| I can’t say they didn’t warn us.
All throughout our preparation to serve with Pioneer Bible Translators, we were prepped for what we would face on the field. Culture shock, disillusionment, difficulties navigating relationships with nationals and with missionary teammates, guilt, loneliness, feeling like a person without a country, questioning God’s calling, doubting His goodness – they’re all part and parcel of the whole missionary gig. Then there’s the one we’re feeling right now: constant transition.
In September, we returned to the land of Big Macs and dog sweaters. It’s been a whirlwind, visiting 15 churches in five states, adding a new baby to the family, traveling some 4000 miles with our lively young crew, living and homeschooling out of suitcases for four months, buying all the American goods we will need for the next two years…we’ve barely had time to breathe, let alone sleep.
Suddenly, it was over. It felt like we just arrived, and then we had to say our good-byes to Tim’s family in New York. We hugged them, the kids hugged them, everyone smiled, and I got that familiar sinking feeling, questioning the choice we made to raise these children half a world away from their grandparents. I consider that Rose and Everett can’t wrap their minds around how long two years are, and that’s probably for the best. Because we grown-ups can, and it hurts to think about it.
Three years ago, just before we moved to East Africa, I wrote about the sacrifices our families make by sending us to the mission field with their blessing. While that knowledge doesn’t get much easier to accept with time, the fact is that if it was worth it to go, then it is worth it to stay for as long as God calls us, to see it through.
So we soaked up those moments with the people we love in our home country. We pushed away the thought that in three weeks we would be going back, and we enjoyed every moment until we were exhausted with all the love and the happiness. We took pictures, but most of all we created memories that we could recall later and let them sustain the ties with our loved ones.
Please don’t think, though, that our lives are sad because they are nomadic. The other side of the coin is that we experience the richness of having two places to call home, and two sets of people we love. We are not just saying goodbye to our loved ones here. We are also saying hello to everyone and everything we have missed in our East African home. We talk about this with the kids a lot, the idea that no matter where we go, we have people that we love around us, and other people we are missing.
When the day came to say goodbye to America, we turned our hearts to Africa, where we also now have people and places we love, foods and traditions we enjoy, and a house full of memories in the shadow of the mountains. We’ll snuggle under the mosquito net, let the sweat trickle down our temples, listen to the monkeys running across the roof, and remember that all those hellos and goodbyes mean that we have family and friends on both sides of the world. |
