As I sat down for breakfast in the dining hall at Kent Academy, the air was filled with the chitter-chatter of two hundred boarding school kids. At my seat, a piece of paper two inches square, lay on the tablecloth. Each of my tablemates had one beside their plate, too. The dorm Uncle’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. “The red card at your seat is called a tag. Today the staff in every section will be watching you closely during…
In the summer of 1976, my older brother, Larry, graduated from Hillcrest High School in Jos, Nigeria. Mom and Dad took a leave from their ministry and brought our family of seven back to California for a one-year furlough. The purpose was to help Larry get settled into his first year of college. It seemed like an ideal plan, because I was a senior in high school, and my parents could help me adapt to the American culture, choose a…
“Do I need to fly back home to see my oral surgeon?” I rubbed my jaw, gently massaging my throbbing tooth. “We’ve only been in Scotland two weeks, and we have a whole month left of our holiday.” My husband looked up from his laptop where he sat across from me at the kitchen table in our brightly lit cottage near Loch Ness. “Everything will work out. We’ll find you a dentist and get you taken care of.” His fingers…
I slam my history book closed, slide it into my desk, and head to the doorway of our seventh-grade classroom. Looking back, I spy my friend Eileen putting her books away, so I wait. When she joins me, we stroll down the long, bright hall. The late-afternoon sunlight streams through open windows that line the right-hand wall of the single-story school building for missionary kids in Nigeria. “I’m so tired of all my classes.” Eileen rubs her forehead as we…
This painting and poem popped up in my Facebook feed last week, and I cried when I read the poignant words. The poetry expresses how I quietly missed my mom and dad every day for the first four years at boarding school. As I read the poem, I mentally changed a few words to reflect a school day at Kent Academy (KA), but the author’s loneliness touched my emotions … and my tear ducts. Whom have you missed in the…
The warm tropical sun beat down on the tarmac of the playground outside the classroom window. I couldn’t seem to focus on my schoolwork. I wish I were outside playing in the sand under the shade of the big mango tree. December was the dry season in Nigeria. The voice of my first-grade teacher in our boarding school for missionaries’ children jolted me out of my daydream. “This is the month we celebrate the birth of our Savior, Jesus. Let’s…
During the last thirty days… My mom’s memoir was published, Our daughter got married, I hosted two garden tea parties, Fractured my knee (again), Then canceled our annual neighborhood tea, and… This is apparently my 100th post! In January 2018, I created a website where I could post short devotions sharing what I learned as I searched for God’s involvement in my daily activities. Coincidentally, a month later, I received a prompt to write several vignettes about my childhood as…
This is a quick note to say my mom completed her memoir and it’s coming soon. Addendum: It’s here! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DJDVHW47?ref_=pe_93986420_774957520 Over the past ten years, Marcella (Marcy) Jones has carefully crafted her memoir. In the book, she shares details about their thirty years in Nigeria. It’s being published through Kindle Direct Publishing (KDP) and will be available on Amazon as a soft-cover and an eBook. Here’s a sneak preview of the back cover: Growing up on a farm in California’s…
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…