Tag: Lessons and Musings Page 17 of 21

tear (târ)
v. tore (tôr, tr), torn (tôrn, trn), tear·ing
1. To pull apart or into pieces by force; rend.
2. To separate forcefully; wrench
3. To divide or disrupt

That ache has started.

It’s familiar to me now, so it doesn’t catch me off guard. And I’ve gone through it enough times to know that it’s temporary; that once we get back to Tanzania and life resumes to normal, that I will feel okay again.

We leave two weeks from tomorrow. It’s that season of “lasts” right now. Last visits, last shopping trips, last Taco Bell runs, last times to the park. A season of limbo–that feeling of not belonging anywhere. It’s like standing on the precipice between two worlds. It’s stressful and anxious and I usually don’t sleep very well.

Worse: it’s the season of good-byes.

It feels like ripping a band-aid off of soft skin. Gil said to me last night, “I feel like we come here long enough to realize what we’re missing, and then we leave again.”

There’s just no way around it–it’s hard.

And though the good bye is not forever, now that we have children, it sort of feels that way. Because a year or two can go by in our lives, and not much changes. But a year or two goes by in the life of my children, and everything changes.

It’s loss, really. Not permanent loss, of course–not as tragic as that. But loss of memories. Family vacations and birthdays and Christmases that won’t be spent together. Knowing that even with internet and phone calls and cards, an ocean and two continents separate us. And when we come back, those years can’t be bought back. Loss.

Of course, I know all those things about why we’re going and God’s sovereignty and how He brings beauty from ashes. And I believe it. I do not grieve without hope.

But the sadness is there. It will remain a lump in my stomach for the next few weeks. It will get better again, I know that. But that doesn’t really lessen the pain right now.

How I long for that Day to come. That last Day, when there will no longer be any good byes.

When it’s all been said and done
There is just one thing that matters
Did I do my best to live for truth?
Did I live my life for You?

I love being home. I love seeing my family all the time; I love seeing my kids interact with their grandparents. I love being with an amazing church family and so many friends. I love all the options in grocery stores. I love not feeling sweaty all the time. I love being able to sleep at night without fear of armed robbery.

We’ve done a lot of traveling these past few months; all over California. We’ve visited so many homes in many cities. And there are times I feel the pull of this life. Wouldn’t it be nice to live closer to family? Wouldn’t it be nice to live in a small town in the California mountains? Or downtown in a big city? To have my own house? To be able to attend a Bible study for moms?

It does attract me. Long ago, in college, I couldn’t fathom the idea of living in the States. But now that I am married and have kids and have spent a number of years trying to figure out how to live in a third world country, I must say that this life lures me. A couple of weeks ago, as we were on a long drive through the beautiful Northern California mountains, I asked God, “Don’t you want to call us here?” But nope. No call. Not even a smidgen. I couldn’t think of a single reason why God would want us to live there. It was kind of disappointing.

So, I am packing my bags. I am dreading leaving, but I am not dreading going back. Times like this are good, because they make me evaluate and re-evaluate why we are doing what we are doing. Why we would go halfway across the world away from our families and only get to see them every couple of years. Why we would purposely choose a low salary (by American standards only) and be willing to deal with electricity problems and heat and mosquitoes and a culture that we do not understand.

So why is that?

Because it is a perfect fit for us. Because there is a need that we can perfectly fill. And that makes us called.

And thus, I remember

That this life is not all there is. Heaven is yet to come.

That joy comes through sacrifice.

That by losing my life I will save it.

Piper writes, “Missions is gain! Hundredfold gain!”

Amen.

When it’s all been said done
All my treasures will mean nothing
Only what I’ve done for love’s reward
Will stand the test of time

(When It’s All Been Said and Done by Don Moen)

happy to be spending time in the city where I feel most at home in America. This is where I went to college, where I became independent, where I worked my first “real” job, where I met and fell in love with Gil, where we started our lives together, where we learned how to do ministry. So many wonderful memories here.

humbled by the generosity and hospitality of others. Our friends at FCC are blessing us exceedingly, abundantly by the love they are lavishing on us. How blessed we are!

basking in the warmth of fellowship with old friends. I love to watch my kids play with other kids, I love to see the joy that eminates from FCC Life Groups, I love the hours of deep conversation with people who have known us for 10 years.

wistful because I know it won’t last, lonely because even though we have been welcomed home with open arms, I know we aren’t really a part of each other’s lives again.

and yet…

still missing the life we left behind….hearing about the events at HOPAC and all the things we are missing out on…

and wishing so desperately that somehow we could live
two lives
at once.

Many have said to us, “Welcome Home!” And some have added, “Not that this is really your home.”

Is it?

This is called “Home Assignment.” (Years ago, it was called “Furlough.” Mission organizations changed the name because furlough implies “rest and vacation,” which is not what we are doing.
Well, that’s not entirely what we are doing. I’m sure you’re thinking, “Yeah, right, Amy….all of your pictures show that you are working really, really hard.” Of course, you don’t really want to see pictures of Gil working on sermons or me making appointments. Right? But it is true that December is a bit of a down month for us—it’s not really the time when churches want us to come speak. So instead we are making up for lots of lost grandparent time.)

Anyway. Back to the “Home Assignment” label. Where is our home?

We grew up in California (when I wasn’t in Liberia, in my case). We went to school, met each other, got married in California. Our families are here. We are flooded by memories….people, places, events…everything that made us who we are. We speak the language; we understand the culture; there are so many who love us here.

Yet Gil and I have lived over 6 out of our 9 years of marriage in Tanzania. Life in the States has gone on without us. We can’t keep track of our friends’ kids. Our nieces and nephews have grown up and we have missed it. We are nomads here: We own no home or car and are dependent on the hospitality of others. Tanzania has changed us; we aren’t comfortable with the American way of life. We feel out of place, like we don’t belong.

So then is Tanzania home? We’ve lived there for over 6 years. We have invested blood and sweat and tears (especially sweat) into our ministry. Our children are Tanzanian. Places are familiar to us and we have grown comfortable with the way of life. (Well, until the power goes out).

Yet we will never be Tanzanian. We will always be foreigners, always attract stares wherever we go, always seen as different from the majority. We will never truly understand what it’s like to be Tanzanian. We’ve moved houses four times in the last four years. And our community at Haven of Peace Academy, especially among the staff, is always, constantly, changing. We’ve said good-bye to so many good friends over the last few years that we’ve felt some burnout and depression. It’s made it hard to emotionally invest in anyone other than our students.

As a typical MK, I never felt the need to put down roots. Until I had kids. Now it’s a struggle. But it’s one of those struggles I must be thankful for, because of its sanctifying work in me. For this earth (as it is now) was never meant to be our home. It is all temporal. And as much as I long for security and roots, I must remember that they will always be an illusion. Nothing in this world is secure or permanent. “Home” will never be entirely Tanzania or California. My Home is yet to come.

And [the heroes of the faith] admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country–a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.