Back in the Saddle

We're back! Yea, you knew that, but I can hardly believe we have been back three weeks. We've sorted, unpacked, dusted and painted, and now the boys' room is a beautiful shade of rust with beige curtains and a beige and green shag rug, reminiscent of the 70s. David put away absolutely every toy and stuffed animal, telling us through his actions and his decorating style in no uncertain terms that he has GROWN UP. I love my teens! The first night we sat at the table eating ice-cold spaghetti that David and his two friends had made--our new colleague Rebekah, in addition making everything spotless, had left spaghetti sauce. Two friends of our Becca's also stayed for supper, so right away, jet lag and all, it was "just like home," with four extra plates on the table. And since then, the train has just picked up speed, with appointments and folks to care for, planning for the ministry and still some boxes that need unpacking . . . we had packed up so much for Rebekah C. to live here that we are still having to sort through it all!

I've told my friends here that leaving "home" and coming "home" here is like reading two exciting books. Just as I am at the exciting part, I snap the book closed and lay it aside. Then I pick up another book that I had been reading in the same way months ago--it had been so exciting, I couldn't wait to see how it turned out, but now I have to remember where I was in the story, and it takes a while to pick up the thread again and figure out what happened in the chapters I skipped. I know that at one time the story was fascinating, but right now I am not fully into the book yet. Each day is a process of letting go of the "other" story of home and hearth in the U.S. and becoming more and more interested in the story of Berlin that I had previously been reading and was completely caught up in.

So three weeks into it, the tears still come sometimes, but it is feeling less strange. Mostly the tears are that one primary character in the book is somewhere else--my mother's heart longs to be able to have Timothy just come home for a weekend and stock up on some home cooking and hugs, but that has to wait for Christmas. But there are other tears as well--realizing that friends back home are also hurting, and someone else will have to be the one to give that comforting hug and encourage them. And I miss several very dear missionary friends who have had to pack up and leave for personal reasons. Missing them, I can believe the friends who say to me, "I really did miss you . . ."

Meanwhile, it is wonderful to see the genuine love of people, to see that God is still at work here, to know that we are in the place HE wants us to be, rain or shine. And I am full of gratitude for the time of tanking up in the U.S. I felt like all I did was receive from others--gifts, time, help, love, over and over again. And so now, all tanked up, we are ready to once again give ourselves to those around us.