A Father to the fatherless (a tribute to my dad)

June 21 marked a special day this year, set aside as a day to celebrate dads.  It was Father’s Day.

Normally, being away from home on any holiday, doesn’t bother me.  I’ve missed all the major ones (Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter) before due to my year on the World Race.  I have missed birthdays and Mother’s Day (twice in a row!! Oops sorry mom!)  but for some odd reason, missing Father’s Day this year was one of the hardest days to miss.

So what was it about this year that made missing Father’s day so hard?

Easy answer.

It is because of where I am.

Instead of spending the day this year with my own dad, I spent it with children half way around the world who are ‘fatherless’ according to society’s standard.  Instead of going for an early round of golf (basically me being the caddy) with my dad; an early morning church service, African style, took place.  What followed was an impromptu photoshoot with a few of the older girls and a full day of hugs and laughter through hanging out with the kids.  Even through the laughter and silly moments, I could feel God giving me a ‘different’ set of eyes, stirring something up once again in my heart.

It took a ‘shoulder to shoulder’ conversation on the grass with one of the students (who has quickly become one of my favourites) in my English class, to reveal to me exactly what God was trying to teach me.  What started off as a simple question, “How is God?” (aka; what is God teaching you?) turned into her sharing a piece of her story with me.  Words cannot describe the very real, very raw pain that was still present in this individual’s voice as she shared.  She told of how her father had rejected her early on and that he wanted nothing to do with her.  I could feel the rage build up within me towards this man as I continued to listen to her share.  Thoughts of, “How DARE he? How dare he do that to her. Doesn’t he know how impacting a statement like that, can be? I’d love to get my hands on his neck and throttle him good.”  

Although I have heard more intense stories than this before, there was something about hearing this one that struck me.  Perhaps it was due to the fact that I knew I was missing Father’s Day at home.  Or perhaps it was that I knew I was (am) surrounded by kids and teenagers alike who do know what it is like to have a dad attend/coach their sporting endeavours, supporting and cheering them on from the side.  They don’t know what it is like to have a treasure hunt that last way longer than they should (sorry dad!), or spend countless number of hours getting help on that one specific math question (again, sorry dad!).  That is what broke my heart the most; the fact that these kids do not have memories of their own like that. 

While she was sharing and during this time of internal wrestling going on inside of me, I could feel my Father Above whispering into my ear. “Nikki, tell her about MY love.  About how I will never ever reject her.  How I created her for a purpose, for a specific reason.  How, each day, she is growing within me even though she does not personally know me.  I am what she is truly searching for”.

 

…A Father…

A Father to the fatherless.  A Pure, Perfect, Holy Father who literally sent His own son to die a painful death on the cross so that we may live in HIM and know HIM.  That is God.  Without Him in our lives, we are all 'fatherless'.  

My prayer that day, and every day since is that this girl (and those like her at home and around this globe) will know their Father Above.  That they will know that God has NOT rejected them and that He never will.  That they will know the love of a true Heavenly Father.

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For the record, I did call my dad back in Canada that day.  

We didn’t talk about anything to deep or serious.  We simply talked.  

Even from half way around the world, I could feel the support and love from my dad.  A support and love that propels me here each and every day to love these kids even harder.  To be there for them as they celebrate a soccer/netball win.  To encourage them to practice hard and study hard.  To keep them guessing with daily English related riddles and to embrace them with arms wide open as they (the young ones) run at me for a hug.  Although the only thing my dad and I would read together were the daily crossword puzzle in the newspaper, my evenings are now free to spend time reading with the older youth.  This reading time is often one of the highlights of my day.

So much more could be said.  But for now, thank you Dad. 

Thank you for being my dad and for loving me the way you do. 

Reunited after 11 months abroad

100+ daily Miracles {Every day Blessings)

Pssst.  Hey you, yes you…can I share with you something that is SUPER cool?!?!

Every day, I bear witness to over 100+ miracles.  Every single day.

No, these miracles are not limbs growing back right before my eyes and no, I have not seen the dead been raised or the blind given their sight back and you know, that’s okay.  What I have seen (and continue to see) is the joy and laughter on the face of a child in a society that calls her ‘nothing’, but God calls her His EVERYTHING.  A child with burn marks on her face so bad that, even after multiple surgeries, her face will never look ‘normal’ again.  Yet here she is, growing up in a place where she is safe, accepted, getting an educated and, ultimately, knows that she is incredibly LOVED by just the way she is.  Others have stories of extremely sickness that brought them to their death bed.  HIV AND cancer plaguing their young body.  However, even in sickness and near death, God is a God who restores and renews.  Today, they are alive and healthier than ever before, completely cancer free and the HIV well under control.  That is a miracle.  

