One of the things I’ve had to learn this year is that life goes on while I’m on the World Race- back home life is still going on as it would if I hadn’t left. Me being gone has not stopped the planet from spinning. As hard as it was for me to accept that my friend’s & family’s lives go on without me, It was even more difficult when I realized that life isn’t the only thing that goes on while I’m gone- so does death.
On January 15, 2015, one of my favorite people on this earth passed away from cancer. Her name is Cyndee Buck & she had fought it & won previously but it came back to get her. She was like a mother to me & I was not prepared to handle losing her.
January was a month of firsts for me. It was my first month with my new team, first time in Africa, first time doing Unsung Heroes, & first time losing someone.
The first country on our Africa route was Malawi- one of the least developed countries in the world (at least that’s what I was told & what I experienced). Even though we were supposed to have regular access to wifi (because of our responsibilities that month), my team found it nearly impossible to find a reliable source of Internet. Not only was it a struggle to find Internet, but we also happened to be in Malawi when the flooding was taking place- this made moving around Malawi a nightmare.
In the beginning of the month I realized that it had become very hard for me to have a positive attitude. I was overcome by a sense of nothingness. I felt like all I could see or feel around me was the color gray. I knew that leaving my old team (Kenosis) & joining my new team (Gold) was going to be difficult but I didn’t think it would make me depressed!
Every day that passed by, I found myself becoming more & more distant from the people & world surrounding me. When teammates talked to me, my mouth moved in response but I had nothing to say to them. Every day I woke up to rain & every night I went to sleep with rain. I started to feel like the color was draining from my world. All I was eating at this point was a couple slices of bread with some peanut butter, soup broth, & tea. I can count on one hand the number of times I actually consumed what the world would define as a meal- it wasn’t like I was abusing myself or anything- I just no longer had a desire to eat. My appetite was gone.
The only time I was able to feel God in the first half of our month was when I danced. In our first hostel there was a long corridor that everyone emptied out of when it got late- this place was my sanctuary for 4 glorious nights. As soon as everyone went to bed, I slipped out with my iPod & quickly made my way to the hall. I would dance for hours until I felt like I had gotten everything out of my system. When I dance, it’s like I’m having a conversation with God- I’m telling him about my problems, my worries, doubts, & frustrations. It’s the most personal way for me to communicate with Him. Those nights were the only thing that kept me going. Then we left Zomba, Malawi & headed for Blantyre.
When we got to our Blantyre hostel (Doogles), I quickly realized that there was no private place in which I could dance. Every night that passed by without my dancing, I felt a depression closing further over me. I felt like I was dying.
January 14th, I could no longer handle what I wasn’t feeling. I wanted to genuinely laugh, I wanted to be happy about something, I wanted to dream again, I wanted to feel something aside from the nothingness that had consumed me. I had become the opposite of what God made me to be- joyful.
Every day was a fight to get up – even though the water never touched me, I was drowning in the floods of Malawi.
On the night of January 14th, I borrowed one teammate’s laptop & another’s hard drive & watched two movies: How to Train Your Dragon & Brave.
It might sound odd to you, but God speaks to me through movies & what he said to me that night through the combination of those two was along these lines: “Do not give up on flying because your attempts haven’t been successful. You need to let me do the work. Trust me. Lean on me. I’ll help you to dream again.”
I went to bed around 2 that night. It was the first time since Zomba that I went to sleep without crying first. It felt like a droplet of color had been released back into my heart.
The next morning (January 15th) was a travel day- we were going to check out a small village called Phalombe. When I woke up that morning, I couldn’t explain it….but I felt like I had lost my mother. I remember journaling about what I was going through- I wrote, “I don’t know what happened since last night, but the color is gone again. I feel like a bit of beauty & magic has left the world. Something is different & I don’t know what happened. God, will this depression ever end?”
God put it on my heart that day to pray for the Buck family. I did. That night I got to see one of the most beautiful displays of God’s handiwork in the sky: stars unhindered by industrialization & lights. I could’ve counted them that night. I stared at them for almost an hour.
By January 17th, my team was back at Doogles hostel in Blantyre. For the first time that month, I decided I was going to attempt to contact my people back home. I purchased a wifi card & it worked. A flood of messages came in. The first of which came from one of my best friends- Cyndee’s son. He explained through a trail of texts that attacked my heart & soul that (at first) Cyndee was getting worse & then finally that she had passed.
I let out a gasp, covered my mouth with both hands, dropped my iPod while excusing myself from my teammates table, & jogged away from everyone. There was nowhere I could go to be alone. No place where I could scream or cry. Not only was she dead but I hadn’t heard about it until 2 days later. I felt like I had been robbed.
I made it to the parking lot (a gravel plot of land beside the hostel) & collapsed onto the ground. I’d never experienced soul-crushing loss like this before. I was sure that she was going to make it the remaining 6 months until I was back home. I had not been prepared to say goodbye. I was so angry at God. I demanded to know why she had to go & why I couldn’t be there to thank her for everything she’d taught me & done for me in the short time I’d known her.
