A Life in Exile

It seems surreal that the first week of June has left a deep impression in my mind, as it leads me to memories now years in the rearview mirror. On June 10, we will have been back in the States for fifteen years. I look at my sons, now in their late twenties, with the oldest turning thirty this year, and realize they now have just as many memories in this country as they did in the region of their births. Those memories for them are fading quickly as new experiences fill their places in their minds and hearts.

Why is leaving so life-changing?

When a person answers the call to serve in overseas missions service, they quickly come to recognize that their life will never be the same. I’ve written a lot about the impact our going has on our families, children, and relationships in general. Now, firmly established in a new land, the years go by. For us, our two sons were born overseas, and we moved multiple times over the course of twenty years, but we never lost focus on the task at hand. Yes, there were struggles moving from one country to the next, but we were still on mission. We pressed on.

Then, everything changed. For us, it was a call I answered from a man in the country’s Internal Affairs office. I knew their request to see my husband was a clear sign that the dynamics had changed. Our time was now limited—very limited. We had to act.

Only a year from our final furlough before retirement, our leadership allowed us to move directly back to the States instead of relocating yet again to another country in the region, which would have been hard on our boys and us. So this was it. Our time was up—not on our terms, but someone else’s. In the moment, we couldn’t see that it was also on God’s. We were in the fog of change. My husband left almost immediately, and I was left to pack the house and see the boys through the end of the school year. We’d be apart almost two months.

Leaving is life-changing, because there is a finality to it. Even though you may go back to visit or even serve in later years, that moment can never be restored. Just as relationships were forever changed with those you left behind to surrender to overseas ministry, so too are relationships changed with those you leave to return to your home country.

Our last week.

Just as the boys were finishing their school year, my sister and brother-in-law came for a first-time visit that had been planned for over a year. I couldn’t tell them not to come. After all, I wanted them to see the land and people we loved. But I had boxes EVERYWHERE, and just the bare necessities out by the time they came, knowing that just a few days after they left, I would have to put everything into a container for shipping. Still, I enjoyed their visit, bittersweet as it was for me to take them to all the sights, knowing that it was my final visit as well.

As soon as they left, I finished the final boxes, and my sons, the dog, and I moved to my sister-in-law’s for the final week of our life in-country. The boys had several end-of-year activities at their school, and I worked with a colleague to oversee the packing of our life into a shipping container. Needless to say, it barely fit. To me, it was a sign of just how full our life had been over the past twenty years in five different countries. We couldn’t leave anything behind. I wanted it all with me when I faced America. I didn’t want to forget where I’d been and the people I’d loved.

On the morning of the day we flew out, we went with the school family to a water park. I still can’t believe I was in my right mind to do such a thing, but we did, and the boys had a great time. They needed as much time with friends as they could get, so I couldn’t say no. They were leaving friends and going to an unknown reality. To go with the memory of water, sun, and fun was a grace from God.

The airport.

We almost did not get out of the country. It was midnight, and I had two boys and an uncooperative dog in tow. I had also forgotten to save their old passports, which carried their entry stamp into the country. They’d both needed new passports at some point that year, and I’d efficiently packed the old ones, not thinking the stamp would need to be seen upon our departure.

It also didn’t help that my husband, my Egyptian husband, was not with me. Where was he? Did he write a letter saying we had his permission to leave the country? As much as I tried to convince them that he was already in the States and waiting on us, they didn’t seem convinced. Thankfully, I was able to call in a favor to get help on the matter.

But then there was the dog. The carrier seemed too small for him. I argued that he would be fine and do well in the flight. I had all his papers with me (better than I did for my sons), and they finally agreed to let us on the plane.

Exhausted by the time we sat in our seats, I could not rest until the plane was actually in the air. I won’t talk about what the dog did on that flight other than to say, he did not stay in his carrier. Twenty-odd-hours later we were landing in Tennessee. Our family was back together again.

Home.

Still officially June 10, we now began a new chapter in all our lives. We’d moved many times before. I knew how to unpack, arrange furniture, hang pictures. I knew how to make a house a home. That was my new job now in this foreign land. A lot had changed in twenty years, but though we had our times of struggle, a home was made. God blessed.

Now, fifteen years later, I’m in yet another home—this time alone. Husband is with the Lord and boys are married and living their dreams. I’m still surrounded by the things I love the most: pictures of my husband and kids and grandchild, knickknacks from all the countries I’ve loved, and furniture made by the hands of my husband and sons—and of course, books. So, I will not forget those I loved in this world—their presence is all around me—but I press forward, knowing that there is still another move to come, and it promises to be the best, saved for last.

Grace and Peace

If you missed the last Mission Monday post, click HERE, or check out these posts on leaving: Leaving on a Jet Plane Ain’t What it Used to Be, When Home Changes, and When You Know It’s Time to Go.