Ten years on from Grand Bassam! Grateful for God's protection and Healing.

Ten years ago, on March 13, 2016, I was on the beach with 2 friends in Grand Bassam, Côte d'Ivoire. Terrorists attacked and in a few hours 22 were dead - 19 victims and 3 terrorists. (Wikipedia article) 

My friends and I hid in a small, unfinished room on top of a wall during the gunfire until special forces rescued us. 

I am so grateful to God to everyone who helped us through that time, the first week, months, year, and even beyond.  

When it first happened, I was pretty traumatized. It wasn't until 5th day that I was even able to cry. 

I remember that my body was sore for the first day or two. 

What had happened loomed ahead of me like something I could not get around - even though it was behind me. Would I be able to come "back to life" after what had happened? Would I ever be able to get to 1 month? 6 months? 1 year? It seemed unthinkable that I could arrive at 10 years past this event. 

Week One

Laurel and Cornelia and Csaba and others on center gave us meals. The morning after our office staff supported us while we shared in the office prayer time. Pastor Pierrette drove across town through heavy traffic to pray with me.

We had peer debriefing the first week and that helped. 

Then some Ivoirian colleagues whom I had not met had a special ceremony for us to thank God for the new lease on life he had give us. Read about the Egg Ceremony here. What a blessing these people were to us. I still try to eat a boiled egg each year to remember! 

On the one week anniversary, I went up front and shared briefly and Pastor Soro prayed for me. 
Someone had us over on our center for lunch and I remember I could not keep my eyes of the clock, thinking about the events exactly one week earlier. 

One month

We had a Djimini Bible dedication I think 2 weeks after the attacks. My boss, Nelis van den Berg, and others had told me I should not be working more than half time - which I was not able to do anyway. 
And someone suggested that I did not need to go to the dedication at all and make the "director's speech". Laurel Miller kindly took the speech I had written and read it at the dedication. She also loaned me her hymnal and keyboard and I enjoyed spending that weekend playing hymns and hanging out with Thomas and Baerbel - the 2 friends who lived this with me. We colored Easter Eggs and watched a movie together. 

People shared scriptures. Psalm 124 became central to us. Healing came through verses and songs. It was also in this time frame that I wrote a lament which was very helpful. 

So many of you reached out to say you were praying for us! 

I wrote about this period in a blogpost entitled "Trauma Patchwork"

Second month

Sometime in the second month, I returned to my normal role in Cameroon. I'm grateful to teammates there: Nelis, Bianca, Debbie and Bibi and other friends for welcoming me back, cleaning my place, giving me lots of grace, and listening well. Karen Degraaf got me started with some good resources for dealing with the trauma. 

In the third month, 

I moved to Germany and got used the quiet, peaceful environment to work peace into my soul.  I wrote about that this past december in an advent devotional 

1 year

By the one year anniversary I had survived the insanity that is fireworks on New Year's Eve in Germany. I made it to March 13, and wore my "Yako Bassam" (Sorry Bassam) shirt and had a little egg ceremony to mark one year. 

Life was more or less back to normal and I thought I had healed from this. 

But I attended a retreat right around the 18 month mark where God showed me that I had processed this all mentally, but not emotionally and helped me to walk through it all. 

Read more here: Back to Bassam - the Shack

Years 2- 9

From then on, healing was incremental and life became more and more normal. 
I was still marked by it. 
If you came into my life since that time, and you have had an important part of my life, then I have likely shared the story with you. I know I've shared it in every small group I have been in, every new work team. 

During my first furlough back in the US, I had to share it a lot with people I saw again. That was heavy at times, but also something that God used to minister to others. 

And that has been one of the lessons. God used this horrible thing in my life to make me sensitive to others who have suffered trauma and violence, and to pass on a part of the comfort that he and others shared to me. 

In 2022 and 2023, I first began to get to the point where I could "kind of" enjoy fireworks - usually with noise cancelling headphones and good friends nearby who would understand when I had to go inside. 

In 2025, I actually chose to go downtown to watch fireworks where I would have NO WHERE TO GET AWAY TO if it became too much! 

And now we come to 10 years! 

 Each year I am reminded by the Facebook and photo reminders that come up in the weeks before - from my time in Côte d'Ivoire leading up to the event. I actually had been to the same beach a few weeks earlier and have pictures from that time. 

Perhaps at the 20-year anniversary, this will just be a blip. I might even forget it some years. 

But for now, I am intentional about sitting and remembering where I was, all of you who have walked with me and patiently listened to stories, and how God has brought me to where I am today. I'm grateful for the many people I have met in these 10 years and the extra life that God has given me!

Thank you to each and every one of you! God is good! 

