Over the past few months, I've said more goodbyes than I can count. People that have become a huge part of my life, sisters and brothers and second/third/fourth-moms and uncles in Christ... are suddenly several hundred or thousand miles away... close enough for an occasional phone call or Skype-date, but much too far for hugs or every-day-life interactions.
It's a strange feeling. Part of me knows that this is the norm for missionaries. And another part of me retaliates, saying things like, "it's not fair!" and "am I doing something wrong?" Realizing I have many dear friends around the world but none in the city where I'm residing (as of the moment) makes me feel a bit... discombobulated.
A neighbor recently lent me a book that her sister (who happens to be a missionary in Ivory Coast, West Africa) wrote. After reading many funny, oddly-familiar stories about transitioning into African culture and experiencing disorienting culture shock, I flipped back to the part about goodbyes. The author expressed how I feel about this so well that I thought I'd share her words with you.
Goodbyes
“The first condition of happiness, reasons Augustine, is that it be permanent. To love what can be lost is to live in fear. Freedom from fear, therefore, can be found only in the immutable possession of an unchanging object and the only object independent of flux is God." – Gordon H. Clark
Though missionaries are a highly mobile community, it is a deep, rich community. Even though its members constantly move on to different assignments, they still have friends all over the world. We have gained from each of our friends in special ways. I learned from an older friend how to accept whatever God gives us in life and carry on. Their departure would be difficult, but as with anything difficult in life, they had accepted it and moved on – now so would we…
Once I was sitting by a missionary colleague during a conference, and she commented about this difficult aspect of missionary life. She said there are only two options for survival: to love quickly and deeply, or not to love at all. In the former course you hurt badly every time you move on and a relationship is broken, but in the latter you shut yourself off from loving anyone, and while it is true that you do not hurt when someone leaves, you also begin slowly to die within – no one can live without giving and receiving love.
We have a common bond with other missionaries and we need each other more in a place where life is rough and comforts are few. Backgrounds, interests, and age no longer seem to matter much. Our friendships tend to run deep and fast making them all the more difficult to break off. How can you face the subtle prolonged grief of always saying goodbye? When you love deeply it rips you apart and leaves you hurting. Some people cannot face it and leave to put down more permanent roots back home. I cannot blame them. Though we repeatedly hurt, we also repeatedly run to the Lord who heals all our wounds. We cry and He comforts us. We grieve and He holds us. The more we hurt the more He heals us, and the more it becomes apparent that there is no end to the fountain of His grace.
As I stood in our no-frills kitchen in the village with the evening breeze coming through our open window and the night quickly following with the setting sun, I felt the tears welling up inside me as I remembered once again those who had left. Yet God was there. He would always be. He is the one thing that never changes. He only is always sure to fill that emptiness completely. This life is only temporary; we are just passing through and moving on to better ground. We are doing our best with what we have, trying to please our Lord, until we arrive safely home to our final resting place. There we shall see all those we have been parted from for so long, and we will greet them – never to say “goodbye” again. "
from At the Edge of the Village: Musings of a Missionary Wife, by Lisa Leidenfrost
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