All I wanted was to tell her that I loved her & that I missed her & I couldn’t anymore. She was gone.
God sent an English speaking man to comfort me. He explained how he had just lost someone also. He held me & let me cry into his shoulder. After we parted ways, I climbed the wall that separated our hostel from the world outside. I stared out into the mountains & the beautiful sky for over an hour. The man brought me ice water & tissues & left me to mourn.
God put a song in my heart- “It is well” by Bethel. I did my best to sing it but I couldn’t stop crying. God let me know that he was going to take care of her family & that even though her body was gone that her legacy would live on. He told me to remember the lessons she taught me & that she was no longer in pain. I sat on that wall & remembered all my favorite times with her. I thanked God that he brought her into my life- however short the time was. I thanked him for the opportunities I had to see & speak to her through facetime over Thanksgiving & Christmas. He had let me say goodbye.
I went through my memories & summarized what I had learned from Cyndee- I tucked these lessons deep into my heart. She taught me to love others even when it’s hard because everyone has something going on beneath the surface, that it’s okay not to be perfect (in fact messing up can make life better), that beauty is so much deeper than skin, & that God will always be there.
I wrote in my journal that day, “The Lord is Faithful. He Will Provide. Everything Will Be Okay.”
So, my dearest Cyndee, I just want to say:
While my world shines a bit dimmer now, I know heaven shines a bit brighter. Thank you for bringing so much laughter and joy into my life. You are such a beautiful example of walking with God in a strong way. You are and forever will be missed. I love you Cyndee Buck. I’ll see you there.
I had purchased a small black wooden elephant from a man outside of Doogles previously & had been trying to decide on a name. After hearing about Cyndee it was obvious- she loved elephants – the name would be Cyndee.
Over the next few days, the only time that elephant left my hand was if it was in my pocket instead. Amidst all of the pain, I found it amusing that I was walking around with an elephant in my pocket. It made so much sense to me when God told me to make it into a necklace – I was trying to hide something very big from the world- the pain of losing a mother figure. He wanted me to share my loss with the world. Through my prayers for her family & begging God to help me through my grieving process, I rubbed almost all of the black paint off. The small trinket now looks much older than it actually is because I’ve rubbed grooves into it & picked away at the imperfections in the wood. As time passed, I decided to do what God suggested & turned it into a long hemp necklace. I’ve worn it regularly since. People started asking me about it & I used the opportunities to be honest about what it represented. I got to spread Cyndee’s lessons to so many more people by wearing my elephant instead of hiding it. Sometimes that’s what we have to do to grieve- talk about the good things.
Every time I see my elephant, I remember the lessons of love that Cyndee left behind. I miss her.
Only a couple days after the news of her passing, my team was invited to a church service nearby- we attended & got to hear all 4 of the choirs they had to offer. The one that brought me the most joy was the very last. It was a group of middle aged to elderly women that slowly made their way up to the front of the church where we were sitting. As I watched them, I could sense the determination in their steps. I didn’t know what they were singing but it felt like they were dedicating themselves to something. It was like a beautifully melodic chant. As my eyes fell over the line of about 10 women, I could’ve sworn that I saw Cyndee marching behind them all. I blinked rapidly in an attempt to hold back the tears but they came anyway. A man made his way over to me & translated the song for me. The women were singing their allegiances to the army of God. They were declaring strength over themselves in His name. They sang that the pain of this life doesn’t matter compared to eternity with God.
It was in that moment that God began to assure me of those truths. Cyndee had been reunited with our Heavenly Father & she was no longer in pain. She has been set free & she is in a much better place than us.
Later in the service, when I had to introduce myself (it’s required when you’re a white missionary in Malawi), I explained why I was crying. I didn’t stop there though- God asked me to share what I had learned through her passing. So, in front of this church full of people who didn’t know me & would probably never see me again, through tears, & in an unbearably shaky voice I repeated the sentences I had said to myself a hundred times since her passing:
“The Lord is faithful.”
“He will provide.”
“Everything will be okay.”
Every day that goes by, God convinces me more and more that these sentences are the truth.
Our God is faithful to us- he will never leave us – he will stay by our side & carry us when we ask him to – when we are no longer strong enough to keep going, he will provide for our every need. When we put our trust in God, everything will be okay. Eternity in heaven is coming for all of us that allow Jesus to be our Savior. It will be better than anything we could possibly imagine. It is my prayer for all of you that you put your faith in God & you allow him to care for you. You will know no better peace than living in his presence.
Until next time,
~ Vashti W.
Fundraising update:
I only need another $1,219 to become fully funded!! This has been such an amazing & much needed journey full of discipleship, missions work, learning to live in christian community, & learning how to follow God no matter what he calls me to or asks of me. It would be such a blessing to me if you or anyone you know could donate to my account. Even $5 makes a difference. I could not have afforded this trip without all of the people that stepped up & helped me. I am so thankful & more blessed than you all know. Thank you.
If you’re able to donate, you can do it online through my blog by clicking the “support me” link & following the directions. Thank you so much!
