy, and the ride was super bouncy, but the kids were enjoying it, and there were lots of laughs. I was feeling pretty good about my off-road adaptability.

You may be thinking that the road looks relatively harmless, but DO NOT BE FOOLED, MY FRIENDS. There was so much bouncing – more bouncing than any woman in her 40s could be expected to handle with any degree of dignity. So around the twenty-minute mark, I tried to make my voice super cheerful when I said, “So! How much longer?”

When our driver, Maurice, responded with, “Well, we do have a good bit farther to travel,” I knew I was in trouble. Because our four-wheel drive Tilt-A-Wheel was, in my estimation, quickly losing its adventurous charm. By the 40-minute mark, I had abandoned all pretense of pleasantries and had stopped talking. By the 60-minute mark, I was holding on to the seat in front of me for what felt like dear life, and by the 80-minute mark, I was wiping tears off my cheeks and telling the Lord that I would clearly have to spend the rest of my days in the Rift Valley because there was no way I would be repeating that dirt road ride ever again. Not to mention that I had reached a whole new level of understanding about what happens to paint cans when they spend some time in the paint shaker machine at the hardware store.

Finally, though – and I’d even go so far as to say mercifully – we reached the village. And as soon as I stepped onto more solid ground, I felt so much better. Sure, my legs and arms were a little shaky, but I felt adequately removed from being the person who had been considering all the variables that might be involved while throwing up inside a moving vehicle.

And no kidding: when the Maasai people greeted us, I knew that the rocky road had been worth it. They were gracious, hospitable, beautiful…so welcoming, so warm.

And here’s what I can’t stop thinking about.

It’s no secret this past year hasn’t been my favorite. I miss my mama. I miss her presence in our family, I miss her wisdom, I miss her pound cake, I miss the sound of her voice, I miss her cornbread dressing, and more than anything, I think, I miss being known the way a mama knows her child. No matter what was going on in her children’s or grandchildren’s lives, Mama intuitively knew how to take care of us. She always seemed to know exactly what to do or say.

And I know it sounds crazy or maybe even out of context, but this morning when I stepped out of the truck, I knew way deep down that I was among family. I felt it in my bones. We’d never met, but they were my people. They even offered us hot tea and delicious, slightly sweet biscuits – the perfect thing to settle my rebellious stomach. They adorned us with their jewelry. They led us into their place of worship.

In a political climate where we hear so much about who gets in and who needs to leave and where we draw the line and where we build walls, it’s easy to lose sight of such a simple truth: we belong to each other. And today, as we left the church where we had been welcomed and loved so lavishly and unconditionally, we felt such a sense of belonging with the Maasai. We walked to a neighboring building for what my family would call “dinner on the grounds,” and it was a Sunday meal that would have made my mama smile: rice, homemade stew (with the most delicious, comforting broth), homemade bread, and cabbage. The food and the company felt like home – so much so that when one of the women from the church told everyone to please go back for seconds, Alex Hudson was one of the first people out of his chair. We were an ocean away from our physical address, but we were at home.

We were with family.

And don’t miss this.

For the most part the Maasai live in poverty. They’re people who struggle to find work and support their families, but today they shared what they had with us. And as someone who has been walking in a little bit of sadness this last year – not to mention as someone who had spent the morning reaching exciting new heights of queasy – their physical and spiritual generosity ministered to me like crazy.

Honestly, it felt like a glimpse of what heaven will be.

And I think today, for me at least, begs a few questions: if an impoverished tribe of Maasai people in the Rift Valley can offer up such sacrificial care for strangers, then what’s stopping us? Why are we so content to hold tightly to our abundance? What makes us reluctant to share? When is our “enough” actually enough?

After lunch Shaun, Alex, and I traveled a couple of miles down the road to visit the home of a six year-old boy, Tirike, who was recently sponsored through Compassion. The photo of the folks that sponsored him was ever-present in his hand; he showed it to us and passed it around to his neighbors. His mother beamed when she talked about his sponsors, people who are committed to helping and loving her son, who are empowering him to prosper and make a difference in his country.

