“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)

We left little Debbie as she was winging her way back to school at Kent Academy from home in Egbe, Nigeria, for the remainder of first grade. Will she settle in at KA? Will she recover from homesickness?

Before we continue with the story, I want to give you a little background on my family.

A Shared Mission

My mother, Marcy Delk, a German farm girl from Lodi, California, met Herb Jones when she was eighteen, at Bible college in San Francisco. Her first impression when he walked into class was, “He’s an old man!”

Although Herb had only five years on her, he was already bald on top. But Herb had an unquenchable sense of humor, and they discovered a mutual passion for teaching the Good News of Jesus Christ to unreached people in Africa. A friendship sprouted and quickly flourished.

Together they applied to Sudan Interior Mission, and Herb was accepted, but Marcy needed two more years of Bible education. With tear-filled eyes, she said goodbye to her sweetheart and promised to follow him as soon as she could. 

During the next two years, Marcy not only studied diligently but also prepared for a wedding. Even though she hadn’t received a formal proposal from her long-distance beau, friends hosted a bridal shower, and her best friend’s mom sewed a lace wedding dress.

When her ship docked in Lagos, Nigeria, in December 1955, Herb met Marcy at the pier. That night after dinner, he opened a tiny jewelry box, presented her with a ring of seven, small, African diamonds, and asked, “Marcy, will you marry me?”

Six months later they wed and then settled in Egbe, a large village of the Yoruba tribe in southwestern Nigeria. There they taught Nigerian students at Titcombe College: Herb – science and mathematics, and Marcy – English and fine arts.            

Just shy of their second wedding anniversary, their first son arrived. As was customary for missionary women needing pre-natal and delivery care, Marcy flew to the large mission hospital in Jos two-weeks prior to her due date. She stayed there until two weeks after the birth of blond-haired, blue-eyed Larry.

The Family Grows

When Larry was almost a year, a telegram reached Egbe: Herb’s mother had died in a tragic auto accident. The family rushed to pack and flew to California for an early furlough. Marcy was expecting their second child.

They lived with Herb’s father and reconnected with family and friends who doted on Larry and on little Debbie when I joined the scene in August.

After I turned nine months, our growing family flew to Nigeria. Upon resuming their duties at Titcombe College, Dad and Mom found their lives more hectic. While they both worked, a high school girl named Florence, looked after us two kids. Other household help came at different times, including a cook, but there was still much for my mom to do.

Life turned even busier. Two weeks after celebrating Little Debbie’s first birthday, Mom again flew up to Jos hospital for the birth of their third child, my brother Mark.

It would take a feat of science for the methodical mathematics teacher to manage his two wiggly charges single-handedly for fourteen days, so Mom arranged for help. Every weekday morning, a teen-aged Nigerian girl arrived at our front door, loaded 2 ½ -year-old Larry and 13-month-old me into a dusty, dented Red Flyer wagon, and pulled us a mile up the dirt road to the home of another missionary family. Mrs. Marler and five-year-old Patty lovingly cared for us during the day, and we returned by wagon to Dad in the evenings.

Four years packed full of ministry and family life passed quickly, and when we flew back to California in 1964, our family included yet another blond-haired bundle of joy – my baby brother Grant.

Too Much Too Soon

In California, we rented a small house near Lodi where Larry started first grade, and I began kindergarten in the public school. Nervous butterflies flitted through my stomach as Dad and I stepped through the classroom doorway in this new country. He introduced me to my teacher, then waved good-bye, and walked out.

At snack time, I didn’t know what graham crackers were. At playtime, I couldn’t figure out how to put mail in the toy mailbox. When the teacher told us we would dance around the Maypole, my chest tightened because I didn’t know what American dancing looked like.

Finger painting fascinated me, but I was reluctant to smear the bright colors over the white paper. In the play kitchen area, I made new friends as we cooked our imaginary lunch in the tiny oven. I grew to love Mrs. Peterson, who patiently helped me feel comfortable in her classroom.

By the end of the school term, I had two close playmates. One day my friend Sandy invited me home and took me out back to their barn where she showed off her baby ducklings. She asked, “Would you like to take one home?”

“Yes!” I said and cuddled the bundle of downy feathers in my arms.

Soon her dad walked up to drive me home. Without a word, Sandy abruptly lifted the duck out of my clutching hands.

But you gave it to me! I thought. Why’d you take it back? I wrapped my empty arms across my stomach and turned my head toward the back of the barn to blink away the tears welling up in my eyes.

That evening, Dad reminded me I wouldn’t be able to carry a pet on the plane anyway.

Plans to Leave Again

Soon after our family of six returned to Egbe, I discovered it was time to leave for Kent Academy, the mission boarding school 500 miles north. Larry and I were sent off together, and my parents thought we would be good company and comfort for each other.

However, since several planes for the Egbe families were flying to KA at once, the mission board thought it best to split up siblings. In the event a plane went down, they didn’t want any family to lose more than one child.

My brother and I were not only separated on the flight, but also into the boy’s dorm and girl’s dorm upon arrival. Even though girlfriends from Egbe came to school, we were of different ages so weren’t in the same room or hall.

Surrounded by two hundred strangers, I felt very much alone.

Looking Back

Leaving Egbe for Kent Academy, so soon after returning from a year in America, was a huge upheaval for me. Learning new schedules, navigating different rules, and eating strange food, all served to tie my stomach in knots and create a deep void of homesickness in my heart.

For three decades my parents worked as missionaries in Nigeria where they raised us five children. Cindy was born the next April after I returned to KA for my second semester. Each year, I asked God to rescue me from the challenging living arrangement, and my mom prayed for a better solution for our education.

Yet every September, I climbed into the single-engine Piper Comanche that flew me back to dorm life. I figured God didn’t hear me or care about my anxieties. Perhaps he was just busy elsewhere.

What I Know Now

Documenting these childhood experiences has brought great healing as I share openly with trusted friends, journey through the pain, and emerge with a fledgling sense of peace. Additionally, I chat with my mom, and we’re resolving our feelings as we relive each memory and understand how the other felt. You’ll hear more of her story in a future blog post.

Now looking back, I can believe that God didn’t turn a blind eye to my troubles or close his ears to my anxious prayers. Time after time I’ve seen him bring a friend to help me, exactly when I’ve needed it. Because of the many life transitions thrust on me at an early age, I learned to be independent, bravely step into new situations, and look out for those who are new to my neighborhood.

Through my blog posts and Facebook groups, other missionary kids and I are building community and together finding resolution to some of our burning questions.

Along this restorative pathway, I’m also learning that I can trust God’s loving heart above all else.

Link It to Your Life

Was there a time in your life you were pushed through periods of change too quickly? Or placed into a new situation, seemingly without support? How did you handle things? Who was there to help you? Who do you wish had helped and what did you want them to do? Can talking through these memories with family or friends be a path for your healing?

Prayer

Thank you, Father, that in your plans for me, you’re always focused on my well-being, and I know I can trust you even when situations are overwhelming. Thank you for the assurance of a future filled with hope.

To learn more about my life in Nigeria, click on the About Page on my website.

Shout out to a new friend, Esther Maret Goetz, who grew up as an MK in Ethiopia and writes a blog that you can check out here.