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 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! 

Revive: Where we tell our untold stories.

"We need to look hard at the stories we create, and wrestle with them. Retell and retell them, and work with them like clay. It is in the retelling and returning that they give us their wisdom." - Marni Gillard

On Wednesday nights, Nyasha and I lead a group of people who are recovering. Recovering from what? Themselves.We work the steps, similar to a 12 step program for any and all hang ups, habits or hurts.

Depression.
Pornography.
Alcohol.
Unhealthy relationships.
Unforgiveness. 
Anxiety.
Drug Addiction.
Anger.
Eating disorders.
Ce-Dependency.  
Sex Addiction.

ANYTHING.

I have been sober from my alcohol and drug addiction for 17 years now.  SEVENTEEN YEARS CLEAN.  I never, ever, ever thought I would say those words.  

People ask why I keep working the steps, why I stay involved with 12 step programs.  The answer is simple, "I still have A LOT to work on." Drugs and alcohol were never really my problem.  They were a symptom of a much larger problem: MYSELF.  

So I am working on myself.  Baby step by baby step.Character defect by Character defect. Sometimes these changes occur quickly, sometimes slowly but they are always in progress.  Be patient with me, I am learning to be patient with myself.  Oh how I have longed for a quick fix.

So on Wednesday night, we gather together, a group of imperfect followers of Jesus and we share our stories.  In the honest telling and retelling we find our way, we find our healing and we find our strength.  In the telling, we are able to clearly hear and see what the Holy Spirit was revealing all along-- it is in our weaknesses that God's perfect strength is revealed. 

In 2 Corinthians 12:9 Paul wrote, "But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me."

When we share our story; our weaknesses and God's gracious redemption, we give others permission to do the same.  Paul did that, as did Bill W. and Dr. Bob (the founders of AA.) And that is what we try to do each Wednesday night from 6-8 at River of life Eastlea.  Join us if you would like!

Mommy Might be a Therapist if.... (Lessons of grief from our family.)

So this week when I headed out the door to a training session my girls were curled up on the bed reading a book together.  I didn’t think much about it, but as I started to savor the sound of Ru’s voice reading to her little sister, I had to laugh. 

“It can be hard to say good-bye to someone you love. It is normal to miss them very much.” She read from the book.  I giggled some more at my realization: she was reading one of my work books.  A children’s book for grieving kiddos, called “I will miss you.”  Ruth rarely asks to read these books… usually she will ask to when she wants to have a conversation about her birth mother but doesn’t know how to start.  After I laughed at our big girl, who says she wants to be a flight attendant, but seems more suited to be a counselor, my heart swelled with joy and gratitude.  My big girl wants my little girl to understand her grief.  She was sharing her emotions and it was Sweet. Beautiful. Growth. 

Ru's book choice for today

 This evening after dinner Viv was showing off her shinny pink shoes and her new walking skills. Ru called to her, “Come Vivi let’s connect. I have a craft planned for us.” Oh my very full mommy heart. 

As Viv got tired and a bit grouchy, she started to get frustrated and tried to whack the dog who is constantly tripping her.  Ru said, “Viv is afraid of falling and when she is afraid she is a fighter.  I am not, I am freezer.”

This is a snapshot of a day in the life of our family.  The big sister is simply doing what she has seen for years.  I am so grateful for those who have modeled attachment and connection rich parenting for us.  I am so pleased with the fruit.  Some days are excruciatingly hard but even they are totally worth it!

If you are looking for some kids books to help with grief, loss or adoption themes please check out some of these:

I Miss You: a first look at death by Pat Thomas

The Invisible String by Patricia Karst

God Gave Us Heaven by Lisa Tawn Bergren 

I am Brown and My Sister Isn’t by Robbie O’Shea

All Bears Need Love by Tanya Valentine

A Mother of Choco by Keiko Kasza

How I Became a Big Brother by Dave Moore

If you are a parent of a child that has experienced loss, take heart beloved friend; it is so very hard when you are in the midst of redemption and being a part of the process with your precious child is a gift for both of you.  You are not alone and my prayer for all of us is that God will equip and empower us to just do right by our kiddos.  Thank you Jesus for healing.

Love Looks Different

This weekend we celebrated Valentines Day.  My husband did a great job of making his girls feel special! He brought us home these gorgeous, long stem red roses.  One each for the girls and a dozen for me.

Love looks different in every home.  When I first started dating Nyasha he would bring me a treat every time we would go out.  A chocolate or something.  I never understood why he never got me flowers-- until we had a chat about it and he laughed.  He didn't think I would like flowers.  It's funny how we express love differently-- especially in the gifts we choose for each other.

This weekend we also had to talk to Ruth about the fact that her dog has been missing for a week.  Last weekend Vivienne was admitted to hospital with a very high fever.  She had tonsillitis and the admitting doctor suspected pneumonia.  Thank God, he was wrong and her pediatrician came to see her and quickly discharged us and allowed her to heal at home.

The short hospital stay was traumatic for her and for me.  It took several attempts to place the IV and my poor little babe that we brought in quiet and lethargic was screaming wildly. 

