I have been avoiding
you. All of you. Here and in the grocery store. I avoid you because I know that
you are going to see inside of me and because you care, you ask. I learned a
long time ago that you can’t fool anyone or maybe Abraham Lincoln taught me,
“You can fool some of the
people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can not
fool all of the people all of the time.”
Either way I simply gave up guessing who is who. I avoid
you because you are going to ask that dreaded question, “When are you going
back to Africa?” and the answer is (eyes down, head down), “I don’t know.” But
honestly I do know all that I need to know. I just don’t know how to give you
the answer you want to hear. I know that, for the time being, I am not supposed
to go back to Mozambique. I know that the foundations I built there are being
built upon and it is not my job any longer. I know that the programs I
established there are flourishing under those who are running with the torches
I passed. I know it is not my role to stay there and administrate but give
others the space they need to make these programs their own. Letting that go
was not easy and coming to that realization was painful. But that is one thing
that I do know.
I also know that I need to start to do a few things
for myself. I am not saying that I live a fully selfless life, being single I
get to be quite selfish every day. But I want to cultivate something that was
fully my own and so I attended a writer’s conference. It was this past
weekend in Nashville. Dad let me borrow his truck and friends of friends
offered their futon and off I went. Y’all know how much I adore the South and
driving up to Nashville felt like visiting cousins, comfortable and familiar. I
had no idea what the weekend would entail but it didn’t matter, this was
something that I needed to do for myself. It was symbolic of me taking a step, putting my African missionary
identity on the back burner and stepping into something new and solely for myself.
For ages I have wanted to be a writer, to write
something good, to publish something incredible. Not for recognition or fame
but to challenge myself to get good words on paper and tell a story. I want to
help others’ get their stories out and I want to tap into these ramblings in my
head, otherwise they sit in there and harass me. Years ago I was asked to write
out 100 dreams and I think I could only get to 36, but they included; surfing,
moving to Africa, living by the ocean, learning to sew, and writing. So now I
am here, in Nashville, going to a writer’s conference.
It was a conference for women, so naturally when the
women around the room were asked why they were there, they all over shared and
cried. Everybody, except me. I don’t over share because I am a Davis and I
don’t cry because I lived in Mozambique where my compassion would cripple me if
I cried over every thing that grieved me. So for now, I’ve stopped. I met a
publisher there and decided that I wanted my next job to be one that involved
reading books all day. But I still find it hard to put on shoes and show up on
time and not eat with my fingers. But I am getting there. There they showed us
what the whole publishing process looks like. I must admit that I listened with
someone else in mind and not myself. I do that often. “That sermon is really
what So and So needs right.” So I took notes wondering how I could help So and
So publish their book rather than my own. Self reflection even in ones own mind
is so stinkin’ hard. Because if I admitted to myself that I wanted to publish
the book and then I go weeks and months without even blogging to those I love,
I would feel like a failure and I am already avoiding you in the produce aisle.
So there you go. I want to write a book and publish it
and so now that I am home for Lord knows how long I went to a writer’s
conference with a bunch of white people with shoes on and I kinda liked it. I
got to wear that sweater that I bought at j.crew, so that was good. We had
biscuits for breakfast from Loveless Café and that was good. I left thinking
that the only thing stopping me from writing a book was myself and that was
good. I learned about a lady who started a social business not unlike my own
but instead of being in Mozambique, it is in Nashville. It is a little business
that works with women; former prostitutes and addicts. They have a café and
their hand made beauty products sell at Whole Foods. It is not unlike the model
I want to see at Galeria dos Sonhos. I have tentative plans to go back and
check it out. And for the first
time in a long while I got to experience “church” in a house on a hill in Tennessee,
as women over shared in a safe space and felt loved and accepted and were
encouraged and challenged and changed. So that was good. Even better than the
biscuits.
My invitations back to Africa all still stand and I
still roll my eyes when Americans talk about the poverty here and suggest I do
something locally. But I am starting to see what God may be showing me. I just
need a little time with Him to determine our next step. I am ready for it all
to be in place so that I can buy plane tickets and plan my wardrobe, but He
isn’t pushing or pulling in any direction. I just keep hearing Him say, “Rest.
You’re gonna need it.” And now, I am under a blanket, watching snow melt doing
just that.
Love, Grace
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