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.