Backing into our driveway, the monster moving truck prepares to swallow up all our earthly belongings, transport them to our new home, and then deposit them there in formidable piles. I'm not in the belly of that truck, but I am fighting God, much like Jonah did. "Why do we have to move again, Father? Do we really have to go?"
Moving ought to be a breeze for me, considering that as a missionary kid and then an International Worker, I have moved thirty-one times in my forty-one years. But it's much more like a hurricane in my life. Even so, I am learning to be content in continually moving. I'm finding the strength to move again and again and yet again, and am learning how to say the hard goodbyes and deal with the inevitable stress.
Finding Strength
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Roots are important for us or else a tumbleweed existence results |
Roots are important for us, or else a tumbleweed existence results, blowing us aimlessly from one location to another by winds of change and chance. But what happens to our roots during a move?
Laszlo, a Hungarian friend, sketched me a picture once that deeply impacted my life. He drew a globe with a tree growing out of it, and said, "This tree has deep roots at this point on earth. Moving it to another place would be very difficult because its roots would have to be yanked up and torn out of the ground."
He then drew another picture of the world, with a semi-circle above it representing heaven. This time the tree was rooted in heaven, with its leaves and branches touching the earth. He said, "This tree's roots are in its heavenly home, and the tree provides shelter, fruit and blessing to many on earth. When God wants this tree to move, he simply rotates the world beneath it, and the tree is easily in another location. There is little pain in the move, because the tree's roots are in heaven."
Abraham and Sarah learned well the lesson of the tree. They were content to live in tents and move continually because they were looking forward to heaven, that city with a solid foundation (see Hebrews 11:10). Contentment comes when I, too, consider heaven as my true, stable home. And knowing that someday I will move to my ?forever home' gives me strength here for the many moves.
Saying Goodbye
The strength to move is there, but what about the goodbyes? I agree with David Baer, a worker with Latin America Mission, who wrote in the Latin American Evangelist: "I hate goodbyes. I despise the pinched feeling Evangelist: "I hate goodbyes. I despise the pinched feeling in the face when you try not to weep publicly. It always seems like, somehow, it wasn't supposed to be like this."I am hoping that someone someday will ask me, "What makes missionaries groan?" I already have my answer prepared. It's not material sacrifice. It's not so much the new language. It's not selling the car and riding the bus. It's not learning a new diet. It's the goodbyes.
"As for me and my house, we long for the day when the divisions and fragmentation of this life will be history. When it won't be necessary to raise kids away from their grandparents. When precious friends won't get on the plane. When Grandpa won't die. But until then, if you ask me why this missionary groans, I'll tell you. It's the goodbyes."
Max Lucado, in his book No Wonder They Call Him the Savior wrote this about goodbyes: "Question: What kind Savior wrote this about goodbyes: "Question: What kind of God would put people through such agony? What kind of God would give you families and then ask you to leave them? What kind of God would give you friends and then ask you to say goodbye?
"Answer: A God who knows that the deepest love is built not on passion and romance but on a common mission and sacrifice.
"Answer: A God who knows that we are only pilgrims and that eternity is so close that any 'Goodbye' is in reality a 'See you tomorrow.'
"Answer: A God who did it himself."
God is helping me to see goodbyes as he does, and to be content.
