“Soup again?” My stomach sank to my toes. We had soup every Saturday at Kent Academy (K.A.), the boarding school for missionary children in Nigeria. Just a thin broth with a few pieces of chicken, soft slithery onion bits, rice, and parsley. But not much flavor. “I love this soup with chicken and rice.” My tablemate swallowed a big spoonful. “Not me. I wish there were noodles. The green flecks taste yucky.” I stirred them around. “My mom puts that…
Dear Friends, I realized the last devotion I published on my blog had no reference to my childhood in Nigeria. So, I rewrote it. Mainly I wanted to post something—anything—on this day, August 12, 2021, my 62nd birthday! Let me know what you think of the additions. Warmly, Debbie At a yard sale this summer, I bought a Bible for young children for fifty cents. What a bargain! When I flipped through the heavy cardboard pages depicting thirteen short stories…
Hello, Friends, I’d like to give a warm welcome to my new subscribers. It’s great to have you on the journey with me! I hope you enjoy the stories about my life in Nigeria. Please feel free to respond to my posts directly on the website. Or, you can email me privately and let me know how you’re doing. This month, it’s taking a little longer to write my next childhood story. In the meantime I’ve written a short devotion…
In my last semester as a Business Major at Fresno State, I dreamed of having my parents fly home for graduation. But they weren’t due from Nigeria for a furlough for another year. The gals in my Bible study group said they’d pray, but could God really help? Did He even care?
Dad ran a hand over his stubbled chin as he stepped into the kitchen of our mission home in Nigeria. “Marcy, there’s a plane coming tomorrow. Do you have any cookies to send to Kent Academy for Larry and Debbie?” Mom dried her hands on the towel beside the sink and crinkled her forehead. “Oh, Herb! We ate the last of the brownies with our afternoon tea.” “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.” Dad rubbed Mom’s weary back. “I’ve…
After getting a cast on my arm for a broken wrist, I used it as a weapon against bullies. That helped me learn to stand up for myself.
The morning sunlight streamed through the crack at the side of the curtain, and I blinked my eyes awake. As I sat up in bed, pain shot through my right arm. Even wrapped in a cloth bandage, my right arm throbbed from when I fell off the monkey bars the day before, on the playground at the boarding school for missionary kids in Nigeria. I scooted to the edge of my lower bunk in the dormitory and slid my feet…
Today, February 18, is my dad’s birthday. When I was a child, I thought all famous men were born in February! Dad passed away in November 2015, and a few months later I began writing my childhood stories. Here’s one of the first memories I documented but am just now publishing. Let me know what you think of The Shiny, White Truck… The morning sun blazed through the African sky at our mission station in central Nigeria, as I grabbed…
At boarding school I got hurt while playing on the monkey bars when a friend gave me some advice, meaning to help, but it backfired on me.
For many years I dreamed of doing extraordinary work for the Lord, but felt relegated to living an ordinary life. Then I found my tribe.