© 2014 by Claire Díaz-Ortiz and Samuel Ikua Gachagua
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com
Ebook edition created 2014
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4412-4531-1
Scripture quotations are from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com
To protect the privacy of those who have shared their stories with the authors, some details and names have been changed. For ease of reading, some events have been simplified or condensed.
“One restless woman from America seeking—something . . . and one homeless boy from Africa seeking—someone . . . write a story that has your heart colliding with what you’re looking for—right where you are.”
—Ann Voskamp, author of the New York Times bestseller One Thousand Gifts
“This book isn’t just a story, it’s an invitation to love extravagantly. It’s the voices of Sammy and Claire telling us that the power of God’s love trumps our fears and circumstances. It’s about relentless hope and tremendous love. Buckle up, you’re about to be changed.”
—Bob Goff, Honorary Consul for the Republic of Uganda; New York Times bestselling author of Love Does
“Claire knows firsthand what it means to really give of her time and talent, and in this book she challenged me to do the same. What a brave step of faith she took—and continues to live. My heart sings that there are people in the world like her.”
—Tsh Oxenreider, author of Notes from a Blue Bike
“This is a beautiful story, beautifully told. I could read Sammy’s and Claire’s stories for days on end. This book is a timely reminder that love and hope can bridge continents and create family anywhere.”
—Shauna Niequist, author of Bread & Wine
“If you’re looking for a life that matters, if you’re craving something you can’t quite put your finger on, maybe start with this book. And the story of how extraordinary sometimes looks nothing like climbing Everest but everything like quietly connecting with one person’s story. And watching how yours multiplies into something that satisfies way beyond check marks on a bucket list. Claire and Sammy invite us into their story with the comfortable familiarity of old friends, challenging us to see beyond the borders of what we thought life was supposed to hold and how detours are often the best storylines of all.”
—Lisa-Jo Baker, author of Surprised by Motherhood; community manager for (in)courage
“Hope Runs is a powerful reminder of what God can do if we obediently listen to him. Claire is a change maker, has lots of influence, and runs in influential circles, but she still makes sure to focus on what is most important. This book is timely, heartfelt, and honest. I appreciate the grace, hope, love, and adventure lived out through this journey, and now you get to experience it as well!”
—Brad Lomenick, president of Catalyst; author of The Catalyst Leader
“I read Hope Runs in two days (and I am not a fast reader). I can’t think of a more unlikely pair than Sammy and Claire—yet somehow, after reading their story, I can’t imagine one separate from the other. Theirs is a powerful, unforgettable story, and I’m truly grateful for their willingness to tell it.”
—Emily P. Freeman, author of A Million Little Ways
“Hope Runs is a beautifully moving and heartfelt story of how two lives were completely rearranged by hope and love.”
—Crystal Paine, founder of MoneySavingMom.com; author of Say Goodbye to Survival Mode
“Claire Díaz-Ortiz has always led with wisdom and heart, and this book is no exception. In her and Sammy’s story we have a powerful witness of what happens when we learn to be sensitive to God’s voice and step out boldly in faith. Hope Runs inspired me and gave me hope; I know it will do the same for readers around the country.”
—Joshua DuBois, author of The President’s Devotional; founder of Values Partnerships; former executive director of the White House faith-based initiative
“Claire and Sammy are two lovely people who tell their story of hope with such incredibly moving authenticity. This book will inspire you!”
—Alli Worthington, strategist, speaker, and author
“Hope Runs brings the feeling of a downhill sprint: your heart will pound, your spirit will rise, and you’ll be caught up in the rush that comes from stepping out in faith and letting life run away with you.”
—Scott Williams, church growth/leadership consultant and strategist at Nxt Level Solutions; author of Church Diversity and Go Big
“Sammy and Claire share a powerful story of two lives changed and challenge us to listen for God’s voice and bravely step out in faith.”
—Rebekah Lyons, cofounder of Q Ideas; author of Freefall to Fly
“Stories of overcoming impossible obstacles move me, but Hope Runs did more: it changed my cynicism to hope. I dare to believe that people who are hurt in and by this world can rise above and run a new, life-changing race. Sammy’s voice and Claire’s story reminded me of everything good about the human spirit.”
—Mary DeMuth, author of The Wall Around Your Heart
To all the children in this book and all the children in orphanages like this one.
And to Lara.