Every day I experience the miracle of being able to teach an amazing class of grade 10’s here.  Through different writing assignments, they have allowed me an ‘inside’ look into their heads and heart and I do believe that they have ‘taught’ me more than I have ‘taught’ them.  We have gotten to know one another quite well in the 4 short weeks of teaching and each day is an adventure with them.  

The teaching doesn’t stop once school is over as after school Frisbee with the younger kids, has become a daily routine here.  It’s amazing how a flying disc, can bring so much joy and laughter.  The value of a book, and the thankfulness of having had a mom who spent hours reading to me as a child, has taken on a whole new special meaning to me.  Now I get to spend hours each day simply sitting and listening to different kids practice their reading.  In fact, I do not have enough hours in a day, to read with (to) the amount of kids (youth) who have been asking.  What a blessing.  What a miracle. 

Every day as the sun rises and sets here, I am thankful for the chance to further develop friendships that God started when He brought my here for the first time in 2011, and again in 2012.  I am thankful for this chance to be where my feet are now once again.  Every day, God’s Grace, Hope and Love shines through the people here and it leaves me wanting more of Him. 

Yet, every day I miss a certain “crazy” group of 14-15 year olds more and more who are back in Canada.  However, every day I am thankful that the same God who is alive and moving here in Zambia, is the same God who is alive and moving in the lives of those 14/15 year olds at home.  Every day, the same God who ‘made new’ the physical body of the sick youth here, is the same God who continues to ‘make new’ the broken hearted of the young people of Altona.  Miracles from God are happening.  Each and every day.  Every day, I am thankful (and blessed) for the opportunity God gave me (and still gives me) to journey alongside them.  I miss you ladies and am looking forward to seeing you again soon

Ultimately, I am thankful for a God Who Was, Who Is and Who Is yet to come. 

I am thankful for a God who restores the injustices of this world and fights for the oppressed.

For a God who I can fully trust when He tells me that I am fearfully and wonderfully made in His image, a royal daughter of the King Most High.  

Every day, as each breath leaves my body, I am thankful for the miracle of life and the chance to worship Him.

Tell the World I am Coming Home

Okay.  I lied. I am NOT coming home (yet). 

 

June 1, 2014 marked my arrival back in the States, after being gone for 11 months while on The World Race.  June 3, 2014 (a year ago today at the time of writing this blog) I found myself crossing through the Neche/Gretna border and (finally) arriving HOME in good ol’ Altona, Manitoba.  I remember both days, like it just happened.  The feelings and emotions of coming off way to many hours in a plane and the worst travel day ever, to the anticipation of seeing my parents.  From the sadness of realizing that I would have to say ‘good-bye’ to my race friends, who had become my family over the year that passed, to the joy that filled my heart with the thought of seeing my youth girls after a year.  If there was ever a time for an emotional roller coaster ride; those 72 hours were it.

Airport hugs after 11 months

I thought I knew what laid before me in the upcoming year.  I thought I would be attending school at Providence in the summer, working in A-Town and getting to know a new group of grade 9 youth girls.  Since I had no plans to travel within the year, I had already accepted the fact that I would be celebrating my ‘one year’ at home simply ‘living life’ and working a normal 9-5 job.  Clearly God had other plans for me as, ironically enough, only ONE of my original plans actually came true my first year back at home.

What is even more ironic is that, on June 1, 2015 I found myself thousands of miles away from ‘home’ at a place that I can honestly say never crossed my mind a short year ago.  I was in the African sun, at the Immigration office in Ndola, Zambia, waiting to get the visas in our passports renewed for another month.  As I held my freshly stamped passport I thought to myself, “Has it really been a year? Have I really been back in Zambia for a month already?  Is this all just some sort of a bizarre dream? Am I really going to go back to the school later today to hang out with some of the world’s most amazing (trust me, I have looked) kids?

Grace Academy

In the span of a year, so very much can change.  While on the race, especially while in Swaziland and South Africa, my heart yearned for the people of Zambia.  For my feet to return to the place of Grace and those lives that have been saved by it.  Yet today, less than a year home from the race, I am back at this place. 

 

On my ‘one year home’, instead of spending the day working 9-5, I spent it giving a short English lesson, renewing my visa for my passport, eating Nishma with my fingers, and I played Frisbee with about a dozen kids.  In the evening, I listened to a few kids practice their reading out loud, and watched the beautiful colours of an African sunset. 

Indeed, God is Good.

God is so very good.