Tirike’s sponsors are over 8,000 miles away, but they’re committed to sharing $38 with him and his family every single month so that he can go to school, he can attend the Compassion center at the church we visited, and Lord willing, he can continue to grow “in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and man” (Luke 2:52). Because of Compassion’s one-to-one model, the people in that photograph won’t just be symbolic sponsors; they’ll be invested in relationship with Tirike. They may never meet in person, but they’ll be family.

In so many ways, today reminded me what a gift it is to find unexpected family in unexpected places.

I’m confident that Tirike would agree.

Be someone’s unexpected family today by sponsoring a child through Compassion. By sharing $38 a month, you can make a dramatic difference in a child’s life – and you’ll be empowering the local church in the process. Release a child from poverty in Jesus’ name.

Also, be sure to read the latest Kenya posts from Jamie, Shaun, and Bri.

I’ve never sat down and tried to figure out how much time I’ve spent in classrooms over the course of my life, but between elementary school and junior high and high school and college and then, you know, teaching for approximately 472 years, I think it’s safe to say that I’ve logged some hours. In fact, I recently told a friend that I feel more at home in a classroom full of high school kids than I do almost anywhere else. The only place that tops it, really, would be the house where I get to live with my family and roam around in pajama pants and try to convince Hazel the dog that the leaves falling from the trees do not in fact intend to destroy us all.

So given all of that, it seemed fitting that today, in Nairobi, Kenya, I got to sit in a classroom with about 20 kids – all between 6 and 8 years old – and listen to the Bible lesson their teacher had prepared for them.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.

“There was darkness,” the teacher said, as a hush fell over the room.

And then, for emphasis, he walked slowly over to the doorway and turned off the light.

“There was darkness!”

The kids repeated his words: “There was darkness!”

“But then what did God do?” the teacher asked.

“GOD MADE LIGHT!” the kids exclaimed.

And as the teacher’s face lit up from the kids’ enthusiastic response, he flipped the switch again.

“What did God do?”

“GOD MADE LIGHT!”

There was darkness.

And God made light.

*****

It was early this morning when our group from Compassion hopped in a couple of vans so that we could travel to the Mathare slum in Nairobi. I knew in my head that we were going to witness heartbreaking conditions – poverty on a level that most of us can’t conceive enduring or even seeing on a daily basis – so I reminded myself over and over again that we were also going to witness hope. I reminded myself that we were visiting a local church that partners with Compassion and specializes in hope. It specializes in Hope.

The church sits on the edge of the Mathare slum, an area where it’s nearly impossible to take in the scale and the scope of the overwhelming need. Just imagine standing at the top of a valley with a view that’s dominated by three square miles of shacks and mud and smoke and tin roofs and livestock and sewage and, according to some estimates, 800,000 people.

Eight. Hundred. Thousand. People.

But inside that church? Well, it’s a much different story.

In fact, it’s a radically different story.

There was darkness.

And God made light.

*****

Early this afternoon Alex, our friend Patricia, and I went with one of the church’s ministers to visit a family that lives in the Mathare slum. We started at the top of a hill and walked down a dirt roadway that was alternately muddy or littered with trash. Drainage ditches ran in front of the seemingly endless rows of shacks made of cardboard or tin or boards, and as we crossed the bridge that leads over the Mathare River, we saw women washing their clothes, pigs feasting on riverbank refuse, and children running through the alleys with their friends.

About ten minutes into our walk, we stopped in front of a doorway.

There were five or six rooms inside the doorway, and each room housed a different family. After a few feet the front entryway hit a dead end, and we were supposed to turn left to walk down the hall to the room that the family we were visiting calls home. There was no light inside the hallway, however, so as soon as we turned, we were standing in pitch black dark. I couldn’t have told you how long the hallway was, where the doors were, or how far we needed to walk. We were just a few feet from the road, but it felt like we were standing in the middle of an unexpected abyss; Alex and I both stood frozen still until the minister turned on his flashlight to show us where to go.

He led us to a room about fifteen yards down the hallway (this distance is an estimate; please keep in mind that math and I are not on friendly terms) and introduced us to a family – a mama and her three children – who live there. The mother’s husband passed away a couple of years ago, and since the housekeeping work she does isn’t always reliable in terms of providing a steady income, she moved her family to the slum so that she could live somewhere affordable. Her affection for her children was obvious; like most mamas, she absolutely beamed when she talked about her kids. They love school. Her oldest is great at math. Her youngest wants to be a doctor. And her middle child, Maryvinta, wants to be a pilot.

