Kookie Cut-Outs by Rachel Britz

Delivering cookies and good news.

Book Review: North of Hope

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It was a phone call from the Alaskan state department that changed Shannon Polson’s world as she knew it. Her parents who had traveled to the north Arctic had been killed by a bear. In Polson’s telling memoir, “North of Hope” we’re taken into her deep places of grief, healing, and renewal as we follow her sacred journey.

“There is a time in each of our lives when we are hurled into the terrible understanding that bedrock can crumble in the blink of an eye.” -Shannon Polson

One year after the tragedy Polson embarks on a discovery trek for herself across the north Arctic. As she prepares to retrace her parents final steps we are given a brief, yet profound lesson in map reading. She explains that simply using a compass alone will not suffice in ensuring a precisely marked coarse because the earths magnetic fields will skew the reading. Instead, we must take into consideration the varying differences between what we know as magnetic north (standing here on earth) and that of true north (the authentic north). True north is reality. It is what is seen from above. Polson highlights all this to say that failure to reconcile for these adjustments would cause a person to end up far from their destination.

I found “North of Hope” to reflect an honest grief journey. It was only after reading her courageous story that I was inspired to apply this vision of true north in my own life and in the things that God has recently been revealing to me. If you enjoy reading memoirs or you are searching for clarity in your own grief then I would recommend you consider this read.

To preview other books I’ve reviewed, click here.

And then this happened…

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I’ve saved the best for last. One final story from my journey to Africa. It happens to be the hardest one to tell. The one I’ve held so closely to my chest, sucked tightly to my cheeks, and rocked to endless sleep every night since my return.

In a single word: Ibrahim.

A fragile, two year old little boy that I encountered three whole days after arriving at The Covering, the orphanage I stayed at in Sierra Leone. 
It’s a moment I will never forget. The hot, sweltering afternoon that I entered the babies apartment looking for…well, I’m still not sure how I ended up there. Admittedly, I knew it was a place my heart should probably avoid, but with so many children I wanted to help. The room seemed emptied. Other babies had been taken outside by aunties and I noticed a few caregivers cleaning in the rear of the apartment. In the stillness of the room one noise screamed out. Baby Ibrahim. He was crying from his crib in the far back bedroom. As I slowly rounded the corner I discovered him all alone. At first glance, I felt nervous. Something was wrong with this child and I was unsure…
“No one just straight up tells you that the things you’ve seen — become what you see. That you’ll close your eyes a thousand nights from now and it will all be real again — where you were and what they wore, that one look, that one moment, that one frame.” -Anne VosKamp

I moved towards Ibrahim and when he noticed me he covered his eyes with his fist. He was scared but I gently spoke over him anyways. I felt scared too. As I reached in and lifted him from his crib I became shockingly aware of his frailty. I pulled his sweating body close to mine and walked him outside allowing the breeze and sunshine to change the circumstance around us. 
All afternoon we sat together and I held him tightly. He felt like a puzzle to me. A mystery. Easily distressed by particular people or movements, he is a worried little boy. Continually, he tries to hide himself by covering his eyes or shelter himself from noises by covering his ears. 
When I learn of his tragedy, a small piece of understanding is connected. Ibrahim was brought to the center by his father who could not provide for him. A few months prior his 24 year old mother had become pregnant. This would be her fourth child, another child that she could not care for, so she decided to drink a concoction that would terminate the pregnancy. It violently killed her too. 
My heart is pierced by his affliction.
Have you ever dreamed you were falling? In agonizing slow motion you feel your body spinning out of control, you recklessly grasp for something to hold onto, to save you from the plummet. You gasp, attempting to catch your breath. 
I laid in bed that night free falling.
In the days that followed I told God that this, this burden to bear was too much. I begged Him to stop the crushing. I believed He had it wrong, for I did not come to this place for this purpose. This was simply too much.
But it didn’t stop and it continues today…67 days since I last held Ibrahim. 
There is hope in carrying a divine burden. I do not trust in myself for any answer or conclusion. For how does one know how to care for such and enormous weight pressing onto the heart? I am learning to replace my fear of the unknowns with gratitude. When the emotion of all that I saw, all that I dream about, all that I hope will one day transpire comes rushing in like a raging river…I choose to let thankfulness spill over. 

“I’m so grateful…because to feel this vulnerable means I am alive.” Brene Brown.

Invest in a different kind of stock – LIVESTOCK

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Only a few days before the 6th annual Livestock Music Festival. It’s the calm before the beautiful commotion. All is good!  Before we officially step into summer, I have a couple stories I still want to share with you from our African adventure.

This is one of them.

When we arrived to the second village, we found the atmosphere to be different than the first. This location serves as the official World Vision office for the Lugbu community.

Unlike our first village experience very few villagers came to greet us initially, and the air felt somber. We later learned that a few days prior to our arrival, one of their own, a young twenty-something man had tragically died when he fell from a tree. His young wife carrying their first child was now a widow. The day we arrived was the day this village laid him to rest.

Sorrow spilled over. The grief was palpable.

But this man, Sheku Massaquoi and his 10 year old son Idisa, came from a different village. We were told that they traveled a great distance in order to meet us. Sheku has 7 children, but for this day he brought with him this treasured son.

Idisa is different. At an early age he contracted a fever (probably Yellow Fever) and the sickness caused his feet to become deformed. He is crippled and cannot walk. His father tells us that when his son became sick, “I was tormented and hurt. I was not happy…but, we did not lose hope. So long as there is life, there is hope.” As I sat right next to the boy and his father, I observed how deeply this father loved his son. I watched the boys heart beating wildly from his chest and I wondered about the impact of this moment on this boys life.

