Some days, I can't feel

I am a very "intense" person. I feel greatly, love hard, anger angrily, run after things I want like my legs are on fire. My youngest son is the same way. I see so much of me in his tiny, ambitious and intense self.

But there is another side of me that has been numbed by abuse. The days where I just can't feel. I can't cry, I can't find smiles, I just don't know how I feel. And to me, there is nothing that comes out of that. I. can't. feel. I recently started working on some abuse related issues with my therapist and I am supposed to let feelings of my childhood come to me and accept them and feel them. I am supposed to cry if I need to, scream if I need to, call my best friend and let words of seething anger pour out if I need to. I am simply supposed to allow myself to feel. Seems like it shouldn't be too difficult to feel. But the thing is, I have never let myself feel before what abuse was like. I remember and I know the stories. But just like when I was a child, I put it on a shelf deep down inside myself and refused to feel it. Now, as an adult, I am back at that place and I can't feel.

Feeling makes something real. It makes something "intense". It interprets life for you. It lets you experience new things how they are intended to be experience. I have lost some of that. I don't experience new relationships like they are meant to be experienced. Or my sons first day of preschool in a way it should be experienced. It is the constant burial of feeling revealing itself to me as an adult. And I have escaped relatively unscathed. I am sure we can all think of people who have experienced abuse who are barely functional.

Maybe this seems off topic from Slavery?

Well, it isn't. Because when I look at this face:

Photo Credit: JD Richardson

I see that he can't feel. Those feelings are buried deep down inside of him. Those feelings are buried deep down inside of millions of people just like him. Who are forced to work long days, abused, malnourished, abandoned by the people who are supposed to protect them, manipulated, tortured...

And THEY MATTER. We do not, as a world community, want to let millions of people grow up in slavery. Millions of children who don't know how to feel. Who can't feel. Millions of children who know violence to solve problems. Millions of children who have learned that children are worthless. Millions of potential leaders. Millions of potential doctors, teachers, lawyers, advocates, business owners. Potential torn from their hands and replaced with feelings of lost hope and worthlessness. 

Some days, I can't feel. But today, I feel intensely. I feel intense sadness that children have to live like this and go through so much simply to survive. That their potential has been stolen.

But I also feel as intensely that we can all do our part and help these kids. We can rescue them and love them and prepare them to be the next leaders and advocates in their community. It can't start with them who are bound in slavery. What power to change things do they have? We have to step up and protect the innocent and abused. I am standing up. And I will keep standing up and doing my part. I hope you will join me.

Because that smile, is hope.

Evaluation

I think mission trips always bring you home with so many ways to evaluate yourself. I mean, how could it not leave you with a sense of "am I living how I need to be living"? (hmm... I wonder if that is the right way to write that question...)

You come back questioning everything. For me, it has mostly been how I parent my children (teach them gratitude and how to serve others), my personality struggles and anxiety, and what changes I need to make in my life to be a abolitionist.

It just seems that there are no easy answers in our culture on how to raise children who are thankful and who genuinely care for others. My two boys are like that now and I pray they continue to grow and learn to be like that. But we need to be very intentional in how we lead them.

It is always interesting when I think of my family as "poor". I know how ridiculous that is compared to the poverty I have experienced in Mexico and Africa. It is almost laughable actually. We are poor based on income but there is very little poverty in the US. Go ahead and challenge me on that one. I speak the truth. My children do not know they are poor. They do not go without clean water, food, shelter, clothes, education, healthcare and let's be honest... most people here, the vast majority of people in the US don't experience 3rd world poverty. So I want Kolt and Kenton to be absolutely aware of how blessed they are to live in a country where poor doesn't mean death. Where poor doesn't mean sick. Where poor doesn't necessarily equate to homeless. Where poor doesn't mean people sell their children to feed their other children. They are among the world's privileged not among the world's impoverished. And they need to know the distinction between the two. And that is our responsibility to teach them. 

It is also our responsibility as parents to teach them that because we are among the world's privileged, we have big responsibility to help others. To give to others and to serve others. It is not an option. It is a responsibility. It is how you show love to others. A pastor told me once that love is not a feeling. Feelings come and go. Love is an action. An action you can do no matter how you feel. I hope we can teach our children how to love (verb). 

There are also many personality and anxiety issues I really see myself needing to focus on. It isn't something I can explain in depth and I don't want to beat myself up over things. So I won't. I will just say I have some areas to focus on that will help me become a better servant to others. Which is something I want desperately. I don't want past hurt and anxiety to keep building walls between me and others.

