Our Displacement Story

Displace

dɪsˈpleɪs/

verb

past tense: displaced;

o                                       take over the place, position, or role of.

synonyms:

replace, take the place of, take over from, supplant, oust, supersede, succeed, override;

• move (something) from its proper or usual position.

synonyms:		dislodge, dislocate, upset, unsettle, move, shift, relocate, reposition

• force (someone) to leave their home, typically because of war, persecution, or natural disaster.

We are displaced. Our family, together we are displaced. We have been dislodged, dislocated, upset, unsettled, moved. We have shifted, relocated and been repositioned. We have had to leave our home, not because of war or persecution and I’m not sure if it qualifies as a natural disaster, but it feels like it.  The soil composition in our yard has created a mess. Half of our yard has saturated, lush soil. The other half is so dry that it cracks in deep jagged lines. This has created an atmosphere dangerous for the foundation of the house. The lounge and verandah are cracking, and will eventually break free from the rest of our house.  This started becoming apparent with cracks on the walls, then the ceilings, on the opposite side of the house. It wasn’t obvious or clear until we moved out of the house and the contractor could tear out the ceilings, and dig up some places in our floors and dig deep trenches on the outside of our walls. Foundational issues that need underpinning. Water Drainage issues that need t obe sorted out.

Strong foundations. There are so many metaphors. I’ve heard about strong foundations in Sunday sermons basically my entire life. So when the contractor said “cracks in the foundation” I expected the house to topple on us any moment.  But that’s not how it works. First little cracks, then bigger ones, then more jagged and obvious ones. Then crumbles. Is the house falling apart? Yes. Is it immediate? No. But when the foundation isn’t right, the damage is being done long before it’s clear on the surface. Certainly before it’s clear to those living inside and way before it’s clear to those passing by.

This month, I have been paying really close attention to my foundation. My recovery, my faith, my values. There have been things going on around me that have made me wrestle and question. I have asked, “Do I believe that?” “Is this The Gospel or is this my culture?” and most importantly, “Do my actions seem to be aligned with my faith?” Is my foundation solid or are my walls showing cracks? When someone I care about is resentful and proclaiming that loudly to all who will listen, does my behavior change? When the refrigerator falls out of the moving truck do I lose my mind? (Yes, it happened. And it rolled. Laugh, we have had to laugh too.)

The house is being repaired. The damage is done, but no further damage needs to happen and the experts are there to repair what is broken.  Even so, we are displaced. In order for the work to happen we had to move out and leave this home that we love. Our landlord has been amazing in the process and has given us beautiful accommodation.

Our entire family moved together, Gogo is here with us.  We have all of our things and all of our pets (two dogs and two chickens.) My girls are sleeping in there same beds, with their same blankets surrounded by their same toys.  Ruth is doing her homework at the same desk, grabbing snacks from the same fridge (although it’s slightly dented and leaning.) The only thing that has changed is our location and the walls surrounding us.  According to my iphone, we are exactly 7 miles and 10 minutes down the road.

This might seem like an exaggeration to call us displaced. It might seem as if there would be no effects, but the effects have been much bigger than we expected.  I am discombobulated, I can’t find things and whenever we get in the car to go to our places I get turned around or lost.  Ruth has done surprisingly well, although she is disgruntled that she has to get in the car at 7:00am in the chilly winter morning rather than stroll around the corner to school at 7:25. Vivienne has had the hardest adjustment. This home is lovely and comes equipped with three friends, girls all around her age that LOVE to play. There is a gorgeous garden to run in and a trampoline, swings and a playground. Everyone she loves is here. And yet she is weepy, not sleeping well and super clingy. She has APPEARED to be angry, but when you dig deep you see that she is sad. She has had moments where she looks wonky and wild, but if you dig deep she is scared. When she is vulnerable, she will cuddle up and say, “I don’t want to sleep in this house. Mommy, I want to go back to my crack house.” (Laugh, we have been CACKLING at her affectionate term for the home that was cracking all around us.)

My children are displaced. But because they are with me and their father and the adults they trust and love they will settle and there will be little lasting damage.

But at the same time that my three year old has crawled into my arms crying, looking for comfort I have heard cries from the children of strangers. Videos and audio released online of children who have parents seeking a better life, sometimes in the right way and sometimes not. Some children of parents who are seeking safety from the dangers of the world they live in; violence and natural disasters (remember that volcano that erupted in Guatemala?) I haven’t had the emotional margin to read or watch much of the enormous amount of content, but what I have seen and heard has hurt me deeply. In my work I have had to learn how to hear the message in the cries. There is a difference between sad and scared. Hungry or hurt. And then there is terror, danger, and trauma. Those cries immediately cause my body to react. I have only heard that cry from Vivienne once.

Regardless of my politics- my values, my faith and my recovery require of me to be outraged that we live in a world where already displaced children would be separated from their parents.  We may not be responsible for their displacement but we must not be doing the reprehensible damage of then removing them from the adults they know who can help maintain some sense of security. These kiddos MUST be reunited with their people. My faith, my values, my beliefs dictate that I must speak out about that.

Our displacement pales in comparison and yet my children are struggling. In their struggle to accept a new, temporary normal they find comfort in the arms of safe and trusted adults. Every child needs and deserves this.