100 Friday Nights

By Victoria Little

One hundred (well, 102 really)—the number of Friday nights I spent in Kenya. A few were in town on a supply run, but most were spent in my little 12- by 15-foot house, either seated on the floor or lying in my hammock.

Friday nights have always been special to me. Growing up, they were “family night,” the only night of the week we were allowed to watch a movie and eat in the living room. Our Friday night meal was hamburgers, fries, and ice cream. As we grew older, Friday nights looked a little different. We spent more time hanging out with friends. After graduating from nursing school and getting a job in a hospital near my hometown, many of my Friday nights were spent working. When not working, though, I gathered with a close group of friends and did the “normal” young people stuff: eat, hang out, and stay up way too late talking and laughing. I treasured those times, as well as the Saturday nights when we gathered to study Scripture together.

Then I moved to the bush of Kenya where it was dark by 6:30 p.m., and the entire world around me shut down shortly thereafter. This night-shift girl had some serious struggles. In my mind, Friday nights were for hanging out, staying up late, and having fun. This was no longer an option for me. I was unsure what to do with myself. I felt extremely lonely and isolated. I had no community, family, or friends around me. The time difference only increased the difficulty in communicating with those in the States.

It felt like I had been given an unexpected gift—the gift of loneliness. I had not asked for it, and it was certainly unwanted; yet there I was, sitting alone on Friday nights. I had a choice of what to do with my loneliness. I could hold tightly to it, feel sorry for myself, and reminisce about former Friday nights. Or, I could make use of the time I had. Don’t get me wrong. I loved my Samburu people and tried to spend as much time as possible with them during the day, but that really was impossible after dark. Hyenas, elephants, snakes, and other predators are most active after sunset, which only adds to the dangers of venturing out at night in the bush. So, I had a choice: wrap myself tightly in the blanket of loneliness or give it back to God. I decided to choose the latter, and in giving it back to God, I learned.

I learned more about my Savior. Leading up to His death, everyone left Him. Even the Father turned His back on the Son. He was utterly and completely alone. I have never been that alone. The Father has never turned His back on me. He is always—always—there. He was with me when no one else was. I began to run to Him, cling to Him more than I ever had. Often, it felt as if He were the only person I had, and I learned He was all I needed. I was lonely but never alone. I still struggled more than I care to admit. The rawness of the words in my journal take me back to those difficult nights. Yet, they also remind me how Christ became enough:

You and me, Lord. It always goes back to just You and me. People come and go. And always, it goes back to You and me. On these lonely nights, that’s hard. When all I want is someone to talk to and be with, it’s hard. But You. You are my One Thing, my Treasured Possession, my Constant Companion, and Present Peace. I pray this longing in my heart for community…would not be taken away, but turned into a deeper longing for You, Jesus. You are the better longing and desire. The only One who satisfies and fills me with joy. Your glory, Your Name. Make me holy as You are holy. You are the One for whom I long above all. So, ’just You and me’ is enough.

He is here. He is present, even when I can’t feel it. He is here when it feels like no one else is. But His promise still stands: great is His faithfulness. He has met me in the hardest places. In the loneliness, He has given His presence. The tears—He has placed them in a bottle and not forgotten them. On the dark nights, in the middle of the night, He has knelt beside me on my floor as I pray. In the early mornings, He hears as I run along the dirt road and cry out to Him. In the evenings, He goes to war for me as I fight and pray in His Name. And His is the victory. There is always hope. Hope of what He will do, of what is to come, but also hope in the silence and loneliness. Hope because I can look at what He’s already done and who He is. I look back and see how far He’s brought me, how far I’ve come, and I realize I wouldn’t be here, know Him this well, if it weren’t for the loneliness and waiting.

The time alone is when I studied Scripture deeply for truth. I had sought God before, but never like I had on those lonely, silent nights. How real His presence became and how I understood the depths of Christ more. Little did I know how this path would wind and twist and often feel as if it had just dropped off the side of a cliff. But even at the bottom of the cliff, when I was tired and lonely and wondering where God was, I found Him there. And He took me to walk the heights with Him. He has shown me Himself on a deep level that only makes me want Him more. He is my One Thing. He is my Everything.

As my two years in Kenya progressed, I continued to grow. I was so grateful for those who reached out and sent encouraging messages, even people I had never met! I looked forward to visitors coming and treasured the community they provided. I sought out friendships when we went to town every few weeks. I enjoyed the after-dinner discussions on life and theology I had with my missionary partners Eddy and Amanda Simmons. I loved the countless afternoons my Samburu teammate Eunice and I spent visiting various women in the community (and having incredible adventures while doing so, I might add).

I will never forget the lessons loneliness taught me. I have learned one does not have to be out in the bush and hours away from “civilization” to feel lonely. Far too many in America and even in the church feel the same way, even while surrounded by people. They are hurting, broken, lonely people in need of the only One who could ever mend their wounds and be enough for their brokenness and loneliness. I know and understand better now than I used to, and I want those in that same lonely place to know Christ as I have come to know Him. When we are at the end of ourselves, we find Him there. As we seek, we find, and we see that He is enough. Even when we find ourselves lonely, we are never truly alone.

Romans 11:33-36, “O the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! how unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out! For who hath known the mind of the Lord? or who hath been his counsellor? Or who hath first given to him, and it shall be recompensed unto him again? For of him, and through him, and to him, are all things: to whom be glory forever.”

About the Writer: Appointed as a short-term intern to Kenya in April 2017, Victoria Little worked for two years with Eddy and Amanda Simmons among the Samburu people. She used her nursing skills to minister to the physical needs of the semi-nomadic people group and worked with Eunice, a Samburu woman, to add discipleship and Bible storying during weekly teaching sessions. Learn more: IMInc.org