And then focusing on what I need to do to walk the walk. I have a passion for children and helping them that can't accurately be expressed by words. It is a deep feeling that pushes me to pursue many goals that I have. It is compelling and complex. I just can't get complacent and let myself fall into doing things that I know somehow harm the children I love so deeply and hope to help. 

So I need your help. I need ideas and encouragement from anyone who can pass it along. What steps do you take to address these issues?  

Rescue

Preface: This is a mostly picture-less post. I hope that you create the pictures for yourself in a way meaningful to you. With the faces you are passionate about. I will post pictures from the rescue and other parts of the trip soon though.

Monday finally arrived and we were all nervous and excited to go back to the island to pick up the children we negotiated the release of. We were terrified that they wouldn't actually be released and we were praying that Richard* would be released with them.

I felt like there was a 4th child. But had no clue who. I had a dream about 3 before we went the first time. Then another about 4 on Saturday night. I told George Jr. about it and we agreed to look for the 4th child when we returned.

We left on Monday to head to the island. It was a bit scary to approach the shore. We saw people working but no Innocence* and Patrick*. As we approached the shore... they walked out of the brush with a sack of belongings between the two of them. "Thank you God" I thought.

Gearge and Kofi took down the children's information. Their names, parents, region where they are from, phone numbers... anything they could get. They have to get in touch with the parents and let them know what happened and where the children are and they have to make sure everything is in order for the kids to be kept at The Village of Life and go to school.

Then... Innocence and Patrick are given to us. Oddly like cattle would be exchanged or silver or fish or anything but not people. Patrick was stoic and serious. He got into the boat and walked to the end furthest from all the crazy white people and sat down.

Innocence though... she was terrified. They literally lifted her over the edge of the boat crying and put her in my arms. Her body was hot from fever and shaking from fear. She could not relax. She was terrified. I wrapped her up in my arms and softly spoke love stories into her ear. I told her she was beautiful and special and that we were going to take care of her. I rocked her and loved on her as hard as I knew how to. Until... she trusted. Until she crumbled into the comfort of someone who was showing her tenderness. Until she laid her head onto my shoulder and wrapped her arms around me in return (tears pour from my eyes as I remember and put into words this experience). I just kept telling her it would be okay and we loved her and would take care of her. She didn't understand my words but it was apparent that she understood my heart. And I soaked in the experience. Watching someone go from scared to death to trusting as much as they could.

And this is one of those times in my life I have no clue how to explain the complexity of emotions I felt. It was such an amazing experience to be a part of that moment with her. She is forever my girl because of those moments. But the fear and the terror in her sweet little face were unlike anything I had seen. I imagine it is similar to things I have felt but I had never seen the same feelings on someone else's face. It was another piece of the puzzle to open my eyes to the fact that my experiences have prepared me for my path in the future. Slow tears rolled down my face as I hugged and loved on Innocence.

But just like that it was time to go find Richard and I left my sweet Innocence on the boat in the capable and loving arms of Tia. We were walking into the village to talk to his master and I saw her. I saw number 4. What I didn't know... she was Richards sister. Jessica* was cleaning and cooking. She worked HARD the entire time we were there negotiating for her and her brother. Most of the kids would leave and hang around while we were on the island. We never saw Richard on this trip and Jessica was never released to join the crazy excitement either.

Not unexpected. For whatever reason... Richard... being such a symbol of child slavery... needed to be kept where he was. It is difficult to explain. But we added Jessica to the negotiations because I felt strongly we needed to take them both.

And we negotiated.

And Negotiated.

And handed out clothes and candy to all the children on the island who hadn't gotten anything last time.

And prayed with JD for God to be present in the negotiations and for evil to flee from the place we were at.

And calling Richard and Jessica's parents.

And just road block after road block. For some reason they just want to keep him. Loud talking all around. George and Kofi try every angle they can. Loud voices and laughing like they are discussing a car transaction.

I just don't understand in that moment. How people can treat children like objects. How there is no value placed on these children outside their ability to work.

We call the kids' parents. Only dad is home. Heck if I know if it is actually their parents. It is the number we were given to call. George works on the phone to get the kids released. Dad says that mom is not home and he will not release them without her permission. And that he would only release Richard and not his sister. My face is feeling hot and red and my heart is angry. More negotiations and more promises of release on "another day".

