First Days

Today was our first day of our new session of Child Trauma Training. First days are always a bit chaotic with the host site having to find a new routine, I have to figure out all the quirks of a new place outside of my  everyday role and all of our trainees have a new routine too!

They are always so nervous on the first day. I love watching them come into the classroom unsure of me, this, all of it.

We start  with  introductions in a way that is totally out of their comfort zone and by the end of the first day they are laughing and building friendships. 

These are the best kinds of first days. Where the "teacher's" job is to literally build a community of mutual care, healing and hope. Thats's my task. When I read those words I think, "How did I become the luckiest girl on the planet?" 

It's because of you. The people who have prayed, supported, encouraged and donated. You have given me the best life. It's not an easy, safe, comfortable life the majority of the time but wow is it exactly what I would have chosen for myself if I understood the desires of my heart as much as God does. 

With love from ZAMBIA this time,

Gigi

Unexpected Miracles

For about 10 years I have been asking for something that I really wanted for someone I loved. It wasn’t even really something for me, it was for someone else. I was told by official after official that it wasn’t going to happen. Not then and probably not ever.

But I continued to pray and I continued to ask. I continued to be told, “No.” In my heart I felt God say “This isn’t a no, just a not now.” I couldn’t understand why something so good wouldn’t come right now.  I still don’t understand. But this week, we asked for something MUCH smaller than the original and repeated ask. Terrified that if we asked for what we really wanted we would walk away with nothing. So we went small, feeling so afraid. The man behind the dreaded counter said, “Wouldn’t you just rather have the whole thing?” Shocked, Nyasha messaged me to confirm that we indeed wanted the whole thing.

I have been weepy with gratitude ever since. I don’t know how. I don’t know why. I do not understand the delays or why it has come now. I do not have a neat package to put this in or a bow to tie around it. Our life isn’t like that, our lessons haven’t been tidy. They have been messy but messy doesn’t mean wrong. Life is just messy sometimes. Often. Waiting is hard. Today is sweet.  

In the name of friendship

I have a dear friend who wants to start blogging. She is special to me and in cheering her on to get started I agreed to post daily for the next 30 days while she gets started by doing the same. I have been so inconsistent in posting here, but when I process through writing often, I feel better. This has been a busy season. In two months we have moved TWICE (out and back into our home that was renovated,) hosted two different visitors from the States and now (mid move) are packing to head out of the country for work! If ever I have needed to process my thoughts it is now, when I don't even feel as if I have time to breathe! 

So here goes.

One of the greatest gifts from being displaced over the past two months has been Vivi's friendships with the girls on the property of our temporary home. 4 year old Sharon has been at our home almost as much as Vivienne herself! Viv has had to learn how to be a good friend, a good host, how to share her toys well. Hospitality does not come naturally to us all. It truly is a spiritual gift!

This is our last weekend in our temporary home. Much of our stuff has been moved back over to our old home. So tonight, we allowed Vivi to have Sharon over for a sleepover. These sweet girls were so excited! Viv cheered about every detail: will sharon eat dinner here? YAY! Will Sharon take a bath here? Oh thank you mommy. Will Sharon sleep in my bed with me? Oh this is so exciting!

And then. Bedtime came. Vivi was tired (and a little grouchy) and didn't want to share her space, so as Sharon snored away Vivi asked if Sharon could just go home.  Friendship can be hard like that! But eventually they both snored away and woke up so thrilled to have had a sleepover so they giggled while they are pancakes, played dollies and watched cartoons.  Friendship is hard work and can require us to lay down our on needs, but it is worth it for sure.

So my dear friend, here I go. 30 very busy days of blogging in an effort to cheer you on and welcome you to your own little corner of the interwebs! You are gonna love it here. Most of the time! 

Happy Birthday to me!

Friends,

Today is my 39th birthday!

To celebrate, our family has decided to return to Livingstone, Zambia for a Child Trauma Training and Healing Play Camp at Pastor Chris Makandawire's church.