Contents
Cover 1
Title Page 2
Copyright Page 3
Endorsements 4
Dedication 5
Map of Kenya 9
Foreword by Donald Miller 11
Chapter 1 (Sammy) 13
Chapter 2 (Claire) 25
Chapter 3 (Sammy) 35
Chapter 4 (Claire) 51
Chapter 5 (Claire) 65
Chapter 6 (Sammy) 71
Chapter 7 (Sammy) 83
Chapter 8 (Claire) 91
Chapter 9 (Sammy) 111
Chapter 10 (Claire) 119
Chapter 11 (Sammy) 125
Chapter 12 (Sammy) 143
Chapter 13 (Claire) 161
Chapter 14 (Sammy) 173
Chapter 15 (Claire) 189
Chapter 16 (Sammy) 193
Photo Gallery 197
Acknowledgments 205
About Hope Runs 207
About the Authors 209
Back Ads 211
Back Cover 215
Foreword
Years ago a therapist friend taught me how to listen. She said when I’m talking to somebody about a painful or sensitive situation, I should sit and listen and then repeat back to them what I heard, making sure I got it right. My therapist friend said this will give the person I’m listening to a sense of comfort, a sense of being known. She said people connect when they take time for empathy.
Reading Hope Runs is like sitting down listening to Claire Díaz-Ortiz repeat everything she knows about her foster son. It’s her way of saying, “Do I understand you? Do I have your story right? Is this who you are?”
I loved especially reading Claire talk about herself from Sammy’s perspective. I loved that Sammy lays in his bed in the orphanage at night hoping Claire won’t be like so many of the other white women who only come for a visit then leave forever. And I loved how he discovers that for him, she will become so much more.
I loved the scen
e where Sammy gets on the plane, the story of him not knowing what a boarding pass is, and then finally getting on the massive building with wings, falling asleep from exhaustion and waking up in Dubai, of how trusting he is as he gets lost in the airport, and how delighted he is to finally be reunited with Claire.
But always, always through this book the reader has a haunting sense we’re listening to a story we were never intended to hear. It’s really about Sammy and about Claire, his new guardian not much older than him, his new friend. And you can hear her whispering to herself as she types, “Is this you, Sammy? Am I understanding your story correctly?”
I know Claire well, and she’s more comfortable sitting quietly at a table letting other people talk than she is being the center of attention. And so reading this book let me know what was really going through her head. And what was going through her head was a remarkable consideration for the life of another.
Hope Runs is more than a book, it’s a monument to empathy. I’m grateful to have been able to eavesdrop on this private conversation, a retelling of a life as a way to connect Claire to Sammy first, then the rest of us to them. Connection through empathy indeed.
—Donald Miller
Author of Blue Like Jazz
Sammy
Chapter 1
I was born on a red dirt road.
It was a hot December in Limuru, Kenya, and my mother, father, and brother traveled for days to reach my grandmother’s house for Christmas. On December 23, 1992, my mother gave birth.
They call me Sammy.
My mother, father, brother, and I live in Nakuru, a big, mile-high town in the west of Kenya, where there is white dirt as far as the eye can see. My father is a businessman who manages an insurance company. I remember him coming home from work with my mother one day. I am bursting with joy at seeing him, and I run and run and run to hug him. At that moment, I feel I can run forever.
This is the best memory I have of my father.
When I am a small boy, our family is very successful. My mother’s sister lives in our house, working as our maid, cooking for us, and taking care of my brother and me.
We eat chicken every day. In Kenya, when you eat chicken, you are successful.
When I am four or five, my mother tells me it is time for me to start school. I don’t understand what school is, but I am happy for a new checked shirt and a bright red sweater. That first day my mother takes my hand and walks me along the white dirt road of the Nakuru plains. By the time I get to school, the shoes I had shined sparkling black are now full of dust.
At school, I am confused. It doesn’t make sense to me that I am to stay an entire day in a new place, an entire day without my mother.
This I cannot comprehend.
That same year my mother starts getting fat. I don’t know why until she sits my brother and me down to tell us she is expecting a baby.
I am happy. “Finally we’re buying another person for the family!” I shout.
All that my mother says at first is, “No, Sammy, we are not buying a baby.” She says she is going to give birth. But that doesn’t make sense to me, and I tell her I have always believed that people are bought, and that the reason I have an older brother is because my parents purchased him somewhere.
My mother tries to make me grasp the truth, explaining that sometimes when people love each other they can make babies.
I do not understand one bit, and we leave it at that.
It is around this time that my father gets sick and goes to the hospital. They tell me he has a very bad headache and the doctor needs to take care of him. A few days later something strange happens. My mother says she and my father are getting married that same week, on Saturday. I am small and don’t think about the fact that they were not married before.
“While he’s in hospital?” I ask.
It doesn’t make any sense to me.
First we have a ceremony in the church, but my father can’t come to that. Then we go to the hospital and there is another ceremony just for him. People peer in through the bars of the hospital window to see.
At the wedding, there are many cars. I have never seen so many cars before, and I want so badly to ride in one because I never have. Someone is carrying around a strange machine, and I want to know what it is. My cousin tells me it is a camera. “You know how you see videos on the TV? Well, that thing records the videos that go there!” he says.
That seems to me the greatest thing in the world. I don’t have a chance to touch it, but I keep it in my mind and hope that someday I can.
