by Jamie Wright
Looking it over, the old man gave a little whistle of approval, and then he read it out loud: “Act justly….Love mercy….Walk humbly.”
I said, “Yup. That’s what it says.”
And then he looked at me and asked, “So do you?”
I was like, “Do I what?”
He said, “Do you act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly?”
No one had ever asked me that, and it caught me completely off guard. I stammered, “Oh…um, no. No, I guess not….I mean, not really. Not always….But I want to. I really do.”
Then he gave me a wink and warm, wise smile, and with a fatherly pat on the arm, he said, “I’ll keep trying if you will.”
I nodded and smiled back.
“I’ll do my best.”
First, and most important, thank you to my sons, Stephen, Dylan, and Jamison, who never need to read this book, because they had to live it. Some will wonder why you three don’t feature more prominently in these pages and the truth is, I thought a lot about how and when to include you. But I imagine that your perspective as children who were dragged across the world by your rather unstable parents is a little different from mine. I simply couldn’t do justice to the heartache, fear, and loneliness inflicted upon you as kids, and it wasn’t fair to leave that part out of the story. Neither could I accurately capture the courage, willingness, and enduring humor you brought to our adventures. In the end, I realized that’s a whole other book and, quite frankly, it’s not mine to write. Good or bad, we gave you your childhood, and that means you own it. It’s yours. So, in general, I left you—my three favorite and most beloved people—out of my first memoir, not as an act of exclusion, but in an attempt to honor you. Should you ever decide to tell your story in your words, you have my blessing (even if I look like a dipshit). Thank you for letting me be your mom, for loving me despite my messiness, and for still speaking to me now that you’re all grown up and totally don’t have to. You are the absolute best!
There aren’t enough words to convey my thankfulness for Steve, who built me a lovely office, handed me the keys, and said, “Now go write.” You trusted me to tell our story even when it wasn’t favorable, and that’s a pretty big deal. I am beyond grateful for everything you’ve ever done for me.
If not for a brave circle of spiritual sisters, this book would never have happened. You girls amaze and inspire me, you teach me, you love me, and you make me laugh until I pee. You told me I could write a book, and I trust you so much, I had no choice but to believe you. You are a fierce bunch of kick-ass women, and I’m honored to be counted among you. #ASSSForever
My brother, Scott, and sister-in-law, Sarah, saw me through every tiny detail of this long process with interest and enthusiasm. Plus, playdates with Georgia and Penny were my greatest and most consistent respite from writing, I honestly would have died without them. Thank you for everything!
To my clever sisters, Sarah and Emily, my wonder twin, the other Jaime, my brilliant cheerleader, Libby, and the greatest mom-in-law of all time, Patty, who saved my sanity by calling, texting, and dragging me out of my office for coffee dates, lunch breaks, and long late-night chats—I owe you each a cheesecake and a million dollars. Thanks for not quitting me.
My friends in SFB, to whom I am so grateful for allowing me to share in their collective humor, outrage, kindness, honesty, intelligence, and general badassery—thank you. Everyone should be so lucky.
Sincere thanks also to: My literary agent, Rachelle Gardner, who waited six long years for my proposal and never stopped gently reminding me. The whole team at Convergent Books, but especially David Kopp, who guided me through the scary world of book writing with the patience of a saint, and didn’t make me feel like The Very Worst Author (even though I blew a hundred deadlines and used tons of italics and ALL CAPS, and also, about, a dozen, commas in, pretty much, every, sentence). And my hero editor, Heather Kopp, who literally saved my shitty first draft from the trash heap and helped mold it into a thing that I’m not completely embarrassed to let people see.
Last, I offer my heartfelt gratitude to the original readers, you who stumbled across an ugly amateur blog so many years ago and kept coming back for more. You were the first to call me a writer, and your encouragement changed my life. When my laptop died, you came together (before crowdsourcing was even a thing) and surprised me with a new MacBook—hand delivered to Costa Rica—so that I wouldn’t stop writing. That was the greatest vote of confidence I’d ever received, and it came from a bunch of strangers. How do you thank people you’ve never met for giving you the gift of purpose? I mean, at the very least, I probably owe you guys a beer or something.
Cheers!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JAMIE WRIGHT is a writer and speaker best known for her snarky faith and lifestyle blog, The Very Worst Missionary. As a passionate advocate for missions reform and humanitarian aid that is sensible, meaningful, and enduring, she has traveled the world sharing her experience with churches, nonprofits, and universities. She procrastinates in Northern California, where she lives with her family, two dumb dogs, and an evil cat.
Website: theveryworstmissionary.com
Facebook: facebook.com/jamietheveryworstmissionary
Twitter: @jamiethevwm
Instagram: @jamiethevwm
Booking: chaffeemanagement.com/jamie-wright