Grieving

Sunday was a big day here. We celebrated Timothy's graduation with an open house, where people dropped in and stuck around. There were about 50 people, testimony to how God has integrated Timothy into life in Montrose: packed onto the front porch, little kids in the basement, teenagers in our bedroom playing games, folks gathered around the buffet in our kitchen/dining room. Our first guests had arrived to see if they could help with last-minute stuff when the phone rang.

Why is it that great joy can be mingled with great sorrow? Glenda was on the phone. Back at the beginning of April we had visited our former coworkers, dear friends J and Kerstin. Their newborn Annie was just precious, and we loved holding her and seeing how God had settled them into their new home. Oma Anita was there from Germany, thrilled with her namesake. We laughed with Anita at how she had washed dishes for 7 hours running at our farewell party. It was delightful to see J and Kerstin, and how beautifully happy their little family was in tiny Due West, South Carolina.

Imagine our shock when Glenda told us that when Kerstin went to get Annie out of her crib that morning, she had died of SIDS. Sobbing, we tried to shift gears into party mode to greet our guests, guests to whom the names J and Kerstin meant nothing.

We continue to grieve for J and Kerstin, Daniel and Paul. What do you do when your three month old is snatched away to heaven? Numb with shock, we've tried to comprehend the news.

When we joined Team Berlin, there were Ken and Tammie, J and Paul. They were waiting for Kay and Heiko. Then we arrived. Then Judi. We all were the core. J and Paul married godly German women. Eventually God called J and Kerstin to leave our team and become qualified to teach in a seminary. We missed them. Trips back to Germany to see Kerstin's family and for J to teach in our seminary always included time with us. We oohed and ahhed over pictures--Anita would find me at church and show me the latest baby pictures, their new house, their lives in America. But we were glad for their "ideal" life. Not so "ideal" right now. Grief upon grief.

Before we left on furlough, we said goodbye to Judi, who used to live in an apartment building next to ours. Judi, who could be depended on at 11:30 p.m. as the late-night 7-ll of Germany--always open. Judi, who was quick with a joke and a laugh, and whose love and commitment to us knew no limits. She burned herself out loving Germans, and she isn't sure if she will be back after her furlough. That is hard because of our deep love for Judi. Judi, Tammie, Kay and I are the senior women on the team. When our cabin burned, they were right there in a heartbeat with chocolate and pastries to cry with me. When my mom died, they and the rest of my team surrounded me with love. These women have been same-age sisters, family. They've been around for our children's milestones. 10 years of sharing together, praying weekly with each other, crying, laughing, groaning, complaining, rejoicing. We share a long history. The other women on the team are younger sisters and I love them, too, but this is about Judi and Kay.

Sunday was the definitive email from Kay: "Dear Team, All options for further schooling for 10th-grade Yannick have dried up. We have to go home, and we will be home at least 5 years." What? No Kay? No Heiko? It is hard enough without Judi, who mothers us all. But Kay, our consummate connector, the glue, the one who calls everyone, plans stuff for the ladies that we actually LIKE being at, is going home. And what about all the teens they are mom and pop to? Suddenly all ministry plans have to shift. "of course we will sacrifice Jeff and Suzanne to continue in the youth church." But Lord, I don't WANT to sacrifice Kay! I don't want to do Berlin without Kay and Judi!

My heart is heavy. Goodbye dear, dear Kay. Goodbye, dear, dear Judi. And goodbye, sweet little Annie.

Lord, I don't want to say goodbye!!

Somehow I need a hug from my teammates right now.