We are in a season of leavings on the ship. It happens every year, every time we finish a field service and prepare for the next, and in our world we joke sometimes that our only constant is change.
We've been here long enough that the sharp edge has been taken off the whole process, knowing as we do that the next country will bring joys and sorrows and friends who, while not the same as the ones we leave behind, will become just as dear to us in different ways.
But it's still difficult, honestly. I'm a homebody and a root-sender, and it's not easy for my heart to be replanted in completely different soil this often. It's all well and good to say that I'm looking forward to the next country and the next set of people that will walk up the gangway, but there's still a dull ache that never quite goes away when you stand on the dock and wave as a Landrover turns the corner heading for the gate.
It's hard living like this, one foot on either side of the threshold in a house that's never where you left it last. It's tricky to find the right way to express all this, the way you feel pulled in so many different directions, wanting to stay and go all at the same time, never feeling quite sure where home is and who belongs there anymore.
So here are a couple links from friends' blogs who have written about this liminal time. Sometimes it's easier to let other people speak for me.
Krissy gives us a look at just what it takes to transform from a hospital to a seaworthy ship in just two short weeks.
I love Tracey's heart and the honesty with which she speaks about the last things.
Susan shares Carys' speech from last Thursday when she graduated from the Academy along with Lara and Michelle, girls I've had the honor of calling friends over the past few years. The ceremony had me in tears between hearing these women speak with such wisdom and imagining my own firstborn doing the same some day in a future that all of a sudden didn't feel so distant.
And here's a short clip from the celebration with our day volunteers last week as we said goodbye to them, too. This is why it hurts to leave Africa, even if it's only for a few weeks.
We've been here long enough that the sharp edge has been taken off the whole process, knowing as we do that the next country will bring joys and sorrows and friends who, while not the same as the ones we leave behind, will become just as dear to us in different ways.
But it's still difficult, honestly. I'm a homebody and a root-sender, and it's not easy for my heart to be replanted in completely different soil this often. It's all well and good to say that I'm looking forward to the next country and the next set of people that will walk up the gangway, but there's still a dull ache that never quite goes away when you stand on the dock and wave as a Landrover turns the corner heading for the gate.
It's hard living like this, one foot on either side of the threshold in a house that's never where you left it last. It's tricky to find the right way to express all this, the way you feel pulled in so many different directions, wanting to stay and go all at the same time, never feeling quite sure where home is and who belongs there anymore.
So here are a couple links from friends' blogs who have written about this liminal time. Sometimes it's easier to let other people speak for me.
Krissy gives us a look at just what it takes to transform from a hospital to a seaworthy ship in just two short weeks.
I love Tracey's heart and the honesty with which she speaks about the last things.
Susan shares Carys' speech from last Thursday when she graduated from the Academy along with Lara and Michelle, girls I've had the honor of calling friends over the past few years. The ceremony had me in tears between hearing these women speak with such wisdom and imagining my own firstborn doing the same some day in a future that all of a sudden didn't feel so distant.
And here's a short clip from the celebration with our day volunteers last week as we said goodbye to them, too. This is why it hurts to leave Africa, even if it's only for a few weeks.