Another day is several days, weeks, months or YEARS in the lives of children that can't be recovered. It may mean death before we can rescue them. God why is this happening? Again, I just don't understand. Maybe I am not going to understand. Because it just seems so screwed up. Where is the redemption?

My heart is broken as we walk back to the boat. I am silent from heart ache, anger and sadness. We climb into the boat and there I see it... Redemption.

Tia holding onto Innocence singing God's love to her. And Patrick on the other side of the boat looking more relaxed. I grin at him... and there it is: more redemption. A face I had not yet seen smile breaks into a very slight smile. I spend the major portion of the boat ride getting bigger and bigger smiles from this beautiful child.

Redemption hasn't happened for Richard and Jessica yet. And my heart cries over it. My heart agonizes over it. George Jr. is not going to give up on them. He knows that I feel they need to go home and be with their family at The Village of Life. And he is a motivated man. But more than that, I am choosing to trust God with Richard and Jessica. I have no clue or secret understanding to why they couldn't be released with the other 2. But God showed me 4 would be released because of our negotiations... I trust that.

And I don't understand why there are literally thousands of kids on Lake Volta. But God has them in His hand too.

But Redemption always proves to be more beautiful and unexpected than my hopes want. And generally tends to be exactly what I need (funny how that works). I saw Redemption in these 2 beautiful kids as they slowly warmed up to us and to their new Village of Life sibs... but I saw it in ME too.

Redemption from a life of abuse. A purpose and reason and passion I never expected to have. But it was blooming in my heart. Trusting people I didn't know in ways I never expected. Going out and doing something lots of people thought were crazy because that is what I felt passionate about. And truly believe it was a God placed passion. Growing and learning things through this experience that are helping me become a healthier and better person all around. My own corner of Redemption.

I will be waiting though for Redemption and Rescue for my two sweet kids still on that island and all people held in captivity and slavery across the Earth.

Photo Credit: JD Richardson

Because this face, it motivates me. It makes me feel something. It forces me to action.

*names changed

Becoming an Abolitionist

Becoming an Abolitionist.

You ever think about slavery?
I mean, really think about it.
It makes some people.
And it breaks most everyone else.
It separates the haves from the
Have not a damn things

Trafficking is the euphemism for:
Owning other human beings
For Slavery
We color coat it and wrap it in pretty words
Why? To make us feel better?
To make us forget the faces and the scars

The scars. God, the scars.
On tiny faces and long lean bodies.
Covering them like freckles cover my face
The danger never fleeing.
But the mind sure is doing just that
Escaping the reality and pain

Pain that is visible to people
Who haven't themselves experienced the injustice
Who can't even imagine the agony.
We see it, we start to feel it
Swim in the emotions
And breathe in the injustice

And we are left changed
Left to see the pain in every purchase we make
To think about dead bodies under the cool water
We are left to cry on the boat
For the boy that can't come with us
No more euphemisms for us.

Just Slavery
Real. Raw. Injustice.
My life reviewed
Actions called out
And conviction came down.
Now to live as an abolitionist.

Shopping Slave Free

One thing that going to Ghana and seeing the children on Lake Volta has done for me... is convicted me to be very conscientious about the purchases I make.

I have long had very strong opinions and convictions on certain companies. Nestle and Nike are the main companies I have boycotted for several years. They violate human rights in several areas and I just couldn't stomach using their products any longer. But Ghana made me think broader about this. I don't want to intentionally use anything that has been slave made or been made in a manor that violates the rights of people.

But what does that really entail? Well if you think about the vastness of slavery and how it is used to make products cheap... well you will be overwhelmed. So I have decided to go about this slowly and methodically so that I can really learn about what I am doing and educate people on it as I transition. 

The first step is shopping fair trade for Christmas. This means if it is imported (one example I ran into was a footbag/ hackey sack), find it fair trade or locally made. We wanted a crocheted footbag and knew that they were typically made in S. Mexico and Guatemala since that is where we got our first one and most awesome and amazing quality one ever. So I set out to find some to go into the hubs stocking that I could feel good about. It may cost $1 or $2 more but the payoff is that I know the person who made the footbag will be paid fairly. Totally worth it to me. The idea is always to pay the person who made the item a fair price enabling families to have successful businesses. I have also tried to make sure the items I have asked for this year for Christmas is slave free. Fair trade, hand made or companies I have researched. 

