Looking back

I am generally one who always looks back. I want one more goodbye, one more kiss, one more moment to etch in my brain. Because we live in a country outside of the US and travel back and forth on a regular basis, there are a lot of chances for last looks and just one more of whatever lies before me. I purposely try to not hold the lasts too tightly because as we read early on in our work, often your “last” ends up not being your last or focusing on it just increases your desire for it rather than satisfying your want. So I actively try not to focus too much on the end and goodbyes and all. But I do. I always look back. I always want to save an image in my brain to store away for later. One good, solid last look.

As I went to bed tonight, it hit me that tonight is the boys last night in our house. While I have known the day was coming for many weeks, it actually hit me, in the heart wrenching way, tonight, after they were already in bed. I didn’t look back at them. I didn’t make their last night memorable for me or them. I just laid with them and gave them kisses like I normally would. This was surprising to me as it is not my natural tendency to do such a thing. But then I realized, I haven’t looked back on much at all. When I cleaned out the room I used for HIV a few weeks ago, I took everything out and walked out. No looking back.  I walked out of our office the other day, leaving it completely empty, I just closed the door. No standing there remembering all that has taken place there and the lives that have filled those walls. Nope, I just walked out. When we drove out of the hospital compound two days ago, my eyes were focused ahead and I waved goodbye to the few workers at the gate like I would see them tomorrow. When I said goodbye to teammates I have worked with for 7 years with whom I have poured out my heart alongside them, it was just a quick hug. Nothing dramatic or memory worthy.

I can’t look back. It is just too painful.

If I really focus and process what is going on, I’d be in pieces. I am forced to leave a country I don’t want to leave. I am leaving friends whom I still want to see on a daily basis. I am leaving a life I love. A life my kids love. The only home my boys know. I don’t want to do it. And if I took in all these lasts, I couldn’t take it. I’d be on the ground on my face in tears. Brett was talking to someone awhile back saying that we have been sewn into the fabric of Mali and we are currently being ripped out. That is how it feels. I am perfectly happy to stay the string attached to the fabric but against my choice I am being ripped out. It hurts.

On January first of this