The clock ticks.
My mind whirls.
The lists grow inside my head, then are forgotten once I find paper and pen.
Too many tasks...too many piles of clothes.
The walls glisten with new paint and the shelves are no longer full. My temporary-now-home will once again become someone else's place to lay their head. Packing a family of seven and heaven knows how many suitcases is a dubious job that I sometimes wish was not my role. It's in these moments that I dream of the day when I won't have to figure out 2 1/2 years of clothing and schooling for my children and determine what is and isn't important enough to carry to Uganda.
This walk through 'the Matrix' of good-byes and hellos, exiting and re-entering culture, is like a steady thumping in my head. How? Will we manage yet again? Will it take me six months to re-adjust to our home overseas where I'm left thinking about how my every word and action is perceived? Yes, I will once again be a western woman in an African world.
Will I really be back home again? With sweet bird songs to wake me and African sunsets to warm my back? To hug my dear people who call me "Auntie" and "Mama Elisha". Yes, it is soon. Gracious is our God to allow us the privilege to call Uganda home and make her people ours. Soon I'll be eating g-nuts and matokee, wearing skirts, singing in Luganda, riding moterbikes side saddle, running in "the bush", and enjoying the land where relationship is more important than getting the job done.
My eyes fill with tears as I try not to think ahead of the good byes that are looming, waiting. We are not strangers to these partings. Twelve years of life as a missionary breaks little chunks off of my heart with each parting hug for the umpteenth time. The wonder of when we'll kiss little ones cheeks again or hug old necks? To miss so many seasons and changes in these dear lives. These pits in our stomachs fade with time, then return with another good-bye. Oh the longing for Heaven, when we will no longer wonder if a funeral will bring us back together again. When we will behold Jesus, surrounded by those who we love, never whispering "I'll miss you" again.
It is too much for these earthly beings...BUT God. He is good. In these moments where I feel everything pressing in, He takes my hand and leads me. My heart is turned and is expectant. He fills in the gaps and points my eyes to Him! He reminds me this is not about me and my comfort. It isn't about piles of clothes, paint cans, or another list. It's about living for something greater then myself.
The moments whirl. My heart soars. My mind remembers. Oh yes, I'm going home.
My mind whirls.
The lists grow inside my head, then are forgotten once I find paper and pen.
Too many tasks...too many piles of clothes.
The walls glisten with new paint and the shelves are no longer full. My temporary-now-home will once again become someone else's place to lay their head. Packing a family of seven and heaven knows how many suitcases is a dubious job that I sometimes wish was not my role. It's in these moments that I dream of the day when I won't have to figure out 2 1/2 years of clothing and schooling for my children and determine what is and isn't important enough to carry to Uganda.
This walk through 'the Matrix' of good-byes and hellos, exiting and re-entering culture, is like a steady thumping in my head. How? Will we manage yet again? Will it take me six months to re-adjust to our home overseas where I'm left thinking about how my every word and action is perceived? Yes, I will once again be a western woman in an African world.
Will I really be back home again? With sweet bird songs to wake me and African sunsets to warm my back? To hug my dear people who call me "Auntie" and "Mama Elisha". Yes, it is soon. Gracious is our God to allow us the privilege to call Uganda home and make her people ours. Soon I'll be eating g-nuts and matokee, wearing skirts, singing in Luganda, riding moterbikes side saddle, running in "the bush", and enjoying the land where relationship is more important than getting the job done.
My eyes fill with tears as I try not to think ahead of the good byes that are looming, waiting. We are not strangers to these partings. Twelve years of life as a missionary breaks little chunks off of my heart with each parting hug for the umpteenth time. The wonder of when we'll kiss little ones cheeks again or hug old necks? To miss so many seasons and changes in these dear lives. These pits in our stomachs fade with time, then return with another good-bye. Oh the longing for Heaven, when we will no longer wonder if a funeral will bring us back together again. When we will behold Jesus, surrounded by those who we love, never whispering "I'll miss you" again.
It is too much for these earthly beings...BUT God. He is good. In these moments where I feel everything pressing in, He takes my hand and leads me. My heart is turned and is expectant. He fills in the gaps and points my eyes to Him! He reminds me this is not about me and my comfort. It isn't about piles of clothes, paint cans, or another list. It's about living for something greater then myself.
The moments whirl. My heart soars. My mind remembers. Oh yes, I'm going home.
