Sundays at GROW are focused around church and home visits. They do not allow work on Sundays to keep holy the Sabbath day, something I greatly respect. The day prior, Faa had asked me to share the message at church – it should be about 40 minutes she said. 40 minutes?! I was anticipating five to 10 minutes prior to the trip and throughout Saturday evening, I could not stop thinking about what I would share. I have shared my testimony or given prayerful talks numerous times, but never for 40 minutes and never to children in another country who didn’t speak my language as well as coworkers I barely knew. This was a new challenge, and one that produced nerves the entire evening.
As we gathered as a team after the market to debrief our first night, I asked a few of the team members for ideas on what to share. “You’ll be fine, Kayla,” shared one coworker. “I know you are passionate about your faith and have given talks about it often. Why are you so nervous?” I didn’t tell them what was really on my mind. The Lord had been nudging me for weeks to share with the children about an occasion from my childhood. It was something I never really processed and had shared with only five people in my life up to this point, two of which were two weeks prior to the trip as I prepared. Was I really going to share this with 43 people, nine of which were coworkers? It didn’t bother me much to share it with the children or GROW staff. I was somewhat worried I would share something that could trigger them with their past trauma, but it was low compared to the fear I had of sharing this secret with my coworkers. They would be the ones I would have to face after the trip. As the team went to bed Saturday evening, I sat in the hallway of the hotel for hours, pouring over scripture and journaling a message. As I sat in that hallway crying in the wee hours of the morning, I began processing this trauma I had pushed down for so many years. It is here I feel like healing began.
The next morning, I woke up bright and early with knots in my stomach. When my roommate Sabrina woke up, she asked me if I was able to figure out a message. While we both laid in bed that morning in the dark, I began sharing with her the deepest wound from my past and the message I was planning to share. She listened while I talked and cried and provided encouragement. She met my vulnerability and began sharing about her childhood with me. It was this conversation in this simple hotel room halfway around the world that gave me the strength to share that day. I realized my coworkers would not judge me; they would support me. Her and I now knew each other’s hardest moments. We weren’t all that similar as people; we grew up differently and had differing views on life, faith and more, but we now had a vulnerability that produced love and understanding for one another.
On the way to GROW’s campus that morning, Sabrina and I rode in the car with Jeana and Donna. I assume the team thought it was because we were dressed in skirts for church and didn’t want to get dirty in the back of the truck. Truly, I wanted to share the heart of my message with Jeana to make sure it was appropriate to disclose in front of the kids. My nerves got the best of me again, but Sabrina’s smile and nod gave me the encouragement. It was a fruitful conversation met with love, and Jeana and Donna encouraged me that it would be worth sharing with the children.
Breakfast that morning was rice soup (we had rice for nearly every meal at GROW), but I was too nauseous and jittery to eat. “You got this, kid,” my coworker Rob exclaimed. Rob was the eldest member of our group and we had connected over our Christian beliefs prior to coming to Thailand. “Your faith is strong; the Holy Spirit will give you the words.” I didn’t feel that strength; my stomach was in knots and I felt like throwing up. After breakfast, we began to walk around the construction site to see the area where we would be working. We were only on the site for a few minutes before the children began appearing, dressed from head to toe in their beautiful tribal attire, and our attention was diverted. This was some of the most beautiful attire I had ever seen. As we walked out of the partially-constructed building and neared them, I began to admire their clothing in all of its glory. Some of the garments were bedazzled, others with intricate stitch work, some with unique headwear or beads, and all colorful. Under the sun, the beads glistened, matching the sparkle in the children’s eyes. It is through their eyes that I found the strength to share my story later that morning. Before we headed into church, I was given a tribal top to wear for church to speak the message. What an honor to have the opportunity to partake in their tradition. When I put on the tribal attire, their eyes lit up and squeals ensued. For a moment, I forgot my nerves.
As we entered the church, I wasn’t sure what to expect. The service began with the children leading worship, singing Blessed be Your Name in Thai, a song I was familiar with and sang in my church back home. I had the same overwhelming feeling I had while attending church in El Salvador: worship is universal. Though we came from different nations, we spoke the same language of Christ. The power of that statement overwhelmed me to tears. Watching these kids who had been through so much singing their hearts out in worship to the Lord was nothing short of miraculous. Their joy shattered my heart. It’s everything I wanted but never expected to see this trip.
It wasn’t long before they began sharing their tribal dances and testimonies with us. It amazed me how the littlest of the kids were able to speak about their childhood, including the hardships of not seeing their parents and what life was like in their villages prior to coming to GROW. How I wish I remembered more of their stories. I simply remember it was enough to completely soak my face in tears. Then came my turn. It was time to share my testimony and the message for the day. The courage these small children found in sharing with us gave me the courage to stand up and be vulnerable.
There I stood amongst nine coworkers, 28 kids and 6 GROW staff/volunteers, all who waited for me to share something profound in the main message for the day. I can’t say what I shared met that expectation, but I did my best to be vulnerable to level the playing field with the kids a bit – for they had already shared so much. My story could never compare to the trauma they experienced, but I wanted to tell them how much I could feel their pain. That I understood how trauma lasts a lifetime and can drain any sense of hope we are seeking in the Lord. I wanted to tell them that no matter where they have come from, not to lose hope – for God has plans for welfare for them. I wanted to tell them not to lose their identity as a child of God, for they are precious in His eyes, and He loves them. I couldn’t tell from the children’s faces whether my message resonated, but I looked for confirmation from my team. As I shared the harder details of my past, some of my teammates looked at me fervently with sad eyes while others simply hung their heads. But whenever our eyes connected, compassion traveled through them, and their nods of encouragement gave me the strength to continue.
Though I was shaking after, I was proud of myself for finding the courage and releasing some of the hurt and anxiety I held onto for so many years. After making my way back to my seat, the worship team – solely comprised of children – ended the service by singing the Doxology in Thai:
Praise God, from whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
Amen.
Again, my face was covered in tears. As I prayed over what to say the night before, I had a strong desire to sing that song but thought I’d spare everyone from my voice. To hear the children sing it in their native tongue felt divine. Chills moved all the way through my body. I was in the right place. God was going to do something astound here this week.
After church, it took me a few hours to quit shaking. I couldn’t eat lunch. I was still nauseous, and I believe it was anxiety leaving my body and healing beginning to happen. A few teammates thanked me for sharing, and one even assured me it was why I was chosen to lead this trip. I’m not so sure about that, but I hoped it would set the tone of vulnerability with our team. We were no longer just coworkers. Here, we would release more of ourselves than we knew. Here, we would break down walls. Here, on this campus halfway around the world, we would become a family and share secrets and hardship. We would unite around a cause greater than ourselves, and we would find healing. Healing begins with family; that is GROW’s motto. I hoped to witness healing in the children this trip, but never expected that healing to extend to myself. The moment I shared my story in that church was the moment I no longer let the trauma of my past define me. It is the moment I realized all the anger and pain it caused me over the years, the moment I opened up a part of my heart to love more. And just in time too, because the children encountered immediately filled any open space I had for love.
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