The condo is empty. All signs of the three children who were raised there are erased by a fresh coat of paint and a good scrubbing.
The upstairs bedroom is stuffy and bursting. Breaking boxes line the wall, waiting to be sorted through. Each child has a spot to call their own on pillows on the floor, each with a special blanket to mark it as home. The room is empty too.
The van is creaky, the windows splattered with countless bugs. The kids are each snuggled in their own carseat – perhaps more at home in their carseats than anywhere else. Toys in baskets are only minimally interesting at this point and conversations revolve around “where we going next?”
We are no longer fully invested in our lives in New Hampshire. We still feel the pain of difficult situations in our church [as there are in any church family] but we are not available to help. That makes the heartache even more difficult as we feel for people but are far away – a harbinger of things to come!
We have not yet lived in Uganda and do not know many people there, but we spend our days and nights talking about it. We are forced to share with others as if we are the experts on Uganda – perhaps we are more expert than those who haven’t read every book available on Uganda and the surrounding region. But we are, by no means, experts.
The life between worlds is a very difficult life, probably more than we even understand now. Our children are used to goodbyes (although Ana really struggles with goodbyes as she is just at the age where she understands that a goodbye means that we will not see that person “on the next day”). We feel the pain of the daily ins and outs of life in a sinful world in our home church family as we feel the pain of lack of milk in the orphanage in Uganda. Thoughts of abandoned babies and untrained pastors hungry for God’s word jumble with thoughts of new babies born in New Hampshire, aging grandparents, and lonely people in every locale that we visit.
Although this life on the road is a bit extreme, our life in Uganda will only be slightly different. Living away from our family and friends will not lessen the joys and heartache that we will feel for them. Living away from them will only mean that we cannot act on our joy and pain as we would like to. Living away from them means that we will slip from their minds a little, or in some cases, completely. Living away from friends and family means that we will often be praying for them without knowing exactly how to pray.
We will certainly be seeking out friendships in Uganda, but do not expect to find a church home quite like ours in New Hampshire, not friends as close as family as we cross cultures. We believe in a God who is sovereign and watches out for us and seeks the best for us. We rest in Him. We rest on His promises and care. We trust that He knows what we need more than we know ourselves. And this is joy!
The upstairs bedroom is stuffy and bursting. Breaking boxes line the wall, waiting to be sorted through. Each child has a spot to call their own on pillows on the floor, each with a special blanket to mark it as home. The room is empty too.
The van is creaky, the windows splattered with countless bugs. The kids are each snuggled in their own carseat – perhaps more at home in their carseats than anywhere else. Toys in baskets are only minimally interesting at this point and conversations revolve around “where we going next?”
We are no longer fully invested in our lives in New Hampshire. We still feel the pain of difficult situations in our church [as there are in any church family] but we are not available to help. That makes the heartache even more difficult as we feel for people but are far away – a harbinger of things to come!
We have not yet lived in Uganda and do not know many people there, but we spend our days and nights talking about it. We are forced to share with others as if we are the experts on Uganda – perhaps we are more expert than those who haven’t read every book available on Uganda and the surrounding region. But we are, by no means, experts.
The life between worlds is a very difficult life, probably more than we even understand now. Our children are used to goodbyes (although Ana really struggles with goodbyes as she is just at the age where she understands that a goodbye means that we will not see that person “on the next day”). We feel the pain of the daily ins and outs of life in a sinful world in our home church family as we feel the pain of lack of milk in the orphanage in Uganda. Thoughts of abandoned babies and untrained pastors hungry for God’s word jumble with thoughts of new babies born in New Hampshire, aging grandparents, and lonely people in every locale that we visit.
Although this life on the road is a bit extreme, our life in Uganda will only be slightly different. Living away from our family and friends will not lessen the joys and heartache that we will feel for them. Living away from them will only mean that we cannot act on our joy and pain as we would like to. Living away from them means that we will slip from their minds a little, or in some cases, completely. Living away from friends and family means that we will often be praying for them without knowing exactly how to pray.
We will certainly be seeking out friendships in Uganda, but do not expect to find a church home quite like ours in New Hampshire, not friends as close as family as we cross cultures. We believe in a God who is sovereign and watches out for us and seeks the best for us. We rest in Him. We rest on His promises and care. We trust that He knows what we need more than we know ourselves. And this is joy!
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