When we returned home we found that Ruth's little dog, Lucy was missing.  This dog has been Ruth's best friend for years.  Lucy is annoying and needy to everyone who walks in the door but to Ruth, she represents all that is good in the world.  Lucy has helped Ruth learn how to give and receive love and nurture in a way that only one who doesn't disappoint can.  Lucy lights up with Ruth walks in the door and the same is true of Ruth when Lucy walks in the door.

On the hard days when Ruth is bound to be sad and struggling to process her emotions, Lucy sits with her and cuddles. On the happiest days when Ruth just wants to run and play, Lucy is quick to follow Ruth wherever she wants to go.

Lucy has never held a grudge when Ruth couldn't connect.  Lucy has never caused Ruth any pain.

Telling Ruth that Lucy has gone missing is one of the hardest things I have ever had to do.

She cried herself to sleep and so did I.

Ruth woke up differently than I expected her to.  She woke up and asked if we could make breakfast and then go look for Lucy.  She had a plan and was hopeful.  As the day wore on, our search party of three grew tired but Ruth never lost hope. 

When we got out of the car after visiting vets, animal shelters and covering our neighborhood in fliers I saw a not from her to Lucy that said, "Don't worry Lucy we will find you."

I do not know if we will find Lucy.  My heart hurts for the sadness of my little girl. Our home feels less full without our annoying little princess of a dog.  I want to believe that Lucy could still miraculously return home.  One thing I do know is that this little dog has served our little girl so very well.  In a way that I will never cease to be grateful for.  Lucy was without a doubt a gift straight from God.

Love looks different in different times, places, seasons and lives.  Love is an action.  The greatest act of love was Jesus's birth, death and resurrection.  This Valentines Day, for our family, love looked like a search party.

Please pray for Ruth's heart.  As she grieves for her dog, so much other grief resurfaces.  Our little girl has lost so much in her short life and it is all brought to the forefront today.  Ruth has been praying that wherever Lucy is, that she is safe.  She is praying that Lucy comes home.  Please join us in those prayers.

Love from Zimbabwe,

Gigi

Vivienne Mudiwa's birth story.

A year has passed since Nyasha first put our little baby girl into my arms.  An entire year.  I have wanted to share her birth story and to be honest the emotion and exhaustion of this first year has kept me from putting her story into words for you all here.  

If I am to tell the story of her birth, I think I must first start 16 years earlier: on January 28, 1999.  More than six months had passed since I attempted suicide and ended up in the hospital and then successfully completed rehab.  I had been in various stages of grief about the condition of my life, and had ever changing levels of commitment to a life of sobriety.  I rang in the New Year with a relapse that caused me to spend much of the next couple of weeks in poor health.  January 28, 1999 I left another hospital stay and was so sick and tired of the thought of living life like this.  I was desperate for a new way.  I did the only thing I knew to do and stumbled into a church basement meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous.  For the first time I listened, FOR MYSELF.  Not to make someone else happy or to prove to anyone that I wasn’t what they thought or to check a box to get out of rehab. Just because I was desperate.

That night I heard a few things that grabbed me, “Rarely have we seen a person fail if they thoroughly follow our path…” was one that gave me hope.  I heard a woman share a story that so closely mirrored mine in its emotions that I quickly worked up the courage to ask her to be my sponsor.  She told me that she would be my sponsor but she didn’t work harder than the alcoholics she worked with and she worked very hard so I better be ready.  

I searched my heart and decided I was.

January 28, 1999.  My AA Birthday.  The beginning of my recovery.

On January 27, 2015 I was hugely pregnant and tired in a different and fabulous way.  Tired of carrying my precious babe, ready to hold him or her in my arms.  Nyasha and I drove through the frigid air to my early morning checkup.  The doctor said I was slightly dilated and almost totally effaced.  My husband and I looked excited and she said, “Don’t get too excited, you are not having this baby anytime soon.  We will see you next week for your check up and if nothing changes we will talk about inducing you.” 

I waddled away making a mental list of all I was going to do in this last week of baby-less freedom.  Things like, “Finalize our list of names (we only had agreed on a boy name) and get a manicure and pedicure.”

All afternoon I had cramped and back pain.  We ran errands and chatted about what to do this week.  On the way home Nyasha stopped at Tim Hortons for his favorite donuts.  I went to the bathroom and saw a lot more blood that I expected.  I went to get Nyasha and he said, “The doctor told us to expect a little but not a lot let’s go to the hospital.”  I told him to forget it I wanted to get home and binge watch Parenthood with my feet up! 

We drove home and the cramps got continually worse.  The bleeding got heavier.  We made it home and called the on call doctor.  She said to head in to Triage and see what happens.  So we headed back to the hospital and at 7:00pm texted my family to say what was happening.  Everyone got excited.  Then we texted them at 10:00 and said, “We are on our way home.  No baby today.”  Everyone went to bed and I fell into a deep sleep.  At around midnight I woke up with really bad cramping and woke Nyasha up when I hear a loud POP.  We laughed at each other for being so groggy and decided that I had probably wet the bed because the little amount of fluid on my nightgown couldn’t possibly be my water breaking.  I got in the bath to clean up and he cleaned the bed. 

