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

What I'm Reading: Dr Wangari Maathai Plants a Forest

This new novel by Rebel Girls comes out this week. I am for sure a fan!

I would recommend this book to anyone who wants to hear a beautifully moving story about an African woman who bravely impacted her community. My review follows.

Image from rebelgirls.co

"What good was it to be big like the elephant or powerful like the leopard if you weren't going to help when it mattered?"

This book about Dr. Wangari Maathai introduced me to the story of a woman who is a hero. I read this book hoping to learn about an interesting woman, what I read was a book that would inspire ANYONE  to make a difference in their world. Dr Maathai overcame obstacles, proved the naysayers wrong and has a legacy that has outlived her and will continue to make a difference. This book shows what real life can look like for a woman who bravely becomes an environmental activist and will undoubtedly inspire a generation all around the world.

This book was moving and engaging and I wouldn't change a single thing. I read it myself and then immediately snuggled up with my daughters and started reading it with them.

There is much to be learned from this book- not just about making a difference or caring for the world we live in, but about living our best life.

I am grateful this book has been written, this story has been told and most certainly for a chance to read it.  I would recommend this book for any primary school aged child. It should be in any classroom or library!

The publisher provided an ARC through Netgalley. I have voluntarily read this book for review, giving my honest personal opinions and thoughts

What I am reading: The Girl With The Louding Voice

❝I want more than just a voice, I want a louding voice. I want to enter a room and people will hear me even before I open my mouth to be speaking. I want to live in this life and help many people so that when I grow old and die, I will still be living through the people I am helping.❞

This year, I have made a commitment to choosing what I read a bit more intentionally. I have joined a book club here in Harare that is wonderfully diverse and the first books we have read together have been perfect choices- totally out of my typical choices.

The girl with the Louding Voice is not one that I read for book club, although I have no doubt it will be one of our selections this month. 

I cannot overstate this.....THIS BOOK IS SPECTACULAR! Do not delay in purchasing a copy and insisting all your friends do the same. You will devour this book and you will want to talk about it. TRUST ME.

It has been years since a book impressed me this much. 

This book is everything I hoped it would be and more. Abi Daré is an incredible storyteller. This debut novel centers around the life of Adunni, a fourteen-year-old Nigerian girl who doesn't want to go with the flow and follow the path her father and fate have dictated for her life.

This book is at the same time heartbreaking and inspiring. I fell in love with Adunni I found myself cheering her on and wanting to be her friend. From the first infuriating pages, I couldn't stop reading this book. The characters are complex and well developed. The book tackles incredibly difficult issues while weaving a story so intriguing you wont want to stop reading.

This is a story similar to so many I hear in real life and yet it pulled me right in. I learned so much about Nigeria, the facts about the nation were woven in effortlessly with the story.

It has been decided, Abi Daré, I am a fan. I will forevermore read anything you choose to write!

The publisher provided an ARC through Netgalley. I have voluntarily decided to read and review, giving my personal opinions and thoughts.

Some hearts are built on a floodplain

Tropical Cyclone Idai entered Zimbabwe this weekend. Mozambique was hit first and the damage is extensive. In Zimbabwe, Chimanimani was hardest hit. 600mm of rain poured down in 24 hours. It has not stopped. The rain is heavy and the wind is ferocious.  

Reports of houses being swept away. More than 30 so far. People are dying. More than 100 so far. People with names and loved ones and dreams. People just trying to make it.

Zimbabwe has been in a drought, we’ve been fighting to keep our garden green. Farmers have been desperate for dry crops to yield. Experts are forecasting hunger due to lack of rain. As the clouds came and the drizzle started this weekend my girls, far from the flooding, put on their raincoats and boots and danced in the much needed rain as it got steadier and stronger. While we received what we needed, others lost everything.

Picture making it's rounds on social media of the flooding.
(Picture not my own, I'd love to give you credit if it's yours!)

Viv enjoying the rain

In this place where unceasing stress and trauma seems to be everywhere lately. Where salaries have been diminished as cost of goods increases at rates we can’t make sense of. Where doctors are crying out for bandages and medications because they can no longer bear the heavy burden of watching their patients die because the supply cupboards are empty.

Jesus fix it.

I do not have eloquent words or intelligent solutions here. What I have is a broken heart and a God who promises to be near to the broken-hearted. A God who listens and honors the lament of those broken hearts. A God who Rescues. Redeems. And Restores.

There is a song that has been precious to me at various times over the past few years. It feels appropriate this weekend. Some of us don’t know what it’s like to have our house washed away when we can barely afford groceries and doctors don’t have bandages, but we all know what it feels like to be brought close to the things that hurt. The things that bring us to our knees.

