What I'm Reading Now: The Connected Parent By Dr. Karyn Purvis and Lisa Qualls

Dr. Karyn Purvis. If you know, you know. This woman lived her life in a way that changed the world. The compassion, moxie and undeniable brilliance she carried is enough to make me buy any resource with her name on it. There is no book referenced in our home or given away more frequently than The Connected Child. Pages are highlighted, bindings are broken and sticky notes are strategically stuck throughout. Our kids know when to address Chapter 3 and Chapter 4 and they love above all else asking us if we need a redo. There are few people who have shaped my life or my work as a practitioner as much as Dr. Karyn Purvis.

When my parents were no longer able to parent me, when as a young child my grandparents became my primary caregivers overnight, my world was turned upside down. I cried and cried and cried. If everyone around me had understood the science behind my heartache, they would have cried too. When the crying eventually stopped it was assumed that I had experienced healing. The assumption was wrong. It was many years later, after much pain and suffering that I found my way into a therapist's office who understood attachment and the harm that I needed to overcome. I will be forever grateful.

Today I use what Dr. Purvis has taught me to help other families like mine, I do that 10,000 miles away from where home used to be. My grandma regularly tells me how much she wished this information were available when I was a little girl, how much she wishes she could go back and do it differently. Lisa Qualls says the same thing in these pages. Thanks to Dr. Purvis and to Lisa Qualls, the rest of us who parent children who have experienced deep hurts don't have to wish, the information is here and easily accessible. 

I held this book for a couple of months before I could bring myself to read it. It's like the love letter from a grandparent you miss deeply. You want to know what they've said, but you are also not ready to live in a world where you've read their final address.

Dr. Purvis did what she does best, she leads us to a place where science intersects with the Word of God in a way that brings transformation where we need it the most.  Lisa Qualls gave the world a gift. She took her friendship with Dr. Purvis and pulled back the cover and allowed us all to experience, up close and personal, what being mentored by Dr. Purvis means. Lisa gives practical real-life experiences with Trust Based Relational Intervention in a way that will help any parent, caregiver or trusted adult better use the tools Dr. Purvis taught us.

I love this book because it once again gave Karyn's voice to the world. The book is practical, well structured, organized and the key takeaways at the end of each chapter are helpful. We know that relationship based traumas require relationship based healing and Lisa's examples and experiences offer a much needed perspective to help us provide just that.

This book is a must read for anyone who has adopted or fostered, it is a must read for anyone who may ever in their entire life encounter a child who has experienced trauma. You will never regret learning what Dr. Purvis has to teach. You may only regret how long it took you to find your way to her.

His Black Skin: Loving Day 2020

Every year I try to write something special about our experience on June 12th, Loving Day.

If you aren't aware, Loving Day celebrates the anniversary of the Supreme Court decision that struck down "anti-miscegenation laws." Miscegenation, according to the oxford Dictionary is a big word that means "interbreeding of people of difference races." In 1967 there were still 16 states that outlawed marriage between people of different races. 1967. Think about that, 53 years ago people that looked like Nyasha and I weren't considered equal enough to marry or have children.

This year I tried to write something but nothing was coming out right. The way racial injustice is being talked about on every screen in every conversation is bringing both incredible hope and massive pain for our family. For every beautiful public statement posted, there are comment sections filled with reminders that not everyone looks at our family the way we do. My heart just couldn't express itself in a way that felt honoring to this man I love so much. (Translation: I have been angry and my husband is just so calm and gentle, even in his pain.)

I did write something, I was finally brave enough to share it with him and he thought it would be good to share it with you. So here it is, my heart torn open. Grateful for the progress that has been made in 53 years and at the same time sad, angry and afraid for how far we have to go.

His Black Skin

My husband is gentle in his black skin

His voice is soft, his words are kind and holy

His heart sees the goodness in everyone he meets

My husband bears the image of God in his black skin

He is a peacemaker; seeing friction and restoring shalom

His words bring life and harmony to tense situations

His mind sees the solution while I scream into the problem

My husband is strong and traditional, conservative and sincerely chivalrous

Yet when our living room fills with black women and me, figuring out how to smash patriarchy in order to leave our daughters a better world, he carries in the tea.  He adds milk and sugar for each beautiful woman as she desires

My husband bears the image of God in His black skin

He is quick to love and slow to anger

His posture is loving as he hears harsh words spoken from the enemies of his black skin

My husband is a lover in his black skin

He was slow to pursue me, fully understanding what our love would mean for both of us

He is strikingly handsome, humble as if he doesn’t see his reflection as we do.

His heart forgives fully when eyes of rage glare at his black skin holding my white skin

My husband is a daddy in his black skin

He knows what it means to lose a father, so he holds his girls close

He cherishes his daughters, his voice is low as he reads bedtime stories

His laugh is loud and deep during cartoon marathons.

My husband is a girls’ dad in his black skin.

They cry for him when they are scared, they know he is strong and safe

My husband has learned about ballet and hip hop and tutu skirts, about curl patterns and hair-care

His hands are gentle but shaky and unsure when his daughter asks for ponytails or braids

My husband is African in his black skin

Born to the rich red soil of rural Zimbabwe where we met and live and love

His ancestors traumatized by colonialism as my ancestors built a system that called Africans their possessions

A system that broke and killed and raped and made them 3/5 of a whole

And then begrudgingly let them choose seats on a bus

My husband was born free in his black skin

His people fighting for freedom from oppression, only to face it at the hands of those who look like them

My husband carries the burdens of a thousand generations on the shoulders, wrapped in his black skin

Those same strong shoulders carry our brown skinned daughter when her legs are too tired to go on

His arms ache from carrying the groceries and raising his girls up all day long in a world which is made to break them

In his black skin, my husband can calm the storms that shake my foundations

He is smart, thinking deeply before he speaks.  His words are intentional.  They make the world better.

My husband reads me the Gospel, his perspective richer from the oppression he has suffered

While I stiffen, unsure of his thoughts in light of my colonized Gospel, centered around my comfort

I am loud, entitled, and fragile, but seen as intelligent and driven in my protective white skin

And my gentle, godly, loving husband is seen as a threat in his dangerous black skin

As women hold their purses and men stiffen their posture and police draw their weapons

Not because of who he is but because of their own ideals, steeped in the white supremacy they refuse to acknowledge

They are afraid, my husband’s very being a threat to the world that was made for them and for me

My husband is afraid in his black skin

My daughters are unsafe in their black skin

My family is beloved in their black skin

My family is waiting on you and me, in our white skin, to right this injustice