This was not particularly hard for me since I did most of my Christmas shopping in Ghana. I paid the people who made the objects directly. But in the States, it is obviously more complicated. It means researching companies and/or just staying away from box stores and shopping fair trade or at locally owned small businesses. Or small businesses through etsy or other sites like that. I can't really do that all the time because it is cost prohibitive for my family. So I try to look at my options and research them to purchase slave free products.

Like I said, it is overwhelming to go at it all at once. So start small. I started with Nestle. It was easy for me to stop buying nestle products as there are tons of other brand options (but you gotta watch out because nestle owns a ton of other companies) and the conviction I felt was overwhelming. Then I went to Nike. And I just keep adding another facet to my buying habits as I can. 

This may seem simple but I will state it anyway as a lesson I am really starting to understand. In life, intentions don't go far. I can't say that I am an abolitionist and that I oppose human rights violations if I stay, knowingly, a part of it. It is like saying you love your child but never touching him or showing affection to him. It makes your words empty and useless. Even harmful because you are not letting your convictions humble you to action. 

So, I encourage you all to think about this. How can you take steps to live a more "slave free" life? I definitely hope you look into the idea and see where your heart is led on the matter.

Some ideas if you want to go slave free for Christmas are:

Shopping fair trade: Coming Together Trading Company, The Hunger Site, World of Good and many many many more stores to consider

Shop local and small business. Make sure to frequent places and make relationships with employees and store owners and ask questions about their products.

Shop Etsy and buy from friends you know with their own online businesses. I have a ton of talented friends with their own businesses. 

Shop second hand: it is pretty difficult to get clothes that were not made using sweatshops or slavery but if you buy 2nd hand you are not contributing to more slave labor.

There are so many other ideas and ways to limit purchasing slave produced items. If you have more ideas, leave them in the comments and I will be sure to compile a list soon.

The acceptance of truth: Child Slavery

JD wrote a very touching post today about a little boy we had to leave behind. I encourage you to read it.

This experience, going to see modern day slavery for myself, has turned into a processing experience like none I have ever known until this point. As I explained in my last post, even coming up with analogies is hard because it is so unlike anything I have ever seen. And we want, so desperately, to believe that it doesn't happen or it isn't "that bad". But the fact is that it IS that bad.

So today I am going to attempt to show you a bit of our experience of exploring slavery on Lake Volta. This is the part that gets hard for me. It was such a personal and deeply felt experience that a lot of me doesn't want to let out the vulnerabilities I have surrounding it. But I know what is required of me and that is to be an advocate for child slaves.

 It was actually quite a nice day. On the lake its much cooler and has a pretty decent breeze. It was the coolest I had felt the whole time I was in Africa. We boarded the boat and our navigator (shown above) untangled the boat from some trees and stuff that we were kind of caught in and we set off on our first experience on Lake Volta

It did not take long until we saw our first boat with trafficked children in it. How do we know they are trafficked? Well there are several ways... the vast majority of the kids you see are trafficked. Slave masters don't often put their own kids on the lake for 16 hrs a day and make them go without an education.You can also tell by their physical appearance. Underfed, over developed, apparent and frequent scars laid across their bodies. The fact that the children absolutely are not allowed to respond to us if a master is with them (they may ruin the lie of "hes my nephew" "he is my son").

We approached several boats and spoke with masters about the children they had. George Jr. was flawlessly making arguments and asking questions about the children. He was trying to have the real picture painted for him by interviewing and befriending these slave masters. An approach I had never really understood but that I was starting to come to cherish (but it took me and is still taking me a long time and a hard road to get there).

And another boat. Two boys diligently working on the nets and bailing water out of their boat. Thin frames and over developed muscles belie their age a bit. The master is on the left just out of the picture... paddling and watching. The kids know what we know... because they have been at the end of the beating several times. If they make a wrong move, punishment is on the way as soon as we disappear into the horizon. My heart aches as I think about my sweet sons doing work like this for 16 hours a day on little to no food. Tears start to form in the corners of my eyes but also anger starts to seethe a bit in my heart.

We approach boat after boat meeting the trafficked children of Volta. I ask nearly silent questions to the children that are just as silently translated to them. I am at the end of the boat and all the commotion and conversation is going on on the other side where the master is. How old are you? 8 Where are your parents? I don't know. Have you eaten today (they get up at 2am and it was will into the morning by now)? No. Do you want to go to school? Yes.