Maryvinta attends the Compassion center at the local church we visited. Even though she doesn’t currently have a sponsor, she was invited to attend the Compassion programs when someone in the church realized how much she and her family would benefit from Compassion’s support. So even though Maryvinta is the only child in her family who is currently participating at the Mathare center, Compassion is able to serve her whole family. They can offer Maryvinta, her mom, and her siblings preventive medical care. They can support the children in their education. The Compassion folks provide stability, they disciple, they love, they protect, and they honor the children they serve.

And today, as we sat in Maryvinta’s home – a home with no electricity – it would have been so easy to be preoccupied with the darkness. But there was no denying the power of the light.

It’s so tempting to see poverty up close and just settle for being overwhelmed. It’s easy to think the problem’s too big, or the problem’s not actually the problem, or the problem needs to be handled by somebody else.

But throughout our day – as we sat in the classroom with those young children, as we watched the kids worship, as we visited with Maryvinta’s family, and as we heard story after story of God’s faithfulness to His children through Compassion – there was no denying the Truth of the teacher’s lesson.

There was darkness.

And God made light.

Through Compassion, you can help shine a light in dark places. You can sponsor a child and bring light to the darkness for only $38 a month. I can tell you from firsthand experience that it is such a privilege. Because no matter where that child lives, no matter what they’ve experienced, your sponsorship is a promise that the way their life is now isn’t the way it always has to be. And more than anything else, you can be a constant reminder in that child’s life that the Light of the world sees them, loves them, values them, and fights for them.

You can change a child’s life by helping to release him or her from poverty in Jesus’ name.

There was darkness.

And God made light.

Don’t miss the posts by my travel buddies Bri, Jamie, and Shaun.

On this episode we discuss my almost-here trip to Kenya, what I refer to as Melanie’s enthusiastic opposition to khaki, and recent events at the SEC Baseball Tournament.

Recent events may or may not have involved me approaching someone I believed to be a This Is Us cast member.

Basically there’s a lot of talk about sports – college baseball in particular – a lot of laughs, and a lot of theories about why I might have felt so compelled to approach the alleged celebrity.

Good times, people. We hope you enjoy.

You can click here to listen. Or here. You can even listen right here on the blog.

You can also listen on Stitcher.

Or, as always, you can subscribe on iTunes if you’re feeling particularly fancy. We’d be honored if you’d leave us a review.

And if you’re on the Facebook, well, we are, too.

Here’s where you can get more info on the stuff / products / places we mention:

– Magellan zip-off outdoor pants

– Skechers GoWalk slip-on shoes

– Hidden Figures

– The Intern

– Lion

– Jackie

– Fantastic Beasts

– Sophie’s conversation with “Gerald McRaney”

– The real Gerald McRaney

– NCAA Men’s Baseball Regional Bracket

– NCAA Women’s College World Series Bracket

– Closing Songs

Well, Alex just walked in my office and saw me on the computer and said, “Mama, you haven’t written a real blog post since April.” So then I said, “DON’T YOU SASS ME, ALEX HUDSON” except that 1) I really didn’t say that at all and 2) he’s exactly right. The end of spring has swept us up in a cloud of schoolwork and lacrosse playing and gym going and baseball watching and family time and speaking stuff, and we are so happy – DELIGHTED, I SAY UNTO YOU – that we are only two days away from being able to turn that 5:30AM alarm to the “off” position. It is totally understandable if you’d like to say “amen” at this juncture.

I was actually planning to be at the SEC Baseball Tournament tonight – my Mississippi State Bulldogs are scheduled to play the Georgia Bulldogs in the last game of the first round – but there was a big rain delay this afternoon, which means that the games are running behind. Since I have to be at work early tomorrow morning, I can’t swing the later-than-normal late game even though I like to think that I’m 27 and sleep is optional. Because the reality is that sleep is critical. Essential. BLESSED PRECIOUS, if you will.