By the time he got back to me I was crying.  He started timing the cramps and we decided that these must be contractions!  We called the on call Doc again and she said, come on in if you think your water broke.  We still weren’t sure and I was so tired.  I also didn’t want to be the chick who comes back and forth so many times in false labor.  Eventually Nyasha made an executive decision and helped me waddle down the steps and into the car.  I screamed most of the drive and he quickly drove through the cold, icy, deserted streets. From the moment he got me out of the tub I said the same thing I was not screaming in the car, “I am not ready!”

We made it to the hospital and as I got into the wheelchair we realized that my water had broken because we both got drenched in amniotic fluid!  He wheeled me in, carefully following all the directions we had heard in the class at the hospital.  He was so strong and calm and peaceful.  I was the opposite of all those things.

When we got into Triage, they told me to get into position on the table because they wanted to see if I had dilated at all.  When I got onto the table the rest of my water covered the floor.  Nyasha and I nervously laughed and he tried to clean up.  The nurse laughed and told him not to be silly and someone came in with a mop.

I had dilated another cm but not much and I asked when I could go home.  The nurse looked at me like I was crazy and said, “Honey you can go home when you have this baby.”   I started crying and said, “I am not ready, I haven’t even had a pedicure!”

I was admitted to the hospital at 3:30 am and Vivienne Mudiwa entered this world at 10:53pm. 

The labor was hard.  I wasn’t mentally prepared to have a baby that night and the contractions highlighted my limited tolerance for any discomfort in my life.  I thank Jesus for a fabulous anesthesia team and for women in my life who didn’t make me feel like asking for meds was a sign of weakness.  As I labored, Nyasha was so present and in charge.  He messaged everyone, all the aunts and my grandma.  He stayed in touch with my best friend who lives in Nashville.  My Aunt Cricket, the anesthetist, got to the hospital in time to help me decide when to get the epidural.  She helped Nyasha and I be brave during that scary process and then she told us both to take a nap because we were going to need it.

When we woke up, we were surrounded by so many people who love us.  My aunts and my grandma kept coming in and out of the room and just when I thought I couldn’t stand it anymore, when murmurs of c-section kept coming up as the baby wasn’t responding well when petocin was administered, Natalie walked into the room.  My best friend had woken up that morning, organized for people to watch her baby and jumped in the car to drive 10 hours to be with us. 

She took over for a weary Nyasha who had run out of things to say and her face next to mine changed everything. She grabbed my hand as if to say, “Let’s do this.”  It wasn’t that long ago that we were in the hospital in Nashville as her baby boy entered this world.  Of all the adventures we have been on together in 20 years, motherhood is the best.

Another scare with the baby’s heart and the doctors are in talking about C-section.  I cried.  Nyasha looked into my eyes and said, “Don’t worry, we are NOT having a c-section.”  Natalie walked over to the foot of the bed. The fabulous nurse who had been encouraging me for the past hour pleaded my case, “Please just check her one more time she has had some BIG contractions.”

The next thing I knew my doctor was there and I heard, “You are at a 10, we are going to give you one shot to push and then we are going back for surgery. Do you think you can push?”  I didn’t but I said yes.

They walked me through what to do on the next contraction and then everything happened so fast… I pushed and then they said one more time and when I did I heard “Stop!!!!” I said, “Stop for what?!?!” Natalie screamed, “THERE’S THE HEAD!!!! THE BABY HAS HAIR!”  I didn’t know if I was having a boy or a girl (Natalie was the only one who did) but all I wanted was a head full of curly hair!

I pushed one more time and there we were.  I was exhausted, everyone walked over to see the baby being weighed and checked out.  Nyasha told me she was a girl. I was in shock and didn’t believe it and before I knew it, there she was.  I was holding the most beautiful little baby I had ever seen.  All 18.5 inches of her.  She was 5 pounds 8 ounces and had a head full of straight black hair.  I was SO physically and emotionally exhausted.  We cuddled up to me and we just stared at each other.  My little nameless baby girl and me.

I looked around the room at all of the important people in my life.  I teared up as I said to no one in particular.  She was born on my AA birthday.  Today I have been sober exactly 16 years.

The emotion of that statement still brings me to tears today.  As Vivienne Mudiwa celebrates one year of life, her mommy celebrates 17 years of the kind of new life that allows for such blessings.  Her life is a daily reminder to me of the love of a God who forgives all and redeems every stupid, careless and sinful mistake in a way that only He could orchestrate.  There is no author that could craft a story like this, except for the author of every story.  January 28^th is a day that our family can truly be grateful to God for.

Without AA I would surely be dead.  I am grateful for a God that met me in the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous and who cares enough about every detail to ensure that our daughter’s birth would forever remind me that even when I am not ready, He always is.  And just so you know, as we went to bed on January 27, 2016 I cried to my husband and said, "Tomorrow she is one and I am just not ready for that to be true."

Thank you for allowing me space to share our stories with you all.  Our family is grateful to each of you who loves our family! Happy Birthday baby girl.  There is no one in the world I would rather share this day with.