When Love Met Us at the Gate
Recently, I had the privilege of visiting the Rehema for Kids children’s home called In Step Children’s Home. It’s a place where abused, abandoned, and orphaned children are rescued from heartbreaking circumstances and given a second chance at life. What I witnessed there deeply moved me.
When we landed at the small Eldoret airport after our flight from Nairobi, we still had an hour and a half to drive before reaching In Step Children’s Home and Academy. That drive, I will never forget it. It was one of the most sobering experiences of my life. Everywhere I looked, poverty was staring back at me. Tiny mud houses dotted the landscape, and along the roadside, people tried to make a living selling whatever they could. Vegetables, clothes, and small trinkets were set up between piles of garbage and wandering goats or cows.
Cars were rare. Instead, motorcycles called “pikis” ruled the road. Families of four would pile onto one, clutching their belongings as they rode. We even saw people balancing full pieces of furniture strapped to the back of a piki.
There was an unmistakable heaviness in the air. You could feel the struggle, the exhaustion, the quiet desperation. It wasn’t just something you saw, it was something you felt. The pain was written on their faces and in the way they moved.
Finally, we reached the gates of our campus and in that moment, it felt like the air itself changed. It was as if we had crossed from darkness into light. The heaviness of the drive lifted instantly. Children came running, their faces beaming, their laughter ringing through the air. They waved wildly, shouting our names with excitement and love.
“Auntie Val! Auntie Val!” they called, remembering faces and hearts from the last visit.
It was pure joy… radiant, contagious, and holy. In that instant, all the miles, all the heartbreak we’d seen along the way, faded into the background. Love had met us at the gate.
By the time we finally got settled that evening, night had fallen and bedtime was just around the corner. We made our way to the “baby house” to say goodnight to the infants and toddlers. The moment we stepped inside, I was in awe. The little building was buzzing with life. Caregivers moved gently but swiftly, changing pajamas, and tucking little ones safely under mosquito nets. There was laughter, a few tired cries, and the sweet hum of bedtime routines all happening at once. It was chaotic and beautiful.
One of our newest little ones, Baby Tyson, had just come home from the hospital. He’d been fighting for his life recovering from severe malnourishment and a tough battle with pneumonia. For a while, we didn’t know if he would make it. But this tiny boy is a fighter. Every day, we could see small signs of strength returning – a bit more energy, brighter eyes, a little more life in his movements. And then came the moment that melted everyone’s hearts: that rare, precious smile when he managed to stick his tiny fist into someone’s mouth, as if to say, “I’m still here.”
Every morning, we woke to the sounds of crickets, frogs, and birds blending with the laughter and singing of children. It was the music of life itself, and it sounded like heaven. By 6:30 a.m., the schoolyard was already buzzing with energy. Children in their bright uniforms gathered on the playground, playing and giggling before the long school day began. For the older kids, classes run from 7 a.m. to 5 p.m., so they savor every precious moment of free time before the bell rings.
One of the first to spot me was little Joanie. She was born premature and deaf – the size of a water bottle. You may remember, when she was just three years old, we raised funds to give her a cochlear implant so she could hear the world for the very first time. After three years of dedicated speech therapy, she’s now thriving. Joanie is completely caught up with her classmates and even helping care for the babies.
When she saw me, her face lit up, and she ran over to wrap me in a hug. A few minutes later, she proudly handed me her gift of a bracelet she had woven herself from grass. It was more than a gift. It was a beautiful testament to resilience.
One of the most powerful moments of the trip for me was meeting the children who once stood at death’s door. These are children who arrived broken, frail, and barely holding on but now they are full of life, laughter, and hope.
One little girl who especially touched my heart was Chantel. Kenyan Children’s Services brought her to us when she was just five years old, after one of her parents had thrown scalding water on her. She had emptiness in her eyes when she arrived. Her pain was visible, her spirit dim. But within a few short months, through gentle care, trauma counseling, and endless love, Chantel began to heal. Today, she’s smiling again, her laughter echoing through the playground.
Then there was Bianca, a child I could hardly recognize. She came to us as a premature baby, weighing barely two pounds. Many people prayed over her tiny body and watched her fight for every breath. Now, she’s grown into those big, beautiful eyes, full of curiosity. She is on the path of healing – a reminder of just how far grace can carry a child.
While we were on campus, we had the joy of experiencing the annual Prayer Day. It’s a special celebration honoring students who are moving up to junior high and high school. The atmosphere was filled with excitement and pride as each child received recognition from their social workers, teachers, and Mama Carla. After lively performances of singing and dancing that had everyone clapping along, the students ended with a heartfelt song about the people they would miss including their siblings, educators, even us visitors.
One evening, the girls invited us to join their nightly devotion. It’s their sacred time—to read Scripture, reflect on a short devotion, and share their prayer requests. As their voices rose together in worship, the sound filled the room with such warmth and peace. It was absolutely beautiful.
Afterward, they wanted to share their dreams with us. One by one, they spoke about the futures they were working toward… pilots, doctors, lawyers, even an astronaut. Their eyes sparkled with possibility. They know it won’t be easy, but they listen closely to the wisdom and encouragement of their older brothers and sisters who’ve gone on to high school and college.
That’s the difference between the world outside our gate and the one within. Inside, there is faith. There is hope. There is love. It’s a home built on the unshakable belief that Jesus gives second chances and that He redeems broken stories.
Many of the 240 children who have grown up at In Step Children’s Home over the past 20 years know exactly what that means. They understand mercy and grace. They understand the privilege of education and the responsibility that comes with it.
One of those children is Ruth. She is a bright, determined young woman I was able to visit at her nearby high school. She wanted me to share this message with all of our supporters who have made her story, and so many others, possible.
Our last day at In Step fell on a Sunday, and we had the privilege of joining the children for worship in the dining pavilion. Their voices rose in song – pure, joyful, and full of gratitude. It was impossible not to feel God’s presence in that space.
After the service, Pastor Sam turned to me and said softly, “When I look at these children, I see God.” His words sank deep. He reminded me that most of these little ones were once staring into the grave—but now, they are walking miracles. He spoke with such love and conviction as he credited Mama Carla and Baba Jeff for answering God’s call to come to Kenya and rescue hundreds of children. His words were both beautiful and true.
As I prepared to leave the campus, I noticed that even the tiniest children were calling my name, waving and smiling as they ran up for one last hug. The love I felt in those moments—it was overwhelming, the kind that reaches straight to your soul. I left with a full heart, reminded once again that love, when lived out, can truly change lives.
People warned me that saying goodbye would be hard but I don’t think anything could have prepared me for what happened next. I thought I could hold it together, until Chantel ran into my arms and refused to let go. In that long, tearful hug, I could feel everything she wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for. The love, the gratitude, the ache of goodbye all rushed through me. It was a moment forever etched in my heart.
It’s so easy to love these beautiful children. But what took me by surprise is how deeply they love us back. We go there thinking we’re the ones coming to give, to serve, to pour out our hearts. But in the end, it’s we who are filled. We walk away carrying eternal treasures, gifts of love and connection that stay with us long after we’ve left Kenya.
As I reflect on all I witnessed, I’m reminded of God’s promise in Isaiah 61:3: “to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.” At In Step Children’s Home, that promise is alive and visible in every child’s smile, every song of worship, and every story of redemption. What once was broken is being made beautiful—and it is nothing short of God’s glory shining through their lives.
If you would like to visit our children’s home, feel free to contact me at estha@rehemaforkids.org for more information.
Gratefully,
Estha Madeira
Executive Director of Rehema for Kids