If you have been following my journey all these years, this is the man and the church that acclimated me to life in Southern Africa 12 years ago! Chris, (The Rev as I have always called him,) is the man who listened to me complain, cry and process for YEARS as I adapted to a much longer than anticipated cross cultural life in Zimbabwe. He is also the one to shake a very nervous Nyasha's hand and say "What are your intentions for this girl?" While his wife Rhoda and I eavesdropped from the kitchen! 🤣😍😅

His family became my family. They sacrificed, made space for me and nursed me to health when I got terribly ill.  I've been blessed to have several families adopt me while I've lived here and I'm so grateful to be able to give back to this church and community in August.

In 5 weeks, 25 adults from his church, school and community will be trained and 50 children will attend camp.

For my birthday, I am going to try to get 39 of the 50 kiddos sponsored! Each child sponsorship is $50 and you will receive a gorgeous handcrafted gift for your generous contribution which can be made here!

Thanks for celebrating with me and for loving my people as much as I do!

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.

What I'm Reading Now: Everybody Always by Bob Goff

Bob Goff is who I want to be when I grow up. Not really, not all of it. I do not want to be a lawyer (although I do love a great argument, as a social worker, I am clearly in the career I was destined for already.) When I read Love Does for the first time I already knew it was true. There is a big difference between the two. The few times I have heard him speak and when I hear stories from friends who know him personally, I am always reminded that this man is a wonderfully fun, silly and wise sage.   As Bob says in his book “They don’t want to practice law, they want to do justice.” I will stick with Justice for sure.

Bob spreads love like confetti and grace like candy flung to kayakers. However not all people are as easy to love as friendly kayakers passing by.  Some people are creepy, and Jesus tells us to love them too.  Here lies the problem. Bob's stories make me laugh, cry and most importantly hug my people a little more. Loving difficult people isn’t easy for me. I can love difficult children without missing a beat—but the difficult adults in my life sometimes leave me biting my tongue until it feels like it will bleed. 

               

For Sure Yes: The stories of limo drivers, Carol, homeless guys, skeeball victories, children who are heroes, Disneyland offices. Witch doctors baptizing people with bottled water in prison.  Being all in while loving everybody always.  Bob Says,“Don’t put a toe in the water with your love; grab your knees and do a cannonball.” CHARLIE. SO MUCH CHARLIE.  I want to read HIS book someday.  Starting a school for witch doctors because they are isolated and need community and giving them Bibles and Bob’s books for text books.  I can get on board with that.  One of my fave bits of wisdom here: “This difference between a prudent pause and a persistent paralysis is a distinction worth knowing.”

For sure no: Loving the hard people.  I want to be able to.  Maybe most days I want to want to be able.  But Bob even redeems that by letting us know it’s hard for him too- and he wrote the book about it. That and Crock Drops.  I just can’t with all that jazz.

What will I do differently after reading this book: Loving difficult people for the next 30 seconds seems like it will make it a whole lot more likely to happen. In the hardest moments of recovery we tell people not to worry about 24 hours at a time, more like 30 seconds or a minute at a time.  Bob uses this simple strategy to help us learn how to be loving with difficult people.  I will without a doubt be muddling my way through 30 second periods. 

“There is no love without Justice, but there is no justice without love.  I don’t think we have any business telling people what to change in their lives unless we’re willing to change a couple of things in ours,” writes Bob. I think I will spend the next few days processing this and making a list of some of the things I most need to change in this life of mine.

“Sometimes when we ask God for an answer, He sends us a friend.”  Definitely going to start looking at answered prayers a bit differently because I have some pretty wonderful friends to be sure.

FUN FACT: When I was pregnant with Vivienne, Nyasha and I decided that the first thing we will do when we buy a home is to start passing out keys.  We agreed that Mr. Goff would be sent the first one.  Now I know that when he visits we are taking him skydiving!  


That's all for now. Buy the book.  It will be the best $10 you've spent all year.  