One Tuesday morning in 1997 we get a beautiful sister named Elizabeth, whom we call Bethi. It is a wonderful day. My mom receives many presents, and we make gallons of uji, a drink of watery maize meal that I have a special taste for.
That night both my dad and my mom are in the same hospital together, and everyone is happy.
The next day, on Wednesday, I wake up at home and am getting ready to go back to the hospital to see my baby sister and my parents when dozens of people start rushing into our house, talking in hushed tones. Some people are crying, and I see my cousin fall to the floor with tears in her eyes. When I ask what is happening, she tells me.
My father has passed away.
As I try to understand what that means, my brother says that I will never see my father again. He’s gone for good, he says.
But that—that is something I cannot believe.
This is the beginning of a horrible day. We go to the hospital, and when we are there I see my father’s mother, whom I don’t remember ever meeting before. She is old and bent over and walks with a cane.
One week later, another Wednesday, we bury my father in an orange casket in a public cemetery, and I see my mother cry for the first time. I still don’t understand what death is, but I cry with her. I have a picture of me from this day, the day my father died. It is one of the only pictures I have of my life in Kenya.
After my father’s death, things start to go downhill for our family. At first my mother continues to work as a land broker, and we keep on living in the big, busy town of Nakuru.
During this time, I come to love making tea. Kenyan tea, or chai, is made of boiled water mixed with milk, sugar, and special black tea. One rainy Friday afternoon I get home and find my mother and her friend Jadi inside cracking jokes and laughing loud. I go to the kitchen and make tea for them. Jadi tells me she has never had better tea, and I smile wide. As I wash their dishes, though, I hear their voices start to rise. Soon they are shouting. When the shouting doesn’t stop and my mother chases Jadi out of the house, I know we have lost a friend. Jadi isn’t the only friend my mother loses, and she starts getting in fights with many people who have been in our lives for a long time.
Later that night our mom calls us out of our rooms to come sit on her bed with her. My little sister Bethi is in the crib as we crowd around my mother, praying over a Bible. My mother has never been much of a churchgoer, and we only go every now and then. She certainly doesn’t pray much in front of us. That night, though, she prays hard. And then she starts to cry. This is the second time I have seen her cry, and this time I do not know why.
After my mother tells us she has lost her job, we start moving. We change houses, get kicked out of one house, rent another, and get kicked out again. One time we move to a house that is close to my primary school. We are there a few weeks when kids around the neighborhood start to get chicken pox. At first we don’t get it. But our luck doesn’t last for long, and two days later it happens. Muriithi, my brother, is the first, and he passes it on to me. When little Bethi gets it, she is covered in spots. She has a hole in her hand from the spots, and we put fifteen drops of medicine in the hole each day to make it go away. We do this again and again.
Little by little, my sister starts healing. Right at that time, though, my mother’s sister Veronica, who has been cleaning for us, starts acting strangely. She is sleeping a lot for no reason and wanders around the house not doing anything.
She doesn’t even have the energy to beat us much! Then, a few months later, she gives birth to a baby boy. I am surprised, but then I am happy when she names him after our grandfather and me: Sammy Ikua.
Growing up with baby Ikua, even though we live together less than a year, is wonderful. It is quite a change from having a little sister to having a little brother. And even though he is just an infant, I feel responsible in a new way.
I love being a big brother to Bethi and baby Ikua, and whenever we get kicked out of school for not paying school fees, I come home and play with baby Ikua and swing him around. Veronica, however, is back to treating us terribly and beating us for everything. One time Muriithi gets a paper cut and she beats him thoroughly.
Even though my mother loves visitors, Veronica hates them and never lets us bring friends home. One day I don’t listen and bring one with me. She beats me very badly, and I never bring anyone home ever again while I live with her.
As time goes by and my mom still doesn’t have a job, Veronica has to leave because my mother can’t pay to keep her anymore. The night she leaves, Muriithi, Bethi, and I have a little party because we are so happy she has finally gone away. As we watch TV, Bethi laughs for the first time, a small chuckle.
I scream at once and run to call my brother. “Bethi’s laughing! Bethi’s laughing!” Then I go to my mother and tell her the same thing. Even though I know it has something to do with the TV, I convince myself otherwise. “She’s laughing because Veronica is finally out of the house!” I say.
Once again I feel lucky. But the next day we go to school, and the teacher makes us leave because we haven’t paid school fees for over a year.
Even though we don’t have money and keep getting kicked out of school, I always feel our mother loves us. One time I go to school the day after I have just been kicked out. The head teacher who made me leave the day before isn’t there, and I think, Yes! I can stay in class today! But as soon as I get to the classroom, the classroom teacher demands that I pay her. When I tell her I don’t have any money, she begins shouting louder and louder. Then she picks up a stick and begins beating me on my thighs.
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