Forever Marked - By Terror, By Grace, By Community

I wrote this about a month ago for our organization's internal "Community of Grace" blog. 
At the time I meant to post it here as well, but forgot. 

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March 13, 2016 was a day that forever marked me. 

I was enjoying a day off at the beach in Grand Bassam, Côte d’Ivoire with two SIL colleagues when terrorists attacked suddenly, killing 19 over the next few hours. We took refuge in an unfinished hotel room, eventually hiding up on top of a wall. Heavy gunfire rang out constantly for over two hours. Within 50 meters of our hiding place, twelve people lost their lives in the final battle on the beach: 8 civilians, 2 Ivorian Soldiers, and 2 terrorists.

After soldiers rescued us, we made our way back to our center. Frankly, I hadn’t been sure if we’d stay up on the wall all night, or if the terrorists would find us and we’d be home with Jesus that night.

Within hours, the photo at right showed up across the internet and on newscasts around the world.

Then began the long process of healing. In my journal that first week, I wrote that I could not see around this thing that happened to me and wondered to myself if I would ever return fully to life again.

I was in a haze the first few days. On the 5th day, I finally cried - deep sobs.

There were wonderful acts of community to carry me towards healing.

• I told the story to many in person and wrote it up and sent it to close friends by email.
• I skyped family and close friends. They were unsure of how to respond and even process what I was telling them but they listened. 
• Meals were provided.
• The first morning I texted our local advisory committee to say there was no way we could have our meeting that night because I’d been in the attacks. A dear Ivorian sister on the committee dropped everything and drove through heavy traffic to come and pray with me. 
• Work obligations were lifted. As acting director awaiting a replacement in a few weeks, I couldn’t just leave, but was told to work only half days. They also decided that I should NOT go speak at the Bible dedication that week, which was a HUGE burden lifted, though disappointing as well). 

Marked in the "Egg Ceremony"

• Special symbols to mark the occasion. On the 5th day, the Ngwala language committee called me up to their workshop for a special “Egg Ceremony” along with the 2 other victims. They gave us each a boiled egg, to peel and eat right there, but first we were to take a bit of the yolk and mark our forwards, to show that we are forever marked by this experience. The egg itself represented the new life we had been given. The Ngwala do this type of ceremony to mark all near death experiences. We found it it so significant, that each year on the anniversary, we boil eggs and eat them and I light some egg-shaped candles I found.  
• The couple that experienced the attack with me returned home to Germany after 2 weeks. We were already friends, but I was bound together with their family through this event. We check in with each other through the years and on anniversaries. 
• Scripture took on new meaning, especially the imprecatory Psalms. Someone shared Psalm 124 the first week and it became OUR Psalm, as if it had been written just for us. 

I returned home to Cameroon after 3 weeks, thinking that a week off there would be enough to get back to normal. Little did I know that would take several months, and healing would continue over several years. 

Back in Cameroon what I needed most was to tell my story to people. 

• My journal has a list of 10 people I told the story to that week. 
• I didn’t need for them to say anything, just listen as I processed and offer presence. Not everyone could do that, but I was grateful for those who did. 
• I didn’t need them to make sense of what happened for me. I was already grappling with God about that. One well-intentioned person I hardly knew offered that “God must have had a purpose for it”. I really did not need to hear that right then and thankfully a close friend told me to just ignore it. 
• That being said, God did use this experience to allow me to be sensitive to others who’ve experienced trauma and minister to them, but that took time. Two years later on my furlough, I found myself meeting with groups and individuals and sharing the story with them, how God had met me and brought healing. It became an open door to connect with them and open up about their own trials in a way I doubt I’ll ever see again. 

Back at work, I still needed grace

One month after the attacks, I found I could finally work a full day and was okay carrying out simple tasks. But larger tasks overwhelmed me.

At the 2-month mark, I was at our International Conference, sitting in the french interpretation booth. I broke down sobbing while translating someone’s testimony and had to pass the mic to the other interpreter. Thankfully, it was someone who had gone through much trauma of her own and she understood perfectly. 
 

Interpreting into French at our International Conference

After that conference , I moved to Germany and that was a way for God to bring me to a “spacious place”, green and quiet and calm. 

An odd feature I have found going to a new place is that no one knows that I experienced this. I found eventually that with new people, I had to evaluate if they were going to be important in my life, and if so, I’d need to share this with them at some point. I joined a small-group Bible study and it comes up. It’s a terribly awkward sort of “oversharing”, but needs to be done if you’re going to go deep with people. And other times, it’s just not worth it. 

It’s also helpful for friends to know to what my triggers are so they can help me navigate them. For example, on New Year’s Eve we might be enjoying the fireworks, and then suddenly I need to go inside and be away from it all.  

