Another musing about goodbyes.

We fly to Europe in a week and two days. We have to pack what we will be bringing. There are good friends to say goodbye to in Grand Rapids. Our church family has just sent us off today. We are truly on the eve of leaving this place for a while. For now, I, Jack, am glad that we don't have to say another goodbye for today. I'm eager to board an airplane and land in a different country again. How do we say goodbye to everyone we could? That makes me more anxious than landing in Bucharest.

An electronic goodbye seems terribly inadequate, but how does one really say goodbye to scores of friends in six days? And these aren’t just our acquaintances in Grand Rapids. Kelly and I have so many true friends here, and now that our consciences tell us that we must say a good goodbye, I realize how Good this community has been to us.

(Kelly and I talk about good and Good.  With “good,” it is in the sense of “how are you?” “good.” Move on. Small good. “Good” connects to something more than what meets our eyes. “Good” is something that connects God and Man. “Good” is what Switchfoot was getting at in “More than Fine.” This will recur in this blog, I’m sure, unless it already came up years ago. And now “good” looks strange from typing it so much.)

So, thank you, dear brothers and sisters of ours. We are held together not simply by our own efforts, but by the strings of the Holy Spirit that connect all people who know each other in love. If we don’t come to your doorstep or meet you for lunch or see you at a party or stop by Calvin to say goodbye to you in the next week, I am so, so sorry. Perhaps a true, all-out showing of love would be to see everyone here whom we love, but I honestly don’t think it’s possible.

The day after Kelly and I became engaged was one of the best days of my life because SO MANY people hugged me (and her). The joy of the day was present in every embrace. For my whole life, I have oddly looked forward to goodbyes that I know will involve a hug, mainly because of the hug. The hugs this week will come in the sadness of love, and the joy of love.  And I dearly hope that we can hug you a Good goodbye. If not, then may our paths cross again someday.

Advent goodbyes.

I'm sitting at my in-laws' house in Ohio, enjoying the stability of almost two weeks in one place after two weeks of constant traveling, and pondering what it means to say goodbye.  It's good to be here, and our trip to the east coast to see dearly beloved friends and family was life-giving and full of joy and simply fun.  But yesterday, after settling our duffle bags on the floor of Jack's old bedroom, I felt a wave of sadness wash over me.

I'm grieving the loss of Grand Rapids.

It is good to be here with family, and with the friends and places that have been part of Jack's entire life.  But this place isn't home to me like Grand Rapids or Decorah, and so in these weeks of rest during Advent, waiting for the celebration of Christmas, I'm recognizing grief at the loss of home.  Honestly, it's a bit hard for me to be content in a less-familiar place during this last month in the States -- especially because there are so many people and places and sights and sounds that I miss already, that I long to spend precious last days with -- at least, the last for a while.

I already knew I was going to mourn the absence of our community in GR -- the Bradfords and Genzinks right on our street, with their adorable children and open-door hospitality; my friends from work and trivia nights together; old roommates and Calvin friends and dear coworkers from the Service-Learning Center; the colorful array of faces at City Hope; my brother just minutes away.  I know I will miss them, and I dread the good-byes.  But at least they can write emails or come visit.  Our apartment, our neighborhood, our street -- those are the places we simply leave, closing the door, no longer residents of East Hills.  We know we are choosing to go somewhere else, obedient to a call, hoping that this new place will also become a dearly beloved community.

So I'm a bit sad, as is probably expected the month before you uproot your entire life and move halfway around the world.  But we also just learned the other day about where exactly we'll be living our first few months in Romania, and that fills me with hope.  Jack and I will be renting a bedroom in an apartment owned by an elderly widow named Otilia; she also rents a room to a medical student in Targu Mures.  Living with Romanians will be great for our language skills, and will also, I think, assuage some of the loneliness and grief I'm feeling right now.  Plus, the apartment is close to downtown, right on many public transit routes, and she's an active member of the local Baptist church -- all things we are excited about!  So if I'm honest, this grief is mixed with real excitement and joy at the possibility of loving more people and more places, of being welcomed into new communities and creating new homes.  I guess, as always, this is just the tension of knowing and loving people in more than one place.  And it feels right, in Advent, to be filled with all sorts of longings for the future, and to be filled with hope for the day when all will be reconciled and made right.

So to all of you who we are leaving behind, please know that you come with us too.  We will miss you enormously, but we are also so excited to expand the circle of people we know and love, and to experience in more fullness the huge diversity of the Kingdom of God.  We pray the same for you.

Anticipation.

We bought tickets two days ago. 

One-way tickets to Romania, for January 8, 2013.  Minneapolis to Newark to Frankfurt to Bucharest.

Eeeeee!  It's real!!!!

Beginning again.

It feels a little funny to start up writing on this blog again, as I sit at our kitchen table in Michigan.  A lot has changed since my last post -- most notably, I'm now married!  Now as I look back through posts from my previous time abroad, it makes me smile to read them and re-live the memories, the hard learning curves, the moments of surprising clarity.  God has been faithful to this Iowa girl who somehow got to travel the world.  And He's faithful still.

So.  Jack and I are going back.  We got married in June, and in January of 2013 we're heading back to Romania, back to Lupeni, to work with New Horizons.  It's a dream come true in many ways -- I mean, moving to a beautiful place that makes me feel really alive, with my closest friend alongside?  Such a gift.  We're currently in the throes of support-raising, which is not my favorite task in the world, but this too is a learning experience.  I love sharing the story of FNO, and Romania, and the way God has worked to bring us there together.  I hate asking people for money... but that's just a testament to my pride, I think, and my fierce independence.  So I'm learning.  I really do believe that we as people only thrive when we're connected to each other, so depending on others for our support in a very tangible, material way -- well, I guess we're really putting our money where our mouth is.

I'll write more at another time about some of the details of what we'll be doing upon the return to Lupeni, etc.  Perhaps Jack will write too.  Regardless, it's good to resurrect this thing (even if I'm the only one who knows it's up) -- and I can't wait to see what's on the next blank page.