Even though the disability prevents Idisa from doing many of the same activities his brothers and sisters are doing, his health is good.

Why?

Two reasons:

1) Livestock- At first, the family received a female goat. Within a short time the goat reproduced and they were able to keep one goat (expanding their farm) and sell one goat in exchange for chickens. Within a short time the chickens began laying eggs. Not only were they able to diversify their families diet but they could sell the eggs too!

2) Investment- We many not think of livestock animals as an investment opportunity but whenever we take a risk by putting our hard earned money into something that has the potential to grow and flourish – we are investing.

Sheku is a wise man. He has taken your investment of a $75 goat and built a thriving livestock business in his own back yard. His entrepreneurial efforts have not only benefited the needs of his immediate family but he is helping to meet the needs of his surrounding neighbors. This single investment has increased the health of this families diet and provided additional income, which has allowed them to send their children to school.

Families in Sierra Leone are not all that different from American ones. They have hopes and dreams for their children just like we do. They want their children to be healthy and well fed. Then, they want them to receive a proper education. During our visit, we quickly learned that our investment of livestock animals is paving the way for an entire village of children.

Children who will one day become adults. Educated children who will be empowered by the resources given to them today to make a difference tomorrow.

It’s time to invest in stock that will pay eternal dividends.

Ugly Mom Disease

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Many years ago I gave my grandmother a legacy journal. It was filled with questions about her life from childhood to early adulthood, and onto things like marriage, children, work, faith, and life stories. Before my grandmother passed away she gave me the completed journal.

One question and one answer has stuck with me.

“What is the most difficult thing a mother has to do?”

“Disciplining her children.” she wrote.

As mothers, we were created to nurture. Our hands want to touch, hold, and heal. Our bodies groan, long, and exist to produce nourishment for our children. We cheer loudly with our mouths. We see beauty in every milestone.

But we also have a disease. I think I’ll call it the ugly mom disease.

It’s contagious and can spread rapidly if not treated. Here’s the thing, we are all carriers. The sediment of our own upbringing coupled with the other parents expectations can create this brewing combination of angst, insecurity, and confusion…all under the banner of raising up our children.

The other night, I contracted the disease. Spurred on by some children who had transformed before my eyes into a pair of ugly monsters. Their ugliness fed my ugliness. I reacted. Overreacted. When it was all over, the little monsters reclaimed their beauty, the ugliness had been folded up and neatly tucked away, and the bread of forgiveness shared. But late that night, I wept.

I wept because I hate the ugly mom disease. I want to be healed.

{Thoughts on Treatment}

A dose of God’s word brings clarity.  

“She is clothed with strength and dignity;
she can laugh at the days to come.
She speaks with wisdom,
and faithful instruction is on her tongue.
She watches over the affairs of her household
and does not eat the bread of idleness.
Her children arise and call her blessed…
…beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be
praised.” proverbs 31:25-30

I want to fear the Lord. If not, whom shall I fear but me, myself, and my ugliness.

A teaspoon of mother-to-mother friendship.

Last night a friend stopped over at my house. The moment she got out of her car I saw it, that look, the look of weariness produced in the aftermath of an ugly crisis. We talked and consoled each other. Sometimes all we need, mother-to-mother, is a solid affirmation to hold on.

Grandma was right. This thing called discipline is the ultimate tough stuff. I swallow her hallowed words with a smile, knowing I am not pioneering this journey that others traveled before me.

Prescribe to making things new.

For me, I made a vow. A slight promise, a written order upon my heart and mind, that I would make things new. Attempt to change for the benefit of my whole being. Am I aiming for perfection? Nope. I’m realistic. I am human.

I do however (greatly) consider how I wish to be remembered by my children. That light at the end of the tunnel is my focus. My hope is to overcome the disease. To survive and thrive in this gift of motherhood.

What are your thoughts on treatment?

A single mother, singled out because of kid

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Three years ago World Vision introduced the livestock livelihood project to Sierra Leone communities. During my visit, I learned that the criteria for a family to become a recipient of an animal came down to one word; vulnerability. If a certain family was exposed, proving to be susceptible to injury or attack they would qualify to receive the gift of a bleating kid. A goat. 

This is Jenneh, a 35 year old single mother raising 5 boys.

Jenneh and her son Abu


A while back her husband left their village to find work, but he never returned. The financial hardship this created kept her middle child, 13 year old Abu, from going to school. World Vision took action and provided Jenneh and her boys with goats and chickens. Each livestock animal served a different purpose. Unlike other regions where goats are used for their milk, in Sierra Leone more often they are used as a means of currency. For Jenneah, once the pair of goats reproduced (this takes about 6 months) she was able to sell one so that Abu could finally enroll in school.

“For the children to live well in the house, we need chickens and eggs.” says Jenneh. In Sierra Leone most families survive off of rice, groundnuts, cassava, or yams. The protein rich eggs give the children and additional advantage with their health.

Abu is a big help to his mother and takes care of the goats by feeding them and making sure they are kept out of other peoples yards. Abu tells us with that infectious smile that one day he would like to become a carpenter.

Abu caring for his family’s goat


Later, we asked Rosa the community manager if Jenneh was looked down upon in her village because her husband left her. “Oh no! She is very respected!” Rosa implied.

Many times when weakness or hardship exposes us we find ourselves wanting to run and hide from others. For Jenneh, it was her community that took notice, singled her out, and then stepped in to help turn her circumstances around. In the same way, celebrating and participating in the World Vision sponsored Livestock Music Festival can help to have the same effect on countless others in vulnerable situations worldwide. We all need community- together we have the power to come alongside those in need, giving of our resources, a small token of love and respect.

Jill and I at the Lugabo village