“MAMA!” My 6-year old gasped, squealing with delight, surprise writ large over her twinkling eyes. “I’M SO SURPRISED!”
Just two years ago, I’d have said no.
Lying in the ICU with a cervical spine operation, suffering with post-operative chronic pain for months, and then crushed by a leg injury during rehab… I never thought I’d be able to carry my girls the way I used to as a mom.
You’d think having a “strong faith” or faith community to fall back on would help. But every foundation in my life was shaken then- I deconstructed my faith. I discovered spiritual abuse and manipulation. People I admired and counted on told me God must be so unhappy with our intentions to serve in Tanzania for all these bad things to happen to me. People said this was proof I was psychologically too weak to withstand the hardships of the field.
Everything I relied on for stability fell apart at its seams.
This photo represents so many layers of redemption— 🌍our move to Tanzania to begin again,
💔 my discovery of the language of trauma recovery,
💪 my surprise at carrying my little girl once more,
🤝serving in a developing country with an international community of dreamers,
🏠 and today, knowing Home is an altar I carry with me, not a physical shell that decays.
When I look at this photo, all I remember was the thought I had at that moment— “just when I thought life was at its worst, I never saw this coming— Gods heals. God restores. God always surprises.”
My 6-year old is on my back, arms entwined like lovers around my neck, still beaming and glowing, “You’re stronger than ever, Mummy!” as we walk home on dirt roads.
Her eyes twinkle. Tears well up in mine.
“Yes, sweetheart. Mama is strong now.”