One boy was sold to his master several years ago. He is now a teenager (maybe 15) and impregnated the masters daughter. So, the master went to his parents and told them to give him his brother since he committed such a horrible act. Now two children with no education and no way to escape are working the lake. And it is like that. I met orphans and I met siblings of the children who have already been rescued.

Eventually boats started running from us not wanting to have us confront them. Again, I felt angry. How could people do this to children? One boat in particular had several (SEVERAL) children in the canoe and he hightailed it to the island. We watched him unload a boat full of kids and tell all the other children to run and hide (the apparent message was that we were the police). And they all fled.

As we pulled up to the island, there were a group of people working on the shore. I immediately (as did my friends) noticed a little girl in just panties. We rustled through the bags of dresses we had brought and pulled on out for her. She had longer hair than normal (well for little girls in Ghana anyway) which is often times associated with trafficking because trafficked children are not taken care of. I do think she had parents on the island though. I just can't remember well. Anyway I took the dress and went up to her. At first, I handed it to her. She gave me a shy grin. My hands then took over. I spoke softly to her as I told her how beautiful she was. I unfolded the dress and gently slipped it over her head. The blue looked amazing next to her brown skin. I looked down at her and told her a few more affirming words and she let me take a picture.

Be still my heart, beautiful girl. I gently rubber her sweet cheek and patted her head and we went on. The trail of people at the shore following along.

And we went... we went into the village where the children outnumbered the adults and where little tenderness and love was given to the trafficked children (which were most of the children on the island). And we loved. We passed out clothes and cherished smiles and patted heads.

JD also made a trade with a little boy. She gave him 2 pairs of shorts for his pair of old, worn out, holy shorts. A reminder of where we have been and testimony to people that these children exist and have real, tangible needs. A way to say, this is our story and here is what we have to show for it. I still tear up when I look at those shorts.

Eventually we met up with some of the people, masters, we needed to see. We also found a pile of handsome, sweet boys. Some as young as or even slightly younger than my Kolt. My heart sank. All of them... every last one of the boys we met there... were trafficked. I asked if they had eaten today... none of them had. They get up at about 2 am and it was 10 by this time.

This handsome young guy was very muscular and well defined. Lots of scars (face, neck chest, arms) and wear from working on the lake. The most surprisingly built child that I saw. His muscles were very overdeveloped and you can tell that he does a lot of the "hard work" on the lake. He has a beautiful smile.They all do if you can get them to show it to you.

Next we met our sweet Richard*. The face of slavery and the face of hopelessness that has been haunting me since I left him. Very poorly taken care of. Dirt covered, red tinged hair and most devastating of all...

Photo credit: JD Richardson

Hope Lost Eyes. I don't know where this sweet child has retreated to and I am certain that knowing would scare the hell out of me. But he is not present, doesn't respond, doesn't connect. His eyes are empty. His soul is buried under hurt and fear and hopelessness.  I had no clue what to feel other than despair and hopelessness at the obstacles ahead myself. I just wanted to give him tenderness and love and care but had no clue how to do that for him. This is what captivity does to the human spirit. This is what slavery turns you into after long enough.

I had grown up in an abusive home. I had been beaten and molested. I had felt like I could never speak out. I had felt angry and lost in myself. But I had never seen a face like this before. I had never seen despair so blatantly written on anyone's face. As I walked away from him, I felt grief. I felt struggle. I felt overwhelmed. I cried quietly as we walked to the next place. Prince was talking to me and I was half listening but not able to focus. How can I ever forget this child? I can't. I can never go on acting like I don't know about him and the thousands of other children on the lake in Ghana.

The last stop of the day was to meet Innocence* and Patrick*. Innocence was sitting in the boat busily working on the net when we approached. I was positively shocked to learn that she was a girl. She had some shorts on but that was it. Her lean, muscular body fooled me quickly into believing she was yet another young boy. Her half brother, Patrick, was hauling heavy nets across the shore. Hanging them up and various things. These were the children we were negotiating for on this day. They had been promised before to the team. The master said we could pick them up on monday and that he would have them ready for us. My heart sank again... Monday? Dear God, I just want to take them with us now. I don't understand why this is working out how it's working out.

I discuss with the slave master what he is doing with these children. He knows that it is not okay to purchase children and force them to work. He told me he would never do it with his own children. When I proceeded and asked him why he does it, I got nervous laughter. My face was red with anger. My emotions were supercharged from the day and the previous experiences. I stood there red-faced and angry, in silence.

