That's when it happened. St. Patrick's Day 2013. That's a day that I will forever remember as a game changer...not just for me, but for my whole family. My children have asked me to skip St. Patrick's Day this year. They specifically ordered me not to make green pancakes or eggs and ESPECIALLY no doughnuts.
Doughnuts. That's what we had for breakfast that morning. It was the first and only time I have made doughnuts in Africa. They were a special St. Patrick's Day treat. We enjoyed them. Until the phone rang and the confusion began. I didn't get to clean up the mess. The counters were covered with flour. The pan of oil sat on the stove. It didn't matter. All that mattered in those moments was getting out, getting to safety. I don't think I'll ever forget that 90 minutes between the time I took the last bite of my doughnut and the time that our van exited that compound. How can you forget the sensation of handing your child a suitcase and telling them to fill it up with whatever they think they'll need, being unable to assure them that they can come back and get their special things another time? How do you forget their frenzied hugs to their dogs and their new kitten. You don't forget. And neither do they.
Looking back, I'm not sure we would have done it the same way. But then, I think we would have. We had one option and that was to call our security contact. He told us to go and to go quickly. We did. I really think it was as calm and as orderly and as faith-relying as a moment like that can be. But it was still terrifying.
Were we really in any imminent danger? I don't know. How can we know? We had reason to believe we were. We were counseled to respond as if we were. And we did. Could we still be living safely in that same compound today, further invested in the work and the relationships that we'd planted? Maybe. Maybe not. It's not for me to know.
Those days that followed, those long, painful days were some of the most relieving and exhausting and confusing days I've known. The decision to move wasn't a given for us. Of the four families that chose not to return, I think we probably held out the longest in letting it go. Not because we loved the people more, not because we're tougher, not because we love God or want to serve him any more than they do. I don't know why, but it was a painful and difficult decision. As much as I had sensed the Spirit stirring my heart with the reality that this insecure place may not work for us, even in the weeks before the evacuation, it was still a great and painful loss. The decision to leave and start over did not come lightly. Honestly, we still wrestle with it.
And I'm not gonna lie, this year, it's been a tough one. Not everyone has been supportive. Not everyone understands. Don't get me wrong, our parents and other folks who read BBC Africa and love us, they exhaled in a major way. Our leadership has been very supportive. But people who love that place...not so much. I guess I can understand. We're the wimps. We're the ones who couldn't cut it. We're the ones that don't have enough faith. We're the quitters. At least, those are the voices that we're sometimes tempted to listen to. And sickeningly enough, there are human beings who love Jesus who have told us those very things.
When I look back on what I've learned as I've lived out this year, I think there are two major takeaways for me. The first, I think, has been the understanding that I need to extend grace. Loads of it. Because I understand, now more than ever, that every person, every family has to walk their own unique journey with God. No one can do it for them. No one can put their face to the ground and cry out to God for my family like I can. No one can tune their heart to sense God's call for my family like I can. At the end of the day, I am the person best equipped to advocate for my family. Just as you are the best person to advocate for yours. I realize that God is so, so unconventional. He will do what He does in the way He wants to do it according to His perfect plans. His plan for my family will likely look nothing like His plan for your family. And shame on me if I think it ought to.
So, I think that I am equipped with a compassion and a grace that I didn't have a year ago. I understand that there are still standards and best practices by which we should live out our faith. We have God's word to guide us as we go and no decision we make should contradict that. But beyond that, there is so much freedom. There are so many opportunities to serve well and love well and to do it in a way that is healthy for you and the people God has entrusted to you.
My second major takeaway has been an understanding of grief. The loss of our country was hard. I don't think anyone who has not been through an evacuation can understand how unsettling it is. It was so much more than a move. Our home, our relationships, our sense of security, our work...they were taken from us. So many people just assumed that because we were going to a place with shinier stores, better electricity, and a more secure environment, that we must be thrilled. But the grief and the loss were great. We were simply reeling and our children were too... especially in those early months. I pray that God will redeem that pain and that I will be able to empathize and encourage others in a way that I couldn't have before the heavy losses of the past year came my way.
Today we still feel the loss, and honestly, Ryan and I dream that someday we will have the privilege of serving in Nigeria again. Yet, we are confident that we are in the right place for our family for this season. Our kids have begun to blossom again, in ways that were lost to us for a time. They no longer tremble when a truck on the road hits a speed bump and makes a loud boom. We can stay out after dark and we no longer have panic. They are talking less and less about their fears and more about their dreams. We know that this is a good place for us to be. We are thankful that God clearly led us to a place where we can be both effective and healthy.
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