Floodplain by Sara Groves:

Some hearts are built on a floodplain

Keeping one eye on the sky for rain

You work for the ground that gets washed away

When you live closer

Closer to the life and the ebb and flow

Closer to the edge of I don’t know

Closer to that’s the way it goes

Some hearts are built on a floodplain

And it’s easy to sigh on a high bluff

Look down and ask when you’ve had enough

Will you have the sense to come on up

Or will you stay closer

Closer to the danger and the rolling deep

Closer to the run and the losing streak

And what brings us to our knees

Some hearts live here

Oh the river it rushes to madness

And the water it spreads like sadness

And there’s no high ground

And there’s no high ground

Closer to the danger and the rolling deep

Closer to the run and the losing streak

And what brings us to our knees

Closer to the life and the ebb and flow

Closer to the edge of I don’t know

Closer to Lord please send a boat

Some hearts are built here

 I am not posting links for donations here. I am certain that incredible people and organizations will be organizing relief and aid. Our family will go through our cupboards this weekend and we will give clothes and household items to their efforts. A quick google search will lead you to them! When the time comes, will do what we do for the kiddos left vulnerable from this situation and if you would like to participate in that you can get in touch with us as well.  What I will ask is that you pray for each individual and family hurting from this.

With love from Zimbabwe,

Gigi

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.

When saying good-bye is more than “See ya later”: Serving with Sensitivity.

For some people, “good-bye” is harder than others.  This is the reality of life; of unique experiences and personalities. 

Trauma and loss has a lot to do with it as well.

Our little Viv has said a lot of good-bye in her almost 2 years of life.  But she has never had to say good-bye forever to anyone.  No one she loves has died or left her.  What a blessing that is.  Some of us take such an experience for granted.

Where we live we cannot take it for granted that children have always known adults to come home. 

A few weeks ago, Viv discovered Daniel Tiger on Netflix (SO great that we can access Netflix in Zimbabwe now!) We love the show and the way it discusses emotions and social interactions.

The girls were watching an episode where the parents went out and the kiddos were sad, a song started playing with the lyrics, “Grown-ups come back.”  I was cooking dinner and heard sniffles.  I peeked out into our little living room and Vivi was dancing around and Ru was curled up on the couch wiping her tears.

I want to celebrate the diversity in this cute show, but I also want to point out that this song will not ring true for every child.You see as much as we love our girls the exact same amount, our love for them has to be different…because they are different and their histories are different.  

For Viv, God willing, she will ALWAYS believe that grown-ups, especially her mom and dad, will come back.  Her big sister on the other hand has experienced a life in which this is just not true.  Some grown-ups, including her first parents, were not able to come back.  For years she lived in a house full of children where grown-ups did not come back for them.  This reality has shaped how she lives in the world. 

When people come to visit us, she is so happy.  She loves the time and attention she receives from our visitors… but when they have to leave, she does not bounce back as quickly as one might expect.  

One of our little girls sometimes cries when friends or family say good-bye, she might not.  If she does, the tears last for a moment and she is consoled by her mommy or daddy and moves on to the nearest toy.  Our other, big girl, gets quiet a few hours before the goodbye is to come, she anticipates it and tries to protect herself.  When the goodbye comes she freezes and eventually in the privacy of her room, cries.  Sometimes she cries for a short time, sometimes she weeps for hours.  For her, good-bye is never just “good-bye,” it is a reminder of all the loss, of every drop of pain a good-bye has ever caused her.  A good-bye resurfaces all of those emotions and she gets to grieve them and weep for them in a new way.  It is healing, but it is oh so very painful.  It is not healthy for her to do it alone.

Last night as Ru wept after Auntie Lauren left, we took turns holding her.  At one point, she sat in bed with Viv and I and we talked with her.  Ruth couldn’t respond, but she listened.  Viv looked at her and said, “Auntie Lauren bye-bye, LuLu (RU) sad.” And her little sister gave lots of hugs.

In our family we do not shy away from big, hard emotions…we cannot because they are a part of us as much as the giggles and squeals. 

For some children, good-byes are not just good-bye, they are the band-aid quickly ripped off an old wound that hasn’t had time or space to completely heal.  Friends, let us try to remember that when we are choosing how to serve cross-culturally.  Let us make the sometimes difficult choice not to connect too deeply with children who have lost primary caregivers, or children who have experienced trauma.  Not all of them have a mommy, daddy and sibling to hold them when they hurt. We understand must leave, we can choose not to sleep in their orphanages or become a temporary part of their family if there is no safe, healing space to leave them in.  Let us ask the hard questions such as, “How can I serve here in a way that allows for a permanent caregiver to have time and space to connect and nurture?” Let our connection be shaped by the answer to the following question, "Who will nurture this child when I leave?"