We got into our boat without our children. Without ANY children. I sat solemnly and reflected on the boat ride home. I accepted in my heart the truth I had seen. I had long ago accepted it with my brain but now, it was a heart level truth. The anger slowly faded into grief and sadness as I thought about Kolt and his friends and how so many of the kids we met were his age or not much older. Sadness creeped in when I thought of the sheer desperation and manipulation it must take to sell your child to someone. Grief overwhelmed me as I thought about how many bodies were lost forever under the water we were cruising across. And I let myself cry.

*Child's real name not used

Family: Defined

I am redefining "Family".

The dictionary says that Family is: People living in the same house usually under one head (that is my paraphrased definition).

Of course, there are a million other sub definitions but the first definition is the one I am concerned about. A family is your mom and dad and siblings. In Ghana, you take care of your grandparents and older relatives as well. So when someone says they have no family... it generally means no parents, siblings or grandparents. Sometimes it extends into aunties and uncles as well.

We met a lot of orphans in Ghana. Some of them were sold when their parents were ill, some by other relatives after their parents passed away. The may have siblings but they don't have any idea where they are. They don't know their names, their birthdays, their surnames. They oftentimes don't know where they are from or how to get there to find family.

I talked to a sweet girl in the dark under a sky beautifully decorated with stars one night. She is 16 years old and she was telling me about how she has no family. Her parents died and her grandmother raised her. She was sent to the lake when she was quite young and while she was away her grandmother also died. I assume she has siblings somewhere but that is just the conclusion I draw because most of these kids have a few to several siblings. But if she has them, she doesn't know them or how to find them.

She still feels such a deep sense of loss and loneliness. And in ways, I understood it. Many things she didn't know about me because this was about her. This was about these young women. Not about me. But I had been feeling such similar things for a long long time.

I have obviously made my own family. I have Kyle and the boys and they are my family. But family needs to extend beyond that for me. And for most people I think. And for several years, I have felt like I am so different from my extended family that it is even confusing to know how we grew up around one another. I have made choices to cut ties with people in order to get myself to a healthier place. We live several hours from family and really had no support system here to help with our kids. I felt like... I had no family beyond the people who lived in my house (well and my best friend, Amanda and her husband Andy but even they live quite far).

So we discussed it. We talked about feeling lonely and how it is hard to feel connected to people. I have the same problems. Different life but the connections are beautiful. We discussed the pain of not being understood and feeling like we just don't really... fit in.

But then we discussed how God places into our lives people who become our family. That family is not just limited to mom, dad, sibs, grandparents. That God expands our family far beyond that and that we have to keep our eyes open for our "new family". I explained to her about my best friend and how I met her at a time when I really felt like, other than my (then) fiance, I had no one. She became my sister... fast.

I told her about my neighbor, Natalie, and how she is our family. How she has dinner with us and helps with our kids and how we pretty much share everything. I told her how my kids think she has the same last name as us (true story).

I told her about Shannon and Brian and how Brian works with my husband and they are so similar its scary and when I met Shannon I discovered... we are so similar that it is also scary. And how our families do things together and we help each other... and they, too, are our family.

Church family, neighbors, divine meetings... God arranges it if we are open to it.

Then I asked her about her friends (there are 6 older girls who do... everything together). I asked her who her best friends were. And she told me that the girls she lives with are her best friends. She named them one by one and told me how much she cared about them. And I looked at her a bit teary eyed and told her "you have a family! These other young ladies, they are your family. And in your life, you will meet people to add to your family and they will love you just like family. They will love you in a way that you will just know, they were meant to be a part of your family. They will love you like your best friends love you." We hugged with tears in both of our eyes. And I let her know that I loved her and would support her in any way I can. And she called me Mommy Deborah (I have to spell it that way because that is HOW they say my name) and told me she was so glad that we came and spent time with them.

But the truth is, maybe I did help her but she helped me. Because I had been struggling with this concept for such a long time. Longing for people to change so they could be what I expected them to be. Knowing in my head that their change is out of my control and trying harder won't bring it about but not really accepting it with my heart. And she taught me in that conversation that I need to absolutely embrace my God chosen family. The people that have been placed in my life to expand my family and to teach me and love me and help me expand.

And that is how I found most of my time in Ghana. Going into it to help and being absolutely humbled at how much the children and the experience taught me in turn.

I pray for my young friend every day that she finds her God family. That she recognizes them and pulls them into her heart. And I pray for myself that I am open enough to do the same.