In the chapel at Titcombe College, a Scottish teacher, Mr. Ian Finlayson, directed the Nigerian student choir on the stage at the African mission station founded by Serving in Mission (SIM) in the 1950s. I loved the old hymns and they were singing one of my favorites, “There is Power in the Blood.” The first line always encouraged me. “Would you be free from the burden of sin?” I believed that Jesus’ death on the cross provided the cleansing blood,…
“Christmas will be here soon,” my first-grade teacher said. “In a couple of weeks, you kids will fly back to your parents on their mission stations for the holidays. Today you’ll make a Christmas craft to take home.” Twenty happy faces beamed around the sunlit classroom at the boarding school for missionary children in Nigeria, and cheery voices called out. “Yay! It’s almost Christmas!” “Crafts are my favorite subject.” “I can’t wait ‘til we go home.” During the next half…
Jutting out from the green-painted walls, three shower heads loom dark and shadowy under the single lightbulb that lights the bathroom. I’m scared to take my first dormitory shower in this open room with a dozen other first-grade girls…. I’ve rewritten this story using the present tense, and I would value your honest feedback. Does this tense flow well and bring you more deeply into the story? Or does it sound awkward? What other thoughts do you have? Shower Troubles…
While I stood at the kitchen counter chopping veggies for a salad, I tapped the icons on my phone to call my mom. She and I often feel lonely at dusk, so I’ve started calling her around suppertime while I prepare dinner. Mom’s voice sounded weary. “Hi, Honey.” I was a little concerned but began with my usual question. “How are you doing today?” “Well, right now I’m feeling depressed. I don’t like that the radio station plays Christmas music…
The dorm Auntie kissed each of us four girls goodnight and turned out the light in my bedroom in the boarding school dorm in Nigeria. “Good night,” my roommate said, a little too loudly for the Auntie’s liking. “Good night. No more talking after your light is out. You’re the last room in the hall, and I don’t want to hear another peep from anyone.” The short, dark-haired lady’s voice was firm. Her skirt swished as she turned, and her…
While standing at my kitchen counter, I chopped lettuce for a salad for my husband and me. The late afternoon sun streamed brightly through the window, but my thoughts were gloomy. Why does Chris have to fly away again? This time he’ll be gone for two weeks. My eyes filled with tears as I reached for the green onion and started dicing it. Because he’s a pilot, life has been like this throughout our marriage. I brushed my cheek with…
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,…
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…