The band-aid will be ripped off, let’s help ensure that there is somewhere there to kiss the boo-boo when it does.  

Happy New Year from the Chari Family

Dear friends and family,

We have had a wonderfully busy Christmas and New Year season celebrating with our recovery community and children in several orphanages. 

If you would like to read more about that and a prayer request for a special child who was hospitalized for effects of malnutrition, please click here to see our newsletter!

I have included a picture of our kiddos with Santa so you can see how they have grown! Vivi wasn't sure about the whole Santa thing, but Ru tried hard to convince her he was a friend.  Both girls preferred the birthday parties for Jesus that we hosted at several local orphanages (especially because there was cake involved!)

This week we also brought home our "mobile office"-- the camper that many of you helped us to purchase! We look forward to transforming it into a fun, save, dedicated space for children to process their emotions! Watch out for more updates about that!


We hope that you enjoyed your Christmas and were surrounded by loved ones.  Makoroto Egore Idzva (Happy New Year) from our family in Zimbabwe to yours!

Love,
Regina

P.S. Our work here continues to be funded through the generous donations of our friends and family. If you are still making those last minute end of the year donations and want to consider giving towards our ministry, you can do that here!

What I am reading: A MILE WIDE

Hatmaker’s new book, AMile Wide: Trading a Shallow Religion for a Deeper Faith, is a new take on the old saying “An inch deep and a mile wide” and a fresh look at Jesus’ parable of the soils.  He says, “We can’t out dream God.  His desire is that we would each live our greatest story.  A story that only He could author.” His words reminded me that even while living a life I clearly know that God is authoring, I need to allow time and space to remember what it actually means to be a disciple.  I need to allow time and space outside of church services, Bible studies and meetings with church “insiders” to spend time with the people Jesus pursues. 

You will NOT regret buying this book! 

For the past ten years I have been serving as a missionary in Zimbabwe providing psychosocial support to precious orphans and vulnerable children and the amazing people who care for them.  During that time I have gotten married, started the process of adopting a (now) 12 year old and had a baby.  We have worked with countless churches and Christians from many denominations.  We have seen miracles and we have held babies as they have died or wept with parents as they morn the most horrific losses. 

During these 10 years my heart has burst with joy and disbelief that we get to be a part of a life like this and my heart has broken at the injustices we have witnessed.  During all of this, I have tried to balance the life I have had as a privileged American with my experiences in Zimbabwe.  My friendship with the Hatmakers (in my mind--through their books, sermons and blog posts) has made that formidable task a bit less daunting.  

I received an I received an Advanced Readers Copy of Brandon’s book, AMile Wide, in exchange for my honest review.  In the most authentic way, my heart has felt rejuvenated as Brandon clearly articulated biblical truths that I have been wrestling with in my daily life.  I am so grateful for the words he put on each and every page.  A couple of months before I was given this book, my husband and I fell to our knees, wanting to give up, to live a more “normal” life. 

I read Brandon’s words, “To truly present ourselves to God is to give a blanket commitment.  It means we choose his ways over our ways before the dilemma even begins.” We might adopt this to be our family motto for 2016 as we walk through unprecedented food shortages, banks refusing to allow cash withdraws in a cash based society and the increased violent crime rates as people become more desperate by the day.  I needed to be reminded the meaning of the commitment I have made in times that are harder than I signed up for.

Brandon’s new book is a must read for anyone who has grown weary in their busy life or for anyone longing for a deeper sense of community.  I highlighted something on EVERY. SINGLE. PAGE.  I am not even kidding.  It’s just that good.  There is no crazy revelation, just the reminder of who God is, who we are and why we need each other. 

Love.Love.Love.Love.Love.Love.Love.Love.Love.Love.Love.

Things are even more difficult in this place we are living today than they were when I started reading this book and yet somehow these words I have read encourage me to keep going, to find my identity in Christ and to share these things I am struggling with in the trusted relationships in our community.  This is the joy of being in Zimbabwe for me: that although I am an outsider in every imaginable way, when I choose to be vulnerable in my relationships here—about my struggles, my fears and my failures; all the differences fall away and deep, authentic relationship is formed.  Thank you Brandon for reminding me why our family is here and why these relationships are so valuable. 

You will not regret buying this book.  Honestly, buy one and read it.  Wrestle with it. Highlight it. Dog ear the pages. This is a book to be lived.  And then buy a copy for a friend that needs these words too, because they are for all of us.  No matter where we are in our faith journey.  No matter what time of soil we are today, there is something for us in these pages!