that we should call it homeAugust 19, 2015
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It’s three weeks since we left this little corner of the globe for our holiday, if that word rightly applies. Having been ‘back’ a few days now, got my head around the change, the return, the messing up of schedules and the run-off of trinkets with new homes to be found, I’m sitting again in the familiar chair pondering what I learnt, how I moved, and how much was my soul watered and relaxed by the break.
It’s a missionaries prerogative to return home and yet not really know where that is. Mission work does that, it waters down the notion of home, condenses it into a suitcase and all the while expands it’s borders. It’s a addictive feeling, something I can only faintly liken to having a long distance relationship, the pull of the other always carried while the weight of the present feels comfortably right. It splits you, breaks you, and mends you in a way that leaves your feet itching and heart wild. And it should be addictive, it should be painful, and it should be mundanely wonderful every time your feet hit that new soil.
The addictive nature of it can tempt our independent lives to play the ‘until the next time’ game, can leave mission open-ended in the wrong sort of manner. All mission should be open ended, relationships and support should not die as the flight leaves the runway, interdependence should not be left hanging, but equally long term mission is a very different thing to missionary as a lifestyle. Long term mission is a commitment as binding as the vows given upon our wedding day. It’s a decision made by definite choice, a choice that demands to be, gladly or painfully, renewed every morning. It’s writing the end date in the sand and being open to the wind blowing it away, that security gone, there is no ‘next time’ any-more, it’s just time.
Going ‘home’ becomes a sort of bitter sweet holiday, ties are reconnected and shredded once again, promises of connection renewed to fade as days pass, stories exchanged, pleasantries uttered, occasional truths leaked.
Going ‘home’ gives glimpses of the other life we could have had, the one we turned down, dangled like carrots in our faces.
Home churches become sending churches and every second in them feels bitter sweet. As I stood in the final church service singing my heart out to ‘when I was lost’ I recognised that this was my survival food, my rations for the journey. It wouldn’t matter if the journey was off to university, out to the daily grind of work or off around the globe. This was my travel pack, my inner child’s teddy bear, it was that thing held tightly and only set down at a place designated home. This faith gave me a constant travel companion, and while my home may move His home remained in me.
3/4 of a yearJuly 22, 2015
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We reached the 9 month milestone today and broke out the camera again. I’ve stopped reading the weekly baby e-mails, I know he should be crawling, teething, stacking objects… but he’s not. To add to the potential guilt he’s totally attached to his pacifier / dummy, I laugh at my younger self who swore she’d never use the things. I know in my head he’s getting too much screen time and spending too long in air conditioning, I wish we could get out more, but the heat is oppressive and even if he could cope, mummy couldn’t. It’s that guilt that pushes me to keep him on his tummy more than he wants, to sit besides him on the play mat when my legs go numb and try in vain to teach him to bounce with his knees rather than locking his legs. Oh, but we are tired.
Parenting is endless. The constant heat and treated air leech energy and lethargy comes like a welcome friend. Dirty dishes stack up, endless laundry gets piled at both ends, grocery lays in bags and any cleaning blitz is incomplete. Every nap time is a rush to work with priorities made long before little eyes are rubbed in sleep and eventually close. Computers warmed up, the to-do list is brushed aside for the rabbit hole of internet curiosities, until the little one stirs and reminds us time is precious and we start rushing through jobs.
It builds up sometimes, all these tasks, assumptions, expected outcomes and then I just need to release. However needed all the jobs are, however important the milestones to reach, none of it matters all that much. If we sit down to a gourmet meal in beautiful surroundings, or clear the table just enough to eat a pizza and a jar of baby food doesn’t matter. If Adam learns to crawl a month or two later it’s not going to hamper his future, he’s loved, incredibly, totally, insanely loved. He’s happy and healthy and he’s making our world into a better place just by being part of it.
And this time next week we’ll go to visit England, we’ll lose the heat and be able to move about during the day, we’ll remember how it is to wear multiple pieces of clothing and explore different toys. We’ll sing ‘Tasi Tasi Tanana’ and get the looks usually reserved for ‘clap clap hands’. We’ll have more than 2 rooms to explore and hugs from faces we don’t see as often as we’d like. Most importantly mummy will get to hit that great ‘reset’ button and when the adventure is over we’ll be excited to come home.
Getting out of the hole you criedJuly 16, 2015
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I’ve been reliably informed the main reason people ‘give-up’ on mission work and ‘return home’ is other missionaries. I’d like to be surprised by that, but sadly I’m not. We hold higher expectations for the people we believe are there to support us, those linked by profession, belief, or family. We share in their joys and sorrows, feel infected by both their highs and lows. When their support holds we soar higher and if it falls we fall even further, their criticisms cut deeper and their belief in our endeavours means more. When these people are the ones causing drama the tears are toxic and burn a seemly inescapable hole very quickly.
I’ve been in a few of these holes over the past few years, laying in a bed late at night with puffy eyes and a mind racing, muttering prayers full of anger and pain. I’ve learnt to climb out by going through 5 steps, and while painful, the more times I’ve followed the pattern the more at peace I’ve found myself.
1. Recognise you are not special. Yeah, I said it. I turned my back on so much of kids ministry in those 5 words. God made me special… but he made every being special too by that logic. We are just all normal, fallible, screwed up, human beings, we all need to be given a break and can’t expect anyone to walk on eggshells for us. No matter who screwed up – accept it.
2. Forgive yourself. You may think it’s the other people you need to forgive, and you do, but those tears probably mean this is a two sided thing. If you don’t forgive yourself then your find yourself scratching the whole situation back on your clean slate again and again and again. Forgiveness is cleansing, and while some situations need a good soak to get them clean it’s pointless soaking in dirty water.
3. Remove the toxic thing. Usually this is painful, and it’s the kind of pain that lasts today, tomorrow and for some time to come. It may be that you need to remove yourself from something that’s a spark point, something you really value, or even something very public. Often it will seem to outsiders a complete overreaction but staying will only create more drama. Having a season away from whatever is toxic may also help if you return.
4. Define your passions. Sometimes it’s worth staying for the fight because the very fight is your passion. Usually it’s not, we try and make it seem like it is but it isn’t. Defining our passions regularly stops us holding onto passions we once had, instead of passions we have now. Pour your energy and passion into something you were called to, not something you settled for or got dragged into.
5. Post plan your time. Hold yourself accountable, look at your goals and see if you are achieving something. Tick things off your list, even if it’s just showering that morning. Take the opportunity to fill any void with something new, something that empowers, uplifts, or builds you up. Be deliberate about it, some of my best has come from ‘filling voids’.
Normally I emerge from that toxic hole, dirty and exhausted from the climb, and wanting to crawl right back in.
In some ways it’s easy to play the victim, to have a drama, to pump the adrenalin of indignation. I’ve come to learn that even peering back into the mud can be dangerous. The further you walk on the more clearly you see the real issues no longer obscured by the personalities and drama. Peace does return, even if you can’t imagine it right now.