Photo: Room check at Kent Academy. Courtesy of Conni Townsend.

“You, Lord, hear the desire of the afflicted; you encourage them, and you listen to their cry. (Psalm 10:17 NIV)

Chirp, chirp, chi-ree. Chirp, chirp, chi-ree.

As I opened my eyes, the bird-song floated through the window from the citrus trees outside. I moaned. Those aren’t Egbe birds. That means I’m not at home, so I must be at Kent Academy. I blinked back tears and pulled the covers over my forehead.

Lying on the scary top bunk in my first-grade room at the boarding school for missionary kids, I did my best to keep to the middle so I wouldn’t fall out. The soft pink blanket from home tucked me in tightly, and I hunted for my teddy bear but came up empty-handed.

Yesterday had been a rough day of travel. It broke my heart when Mommy lifted me onto the plane at the airstrip and buckled me into my seat belt, even though I kicked and screamed, and said I didn’t want to come back to this dormitory—ever.

I peered over the low railing. There Teddy lay, face-down on the cement floor. A white label sewn into his furry back had bold letters that said, Debbie Jones.

My tummy tightened with sadness, and I dropped back on my pillow as reality sunk in. I was stuck for five months in this school compound with 200 students, where all my clothes, towels, and toys needed name tags. Even Teddy.

Finally, I lifted my face toward the morning sun, wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, and rubbed my throat. I hated those long-sleeved pajamas. At home, my sleeveless shorty jammies slid easily over my head. Here on the cool plateau, my new ones had eight buttons to wrestle with each night, and I struggled to line things up. Throughout the long night, the lace scratched my neck, and the long sleeves and pant legs twisted and bunched, reminding me I was far from home.

After inching out of the covers, I blindly backed down the bars at the foot of the bed, and my toes felt for the cold floor. I wished for a warm, soft rug and a picture, poster, or plaque on the wall to give the room a homey feel.

Along the walls stood the bunk beds, and on either side of the door were two dressers and a large wardrobe. Under the window sat a low, wooden bench. All my clothes fit into two drawers. We shared the wardrobe, which had two drawers for the four of us to store a few toys and books from home.

Roommate Troubles

I picked up my bear from the hard floor and kissed his white, plastic nose.

“What’s his name?” my roommate asked.

“Teddy.”

“I mean what’s his real name? Teddy isn’t a name.” She grabbed the stuffed animal and waved him at our two roommates.

My heart skipped a beat, and my empty fists clenched in anger.

“Look at this. It’s small and floppy and red. Who’s ever seen a red bear before?”

One girl shook her head. “You need to think of a better name for him, Debbie. Why don’t you call him Reddy?”

“I don’t want to call him anything else. He’s just plain Teddy.” I snatched my toy and rubbed his soft, red fur against my cheek. Then I stood on my tiptoes, shoved my fluffy friend through the side rails of my bunk bed, and set him on my pillow for safety.

Pressing my fingers against my eyelids, I fought against the tears that had gathered. If my precious buddy isn’t the right size, shape, or color, I’m probably all wrong too.

I rubbed my nose, then took my shirt and skirt from the drawer. As we pulled on our clothes in the open room, we moved quickly. The curtains didn’t quite reach together and left a crack open in the middle, so I worried someone could see us from outside.

Just then the Big Sister swooped in from the hall. “Let’s get busy, Girls. What do we need to do?”

My tummy tightened with stress. “Why do we always have to rush?” I asked.

She didn’t answer but helped us sweep, dust, and make our beds. Fifteen minutes later the junior higher headed back to her hall and we called for Room Check, which we passed with a star. The four of us crowded through the door, stomachs growling for breakfast.

Strange New Thoughts

But I stopped in the doorway and blew a kiss to Teddy. As I looked back into the familiar, yet foreign room, my thoughts wandered. The faint, sweet smell of orange blossoms wafted in from the tree outside and reminded me of Egbe. A strange awareness washed over me.

Only my eyes can see this view, I thought. Everyone else sees things out of their own eyes, wherever they stand, and it’s different from me.

Taking a deep breath, I held it a moment, then with a little smile, I slowly puffed it out. Another mysterious thought fluttered through my mind like a lazy butterfly in a summer meadow. This moment is here … and now it’s gone and won’t happen again. Each new minute flits in, then disappears forever.

I tossed my short, brown hair, shook off the daydream, then looked over at Teddy. Now I felt a little braver. “We won’t be here forever,” I said. “You and I are going to be okay.”

I turned, ran down the empty hall, out through the girls’ lobby, and let the screen door slam behind me. Then I jumped the front steps two at a time.

“I hope I’m not late for breakfast,” I said as I sped across the playground. “I don’t want to get into trouble so soon!”

Looking Back

At a time when I should have been discovering who I was, everything familiar was stripped away, including family, possessions, and surroundings. For several years, the girls numbered one hundred to four dorm aunties. Because of that ratio, I didn’t experience what it felt like to have someone around to notice me, hear me, and show me I was unique, not simply one more object to be labeled.

I was sensitive, emotionally and physically. For me, home encompassed my “nest,” containing all my favorite, familiar collections of books, toys, and dolls. I would have settled in better at KA, if my bedroom could have been magically transported to the dormitory.

School never felt like home. Every year, I moved to another room down a different hall and acquired new roommates. During junior high, that change happened every semester. In the dining room, we switched from table to table every two weeks. With each of these seismic shifts, my soul splintered a fraction.

What I Know Now

For many years I was overwhelmed with changes in places, situations, and people. I felt like God dropped me off at KA with a wave of his hand and said, “You’ll be fine fending for yourself.”

Because I had little choice or control, I internalized that I didn’t deserve to ask for what I needed but must acquiesce to what was best for the institution. Consequently, I often retreated into my headspace for peace, solitude, and grounding.

Even though I didn’t see God in my circumstances at the time, I’m beginning to think he was lovingly aware and taking care of me all those years. He provided that inner refuge to help me survive and even gave me that concept of self-awareness at such a young age.

Today, my feeling of home comes as I cherish special moments with family, accumulate keepsakes, and enjoy my comforting possessions. God gives me good gifts, as the books stacked on every ledge in my home remind me. The teacups I collect take me back to teatime with my mom at Egbe. I regularly buy things in my favorite color, purple, which reminds me I’m special and cared for as an individual. I believe God heard my cries when I was afflicted, and now he encourages me daily.

Link It to Your Life

Was there a time in your life you felt that God left you alone? How did you react? Looking back, can you see ways God helped you to get along? Where do you find refuge now?

Father, thank you that you’re the one who provides for all my needs, even though I may not see you at the time.