Over the July 4th weekend, approximately 110 missionary kids (MKs) and their spouses gathered for a reunion to explore The DNA of an MK. Every three years we hold a reunion for both of the boarding schools I attended in Nigeria.… and no, the reunions aren’t in Nigeria! The location alternates between Indianapolis and Dallas, the two cities in which the volunteer organizers live. At each reunion, only three or four people from my graduating class attend. However, because they…
Recently I learned about Adverse Childhood Experiences, also known as ACEs. Are you familiar with the term? ACEs are traumatic or stressful experiences that have a heavy impact on children at the time, and the effects can continue throughout their lives. I searched online for a simple definition and found one on the CDC website. “ACEs can include violence, abuse, and growing up in a family with mental health or substance use problems. Toxic stress from ACEs can change brain…
The bright morning sun streamed through the classroom windows at the boarding school for missionaries’ children in central Nigeria. Twenty of us second-graders stared intently at the teacher while she explained the arithmetic problem on the blackboard. My tummy rumbled loudly. The stout, gray-haired woman turned, holding her piece of white chalk in midair. “Whose stomach was that?” The kids around me giggled and pointed my way. “Debbie, didn’t you eat your breakfast?” “Well, yes. But I didn’t eat much.”…
A heartfelt “Welcome” to my many new subscribers! During the past month, the 500th person signed up for my blog. I sincerely appreciate each and every one of you. Your companionship on this journey encourages me to keep writing. In November, my short story, “Lost in the Crowd,” was published in the Inspire Community anthology. As a thank you to Diane S., my 500th subscriber, I’m sending a free copy of this collection of inspiring stories by fifteen authors. For…
The noon siren wailed, telling us it was lunchtime at Kent Academy, the boarding school for missionary’s children in central Nigeria. “I’ve been waiting for hours to eat,” I said to the other first-grade girl next to me as I closed my desk drawer. “I’m starving.” She crinkled her eyebrows. “Are we having something good for lunch?” I shrugged. “The food here tastes weird to me, and I really miss my mom and dad. No matter how hungry I get,…
Here’s the link to a podcast in which I’m interviewed by a writer friend, Mabel Ninan https://player.lightcast.com/0AjM5kjN Below is the story behind this interview! In April 1963, my husband and his family immigrated to California from Scotland when he was five years old. In the first few months of kindergarten, kids often pushed or punched him just to get him to speak. Then they laughed at his funny accent. By Christmas, the shy, little boy had taught himself to speak…
While living in a boarding school for ten years as a child and youth, I developed many necessary coping mechanisms. They got me through hours of loneliness, confusion, and grief. With the threat of a bad report card being sent home to my parents at the end of each term, I was motivated to measure up in my classes. At Kent Academy, I also got a Dorm Report Card covering my attitudes and actions throughout the day. Each week I…
“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…
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…
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…