As a new believer, I yearned to have a meaningful prayer life. However, I soon discovered that whenever I attempted to spend quality time in prayer, I had difficulty concentrating because my mind would wander and I would get easily distracted.  If I tried to pray at night, I was usually so exhausted from the day I would fall asleep after two minutes.  At that time in my life, mornings were an even greater challenge because I was a late night person who hated to wake up in the morning and could barely get out of bed in time to get the kids off to school on time.  Needless to say, in my disorganized state, it was pretty chaotic around the Hayburn house every morning and we were late almost everywhere we went. Thus, waking up early was not a good option for me for a long term solution. Finding time during the day was hardly an option because sitting still was impossible for me.  Once my brain switched on in the morning, it was, off and running! and that was the end of any peace and quiet for me.

When we returned from a three-week mission trip to Kenya with our church in January 1983, I had a incredible experience that changed the course of my life.  At that time I started reading books on prayer and I became desperate to learn how to pray like the prayer warriors I had read about. One day I decided to fill the bathtub as full as possible and submerge myself so that all that remained out of the water was my nose.  It was so quiet and peaceful that I could actually focus my attention on the Lord. That was an amazing discovery for me.  I realized that the secret to my prayer life was peace and quiet!  However, it became a bit of a challenge to arrange my day so that I could have a long soak in the tub every time I wanted to have quiet time with the Lord.  I also didn’t like my skin getting all shriveled up like a prune every time I prayed. Besides all that, life was hectic taking care of a husband and two children and keeping up with an active ministry in the church, taking voice lessons so I could learn to sing like Sandi Patti, working part time at the Christian Elementary School, and taking night classes for my masters degree.  I remember crying out in desperation for the Lord to please help me.  I felt like I was drowning in over-commitment and I desperately wanted to spend time with the Lord without having to be submerged in a bathtub.

In the meantime, the Lord was not only busy helping me sort out my life, but He was also working out a plan that opened the door for us to return to Kenya for a 2 ½ year special assignment.  Time does not permit me to describe all the miracles and events that led to this drastic, life-changing decision to pack up and move our family halfway around the world.  That will be the topic for another chapter of memoirs entitled, How a Kidney Stone Prepared Me for the Mission Field.

All I can say is, in record time—approximately nine months from our first inquiry about the possibility of returning to Kenya—our Foreign Missions Department processed our application, we went through orientation, and with the help of our senior pastor we raised our budget, and we arrived in Nairobi, Kenya for our first term as missionaries on January 1, 1985.

Amy playing with her doll in the front yard of 192

Our house was located in an African housing area called Buru Buru located on the outskirts of the city.  At first, it was really strange to be the only white people in the community surrounded by people who looked at us with cautious curiosity.  We lived in house number 192, which was a two-story, three bedroom townhouse with a combination living room/dining room and a tiny kitchen. The house was small but cozy.  Mark and I took the bedroom located at the front of the house overlooking our neighbor’s courtyard. The girls shared a small room with twin beds and a small chest of drawers.  We turned the third bedroom into a sitting/reading room.

Jennifer on the front porch of 192

I had always thought that roosters were supposed to live on farms and crow at dawn to usher in the new day.  At least that was until we moved into 192.  As we were tucking the girls into their beds the first night, Jennifer asked how she would know when it was time to wake up.  Mark thought he was being clever when he told her to get up when the rooster crowed.  How surprised we were at 4:30 the next morning when we heard our neighbor’s rooster, whose cock-a-doodle-do sounded more like an elephant with a bad cold clearing his trunk. It was so loud I actually thought it was in our house. This scrawny feathered fowl that belonged on a farm just happened to be roosting right outside of my bedroom window. When Jennifer heard the rooster, she obediently came and stood at our bed thinking it was time to wake up.  When we realized it was only 4:30 in the morning, we told her to go back to bed.  This was one of my first experiences with culture shock as a missionary—getting used to a rooster perched outside of my bedroom window that thought wake-up call should be 4:30 AM.

Jennifer doing her homework

From our first night in 192 until we moved into another missionary’s house six months later to house sit for a year, the rooster faithfully woke me up at 4:30 AM. Everyone else in the family became so accustomed to the obnoxious squawking that they were able to sleep right through it. At first, I was frustrated but then one night I decided to get out of bed and go into the little sitting room and spend some time in prayer. The room was so small it could only accommodate a small two-seat sofa and a wooden table with a lamp.  I curled up on the sofa in the darkness and quiet and started talking to God.  It was so peaceful and quiet that I found myself talking to the Lord about everything without getting distracted.  That was exactly what I needed—quiet and darkness with nothing to do but pray—and I didn’t even have to submerge myself in the bathtub.

We only lived in 192 for six months before we were asked to house-sit for Spud and Joyce DeMent when they went home for furlough.  The interesting thing about the rooster with the raspy voice is how God used it to help me establish the daily discipline of a meaningful prayer time. It had always intrigued me when I would listen to veteran Christians sharing about how much they cherished their quality time in prayer and their testimonies about how God would speak to them and answer their prayers.  I had never experienced anything like that and I desperately wanted what they were talking about. With a little help from my Swahili-speaking rooster, I was on my way to discovering the joy of communing with God every day.

I found myself looking so forward to that time every morning before Mark and the girls woke up that when we moved to the DeMent’s house, I decided to set my alarm just in case I would happen to sleep through since I wouldn’t have the rooster to wake me up anymore.  What ever happened to that woman who couldn’t get out of bed in the morning? This precious time had become so special and I discovered how much I needed that time with the Lord. I also discovered that prayer is really a conversation with someone with whom you have a relationship. Over the days, weeks, months, and years, this time with the Lord praying and reading His Word was the key to my spiritual growth and I believe was my source of insight and wisdom that I knew, at times, was beyond my mortal reasoning.

As I look back over the forty-one years I have journeyed with the Lord, I marvel at all the unique ways God has answered my prayers.  I have learned that God always answers my prayers! Some answers were “Yes!” and came instantly and some were total miracles. Other times His answer was “No,” which in retrospect I would discover that it was the best answer after all. Other answers took years to unfold, like my prayer asking God to teach me how to pray. He answered this prayer by leading my family to a foreign country, thousands of miles away from home, and then lovingly placing a rooster with a raspy voice under my bedroom window.