What is your life story?

June 5, 2007

Reflection time.  Do you remember why you are who you are?  I’m not trying to go deep…I promise. 

I’ve gone back through my posts trying to find where I wrote about being an MK (missionary kid), but couldn’t find it for anything.  Then I realized I had mentioned it in my About Me page.  Duh!  I think it explains some of my weirdness unique qualities. 

I was born in the US, but lived in India.  We did go to other countries in the 80’s since the Indian government thought it was fun to kick us out all the time.  So we’d go back to the US, to Europe or Asia to renew our visa.  Tons of fun.

I remember the first couple of months living in India…I cried every night.  I couldn’t believe that my folks just up and dragged my butt out of my very comfortable white-trashed living environment in Oklahoma to take me to a place where we were suppose to tell people about Jesus. 

Little did I know at that time, they were saving my life.

You cannot go to a 3rd world country and leave the same way.  It’s so hard to explain, unless you’ve touched the people, smelled the spicy air, and felt the intense heat. 

It’s been years since I’ve been back.  But I wouldn’t change that part of my life for anything in the world.  I wish my children could grow up there and touch life outside of America’s very materialistic point of view.  We don’t know poverty.  We don’t know spiritual deprevation.  We don’t know lack of freedom…not anymore. 

When I tell my boys about my time in India I tell them stories like:

~Traveling and everywhere I went people would touch me and try to wipe my white off or the blond out of my hair.  There is no personal bubble in an over populated country.

~Being chased by a pack of monkeys and screaming for the dogs to chase them away before the male monkeys had their way with me. (EWWWWW!)

~Trying to walk from the shed to the house while monkey’s threw their poop at me (Disgusting pigs!).

~Running down the beach towards the water and not paying attention to the poop pit (the fishermen dig holes in the sand and poop in them and DO NOT cover it up).  Do you know how squishy poop can feel between the toes?  I know…it’s painful to read and was just as painful to experience.

~Driving up a ghat (a windey mountain road), getting hit with the Delhi-belly, trying to poop on the side of that ghat, hearing a pack of wild pigs running full speed at me and when I stood up to run, the back of my shirt had been desecrated and it slapped “goo” all down the back of my thigh as I was running for my life.

(Are you seeing a pattern here?  India = great poop stories)

~Being woken up every morning by the sound of squirrels that scream with a paniced passion.

~Having 10 different pet gecko’s running around the house at any given time.

~Doing schoolwork by candlelight since the electricity would go off almost every night.

~Not having hot water for a shower unless I turn the hot water tank on and then there was only enough water for a quick shower.  No baths.

~Washing clothes by hand…on a rock.

~When the Monsoons would come we would have to walk to a local market stand for veggies.  The autorickshaws would stale out since the water level was just below our knees.

~Warrior ants that would eat the Teflon off our pans(!)

~Watching my dad trying to explain to a  custom official at the airport (by using body language) what a tampon was.  The official did not speak english and he just knew it was a stick of dynamite.

I could go on and on.  Everyone has their stories from growing up.  They make us who we are.  Some stories cause fear or insecurities in our lives.  But it’s the stories that remind us of our courage, humor, and faith that should drive who we are today.  I hope your stories do that for you.



  1. Wow, you’ve got stories I can’t top and don’t care to, honestly!

    My hubby & I took a couple teens on a mission trip to Brazil a few years ago. Was a real eyeopener, metal shacks on the edge of the highway, every house caged in because of crime, and yes, the fast-food meal we bought for ourselves when we ate out with Brazilians from the church. A $3 meal for us. But when they brought everyone’s food out, all the couples from Brazil were sharing a bottle of Coke. Talk about feeling awful.

    I’ve never looked at our financial state the same after that trip.

    Oh, do have one bathroom story for you! Brazil is the only country in South America (maybe the world? Don’t know) where they don’t flush toilet paper. There’s a little wastebasket next to the toilet for that. And traveling cross-country, you hope you have a really big bladder ’cause not many toilets at gas stations have seats. Yuck.

  2. Well now. Poop (hehe)

    Gigi, I adore you, have for awhile now. And after reading this, I admire you. That you lived this and wouldn’t trade it, that’s what you’re about and it’s fantabulistic!

    I hope one day you write a memoire of sorts, share it with the world….using that wit you have.

    Tell you all about Cat talking to herself in an email, ’tis very very funny! Have to say it one more time, I might not get to write it again this month—poop. xo Gidget

  3. Wow those are some interesting stories….poop and all! I know what you mean though we live in an overindulged world…..I am so glad my kids got to experience poverty even if just for a short time!
    Thanks for sharing this….it gives us much insight into your uniqueness….

  4. Wow. Just. WOW.

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