WHAT I'M READING NOW: Jamie the Very Worst Missionary A memoir or whatever

Have you ever traveled to another country in order to paint a wall? [YES] →→→ Are you a painter? [NO] →→→READ THIS BOOK

Have you ever traveled to another country in order to build some sort of structure →→→ [YES]  Would you ever consider living in a house that you had built with your own ill-equipped but called hands?  [NO] →→→READ THIS BOOK.

Have you ever funded a teenager or a not-a-painter to paint a wall or a not-a-builder to build a house? [YES] →→→READ THIS BOOK

If you have ever gone on a mission trip, thought of going on a mission trip, supported someone going on a mission trip or been asked to give money to someone on a mission trip BUY THIS BOOK RIGHT THIS MOMENT.  If you work for a church that has a missions pastor, buy them this book.... and depending on your relationship with them maybe apologize for the salty language!?! HAHA If you are in some sort of Christian college or whatever this should be required reading, get it and read it and recommend it to everyone. The global church will thank you.

After 12 years living and serving cross culturally in Zimbabwe (as a self-funded 'missionary') this book touches on at least 1 million conversations I have had.  I have never fit into the structure of any "missions organization" and struggled with that in various degrees for 12 whole years.  And then I read this and I found where I fit.  Thank you Jamie for writing about your experiences and what you've learned.  I am certain that this book will widen the much needed conversation around missions and what we need to do better and what we need to stop doing IMMEDIATELY without passing GO!  

Read this book if you have a sense of humor, enjoy an expletive thrown in regularly or have ever used an expletive in a conversation about a short term missions experience.

Do not read this book if you are overly sensitive to salty language.  It's ok some people are more precious than others.  If you are precious, this book may offend you.  Leave it for now.  Or like my husband, read it as an exercise in not judging those who are fluent in sarcasm and salt.

FOR SURE YES: I am here for all of these stories, for all of the truth hunting and for all of the cringes.  Jamie can tell a story well and when she does I will read it every time.  I love that this book has zero hints of "10 steps to doing missions right."  It's more about a breaking down of what is currently taking place globally and why we must do better.  And then the best part is she reminds each of us what we already know- that doing better is going to look different in each situation. Oh and Jen Hatmaker's foreword.  If nothing else this will make you want to develop a friendship like theirs and then write a book so your friend can gush and say all the good things about you!

FOR SURE NO: The butterfly eater.  This cannot possibly be a true recollection.  And yet I am sure it is.  I may even know him.

WHAT I AM GOING HOME WITH: I am going to show up for my cross-cultural life feeling a little less broken, a little more healed.  This book made me braver by reminding me that my status as a missionary "outsider" might just be the greatest gift of this Zim life I am living.  I may be on the list of the worst missionaries, but at least I am in good company right? 

FUN FACT: Our house is full of pets (dogs/chickens/ any strays that show up) that are unequivocally deemed INSANE.  Jamie's cat KNIVES makes our crazy dogs look like well trained service animals!  P.S. Vivi is currently requesting a bunny-- what are the chances this bunny will be calm and precious with no special needs? Zero. Zero chances.  

If none of this makes you want to read this book, or if you don't fit into the any of the above categories and think there is no reason to shell out the $11. I get it-- but if you would like to understand the struggles I have wrestled with for the past 12 years -- this book will do just that!

January 28. The best day.

19 years ago this day felt like the worst day of my life. January 28, 1999. The day I walked through the doors of a church and into a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. It was not my first AA meeting. I had been to many after a stay in a locked psych ward and then a stint in a fancy rehab.  

This however was the first time I would walk through the doors desperately seeking help.  Not a reprieve from judgement or a break from consequences.  I wanted what they had: a better life.  On January 28, 1999 the truth was my life had no where to go but up.

Since that day January 28 has been an incredible day in my life.  

January 28, 2000.  The day a group of rag tag misfits would sing happy birthday to me, give me a metal token with a 1 on it and ask me "How did you do it?" Knowing that my answer would be the same as the millions who came before me.

On the days in between the passing January 28s I would do was I was taught from the fierce women of Alcoholics Anonymous.  I would willingly work hard, not drink or get high and try to do the next right thing.  I would seek God's will for my life before I even knew what that phrase meant or had a clue what that will might be.  My story was not unique, it is the same story of grit and surrender of every alcoholic that gained and maintained sobriety before me.  It is a story of my powerlessness and God's power. 