(HOLD ON. AN UPDATE. It looks like our game has been moved to tomorrow morning at 9:30, which means that a certain 7th grader and I will be making a beeline for the Hoover Met as soon as his exam is over, oh hallelujah.)

(I can only assume that these college baseball tournament plans are SUPER interesting to read about, by the way.)

(Now I will transition.)

So. Here’s a little bit of what’s been going on.

1. A couple of weeks ago my mama’s sister, Choxie, passed away. I’ve said this to family and friends over and over, but it really never occurred to me that there would come a time when we’d be without Mama and Chox. Maybe one. Maybe the other. But not both. Chox was actually in the hospital when Mama died, and the first place Sister and I went when we left ICU for the last time was up the elevator to Chox’s hospital room. It never occurred to us to go anywhere else. Over the course of my life I feel I’ve probably said the phrase “Mama and Chox” more than just about any other, and that’s because from the time I was born, Mama and Chox were a unit. We all lived within a few miles of each other, we spent what I now recognize as an inordinate amount of time together (here’s something I didn’t appreciate when I was growing up: living so close to most of Mama’s extended family), and we cultivated our love for “visiting” from sitting around Mama’s and Chox’s breakfast room tables. When I think about the fact that we’ve lost both of them in the last year, all I can do is shake my head. It would feel like too much if we didn’t know that they’re together again. Whole and free.

2. Y’all. This sermon. We had a guest pastor at our church a month or so ago, and LET ME TELL YOU WHAT. I try to stay out of the sermon-ranking business, but this one was one of the top five I have ever heard. Enormously encouraging, packed with Truth, and beautifully taught.

– Victory in the Valley

3. Alex and I are leaving next week for a trip with Compassion. If you’ve been reading here for a while, you may remember that I’ve traveled with Compassion to Uganda and Ecuador, and when I initially decided to go on next week’s trip, I sort of assumed I’d be going by myself. Around the end of January, though, David and I started talking about the possibility of Alex going with me, and now that the trip is almost here, we are so excited. I will be blogging A WHOLE LOT while we’re gone, and my hope is that Alex will blog a little bit, too. It will be his first trip out of the country, and it will definitely be our longest trip together. Stay tuned.

4. I haven’t had a whole lot of time for TV lately, but there is one show I’ve been making a point to watch. A couple of months ago my friend Kasey told me about a show on Netflix called Great Designs. I assumed that it was standard HGTV-ish before & after fare (which I happen to like). I have to say, though, that this show is so much more; there’s a narrative that runs through every episode, and that narrative usually makes me teary-eyed at some point. The before & after part is inspiring, for sure, but the stories are what make each episode special. Highly recommend.

5. All righty. Now it’s bedtime, and if I don’t publish this post before I go to bed, it’ll still be sitting in my drafts folder in 2024. So I wouldn’t say that I’m finished, but I guess I’m stopping. To be continued. And, by all means, Go ‘Dogs.

Let’s just get this out of the way: there are times when Melanie’s internet is dicey on this episode. KEEP DOING YOU, AT&T.

But if you can stick with us during our internet troubles, then you’ll hear our thoughts on Pippa Middleton’s wedding (Melanie is our resident royals expert), the madness that is May, and my upcoming trip to Kenya.

We also discuss shoe options for summertime, Southern Charm Savannah, and the challenges of writing a devotional book (which, by the way, were surprising to both of us).

You can click here to listen. Or here. You can even listen right here on the blog.

You can also listen on Stitcher.

Or, as always, you can subscribe on iTunes if you’re feeling particularly fancy. We’d be honored if you’d leave us a review.

And if you’re on the Facebook, well, we are, too.

Here’s where you can get more info on the stuff / products / places we mention:

– Pippa Middleton’s wedding

– Vans slip-ons

– Vans Old Skool

– Superga sneakers

– Kiernan Shipka’s Five-Minute Beauty Routine (that’s really just two minutes)

– Becca Shimmering Skin Perfector Liquid Highlighter

– Becca First Light Filter Face Primer

– Anna Kendrick’s Scrappy Little Nobody

– The Summer Before the War by Helen Simonson

– Coming Home by Rosamunde Pilcher

– Chin Up, America t-shirts

– Neil and Whitney

Enjoy, y’all!