God has continued to bring healing and after 1 year, I thought I had gotten past this. At around the 18-month mark, my team went on a retreat. The first day in a half-day alone, God met me there in a unique way. He helped me work through the feelings I had about the event. (Described here in my personal blog). That evening our team met back together to share the day’s events and I shared it all. It was good to be a safe place where there was grace and understanding and freedom to share. 

I’m truly grateful for the communities of grace that God has put me in to bring healing. Thanks to all of you who are part of those! 

Trauma Patchwork

It's been over a month since I was caught up in the attacks on the beach at Grand Bassam on March 13, 2016.

The healing process has been long and slow. For me, it has been a jumble of verses, psalms and songs that God has sent me or brought to mind. I have clung to them and dwelt in them. And the Lord has woven them into a patchwork quilt to keep cover me and keep me dry from the waves and storm.

The Lord reminded me of this verse during the events.
The picture is one I took a few weeks before the attacks. 

Ready for the Storm

by Dougie MacLean (Made popular by Rich Mullins)

The waves crash in and the tide tide pulls out
It's an angry sea but there is no doubt
That the lighthouse will keep shining out To warn the lonely sailor
And the lightning strikes and the wind cuts cold Through the sailor's bones to the sailor's soul
Till there's nothing left that he can hold Except the rolling ocean

But I am ready for the storm, yes sir ready
I am ready for the storm, I'm ready for the storm

Distance it is no real friend And time will take its time
And you will find that in the end It brings you me, the lonely sailor
And when you take me by your side You love me warm, you love me
And I should have realized I had no reason to be frightened

But I am ready for the storm, yes sir ready
I am ready for the storm, I'm ready for the storm

"Ready for the Storm" became the framework and refrain for the lament that I wrote about what we experienced:

It’s shooting outside
And the waves crash in.
Am I ready for the storm
If the waves flood through the door?

Down in the Lowlands (Charlie Peacock)

One of my favorite albums of all time is Russ Taff's self-titled album from 1987, which obviously was born out of some sort of "dark night of the soul". I immediately gravitated back to "Down in the Lowlands" because of the water imagery and the words that cry out from Psalm 69.

The water is up to my neck; I'm sinking in the deep,
There is no foothold to be found anywhere,
I'm very worn out from calling for help,
My throat is hoarse, and dry as a bone,
My eyes, they fail me from looking for you,
Are you looking for me?

Down in the lowlands, where the water is deep,
Hear my cry, hear my shout,
Save me, save me,
Down in the lowlands, where the water is deep,
Hear my cry, hear my shout,
Save me, save me.

Could this be it?
Could I be drowning?
Have I failed to be heard by the only one who can save me? (save me, save me)
Show me some mercy, and touch me again,
Please lift me up above where I am.

I Cannot Tell

A week after the attack, a friend loaned me a keyboard and I started playing old hymns and choruses. This one jumped out and ministered to me, especially the second verse, made poignant by the fact that we were coming up to Passion Week.

A verse from my Sabbatical Time in Kansas City. 

I cannot tell how silently He suffered,
As with His peace He graced this place of tears,
Or how His heart upon the Cross was broken,
The crown of pain to three and thirty years.

But this I know, He heals the broken-hearted,
And stays our sin, and calms our lurking fear,
And lifts the burden from the heavy laden,
For yet the Savior, Savior of the world, is here.

Psalm 124 - What if the Lord had not been on our side?

About a week into this, someone shared Psalm 124 and it really seemed like the entire chapter had been written for us!

It was easy to see God's hand in saving us. But harder to reconcile all the questions that it raised. Why does God allow suffering? Why are some spared and others not? Is my faith just a house of cards, as CS Lewis observes in "A Grief Observed"?

"Why is he so present a commander in our time of prosperity and so very absent a help in time of trouble? Not that I am... In much danger of ceasing to believe in God. The real danger is of coming to believe such dreadful things about him. " (Lewis, p. 8)

The Psalms with their questions, accusations and statements of faith
all mixed together were a great source of comfort and the idea that there was hope that I WILL YET PRAISE HIM!

The questions are unchanged
The cry remains the same
I pray You'll lift me higher; Face to face with who I am
Higher - Above the myths that make the man
Higher - Please hold on to me

Russ Taff, Higher  

I Still Believe
by Michael Been of the Call, as recorded by Russ Taff

I've been out in a cave

For forty days 

With only a spark

To light my way
But I still believe. . .

I'll march this road
And I'll climb this hill
Upon my knees
If I have to

I still believe
I must believe
You can't take that away from me
I still believe.

Hold on to me. I must believe. Bring me into a spacious place.