Eventually January 28 became a day that I recognized as a passing milestone, like my belly button birthday it was a day to reflect on how life had changed.  A day to be grateful for all God had done and a day for people who loved me to celebrate my life. 2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15 the years ticked on as they do into numbers I thought I'd never see. Cards, cakes, numbered tokens and happy birthday songs.

And then. 

January 28, 2015.  

I woke just as the time ticked past midnight with fierce pain and some wetness on my nightgown.  I wasn't quite sure what was happening or that anything significant had happened. I had become accustomed to my giant belly and the weird things happening to my body because of it.  I figured maybe I had wet the bed. It wouldn't be the first time I'd lose control of my functions but it would be the first time I'd wet the bed.  Nyasha gently encouraged me to get in the bath and he cleaned up.

After a little soak in the tub and a husband who was monitoring the time we came to the realization that I was headed into the hospital.  The entire 15 minute car ride through the dark, silent, frigid Michigan night I said one thing "I'm not ready!!"

You see this was my third trip into the hospital that day. In the early morning I had my regular weekly appointment where my doctor said, "See you next week, if nothing has changed we will talk about inducing you then!"

A few hours later when we made a pitstop for doughnuts (for Nyasha who on this long visit to the USA was introduced to Tim Hortons by his brother in law) I began bleeding and my doctor said to head on in.  A few hours later I was once again sent home with these words, "You are not having this baby tonight."

Those words which gave me more time. Another day to tick off a to do list:

1. Pedicure

Honestly I remember nothing else on the list because all I cared about was getting my nails done. 

On the quick drive in, there were a few "I'm not ready I haven't gotten a pedicure." To which Nyasha might have replied, "That is your greatest concern?"  He may need to make an amends.

When we got in the wheelchair

At the hospital the rest of my water broke and everyone else around me realized what was happening, although I was still focused on my impending pedicure.

A little bit later when the nurse would state that I was dilated to 4, I would ask when I could go home and sleep.  She would

laugh and tell me I wasn't going home without my baby.  I would cry about a pedicure. Everyone would laugh and say something about my flare for the dramatics.

I would lose my ability

To hold back tears over my disappointment that I was not spending this day getting

My toes attended to.  Then I would remember I was going to meet my baby.  This cycle would continue.

23 hours later I would look around the room to see the greatest miracle.  The picture of January 28, 2015 is one for me that will always be painted with love.  My aunts had been in and out of that room all day and night. My grandma never left. My husband cheered me on and complained about how tired he was to which my response was eye rolling, especially when all the women in my life doted on his exhausted self. As if!  And then. My bff and had gotten a text in the wee hours of the morning  that I was being admitted. She

made arrangements for her own baby and got in the car. Ten hours later she ran in afraid she had missed it. She got there just in time to walk me through the hardest minutes of my life when baby wasn't responding as planned and the conversations started turning towards "emergency c section."  Natalie calmly said, "Girl, you can do this."  The hand that held my on the darkest days held mine now and we knew it was true.

And they said I could have one shot to push.  And I took it. Powered by the love and encouragement of people who had known me at my worst and this gift of a husband who believed I could.  I prepped for the next contraction and I yelled out, "do you known that today is my AA birthday? I'm 16!"  A few minutes later my little girl, feisty and tiny with a full head of straight jet black hair would be placed in my arms for the first time.  With less than an hour to go she was born on my special day.

January 28:

Brokenness

Surrender

Hope

Restoration

Faith

Celebration

Love

Redemption.

Today we celebrate. She is 3 and I am 19 and our stories will forever be intertwined.  Her life, this love and little family we have is evidence that surrender and recovery work.  Evidence of  God's ability and desire to take the most ugly and broken bits and to make them beautiful.

A celebration of her little life and my redeemed one.  A reminder to me that my daughters never have to see me drunk, so long as I choose to keep doing what we do.

January 28.  The best day.