True story: I’ve decided that quiet just might be my favorite antidote to grief / processing / working through stuff. However, I still think about blogging all the time, even if I don’t actually follow through with it. So, in the interest of leaving no inconsequential stone unturned, I thought I’d make a quick list of various interests / obsessions / delights that have provided some happiness and dare I say wonder during this quiet-y phase (and, to be clear, that continue to be rays of light and sunshine).

I’d hate if we weren’t caught up on these things, you understand.

All righty. In no particular order.

– I am a certified, bonafide convert to Walmart’s grocery pick-up service, which is basically genius and life-changing (still getting my meat from Fresh Market, though…can’t beat their $2.99 Tuesdays). It’s a free service ($35 minimum order, though) and there is zero mark-up on grocery items. You just make an appointment, select all your groceries online or on the app, then show up at your scheduled time for pick-up. Basically all you do at pick-up is pop open your trunk, and a very kind Walmart team member will load your groceries in your car. THIS IS ALL I HAVE EVER WANTED IN LIFE.

– Mississippi State baseball – This is no different than any spring, really. Weekend before last Brent Rooker hit three home runs in one game and I talked about it for two days. As you do.

– And speaking of Mississippi State…

Tonight. #HailState pic.twitter.com/1rTTtTTLPK

— MSU W. Basketball (@HailStateWBK) April 2, 2017

…our women’s basketball team’s defeat of UConn and the national championship game against South Carolina? BE STILL, MY BULLDOG HEART. So proud. I’ll never get over it.

– Brooks Ghost 9 running shoes

To be clear, I do not run.

But I’ve been walking a lot. And these shoes are the best I’ve ever had. They’ve been in heavy rotation for almost a year, so it’s time to replace them – and do you know what I ordered? Some more Brooks Ghost 9s. Identical to my old ones. They’re fantastic. I’ve always had trouble with running shoes making my feet feel really confined, so with these Brooks I finally ordered a wide width, and LO, THE HEAVENS OPENED AND BLESSINGS POURED FORTH. What I love about these particular Brooks is that they’re really supportive – my feet NEVER hurt – but they’re also bouncy. I like some spring in my step.

– I’ve been catching up on all sorts of podcasts. One of my most recent favorites is Up and Vanished, which (after listening to about six episodes in a row) left me so scared in my Hopkinsville, Kentucky hotel room that I thought about sleeping with the lights on. I was seconds away from stepping around a corner in a full-on Charlie’s Angels circa-2000 pose.

Also, if you enjoy pop culture and you’re not listening to The Popcast with Knox & Jamie, you should be. For starters, try Episode 188; it is so stinkin’ clever.

– On my last birthday David gave me a Fitbit Charge 2, and at first I was like, OH LOOK, A WATCH. I mean, I’d wanted a Fitbit, but after I got one I didn’t really know what to do with it. However, it seemed to tell time beautifully. Now, though, it has basically become my personal, grown-up version of a pre-schooler’s star chart (I LIVE for the confetti pop when my active minutes reach a certain level). I like for it to beep at me and remind me to get up from my desk and then celebrate with me when I reach 10,000 steps.

How sad is this, by the way?

A post shared by Sophie Hudson (@boomama205) on Apr 12, 2017 at 4:31am PDT

It was last week. If I’d only checked my steps before I got in the bed, I could have avoided this particular brand of heartbreak.

– Coffee – Basically I’ve never loved it more. Basically I crave it all the time. Basically I want to drink some right now even though it’s 9 o’clock at night and I try not to drink anything with caffeine after 3-ish. And yes, I know there’s decaf, but I’m not a fan. Mainly because I miss that thing you call flavor. (If there’s a decaf K-cup you really love, please let me know!)

– LuLaRoe Irma tops – They are LIKE BUTTER, I tell you. I also love that they’re longer in the back than in the front, and, as my mama would say, they launder beautifully (I wash mine in cold and then hang to dry). Highly recommend.

– Sakura Pigma Graphic 1 pen – Y’all know that I love a good pen. The Pentel Sign Pen is still my all-time favorite, but there’s a new 2nd place contender. If you like a good felt-tip pen, I think you’ll be a fan. STRONG WORDS, I know.

Hope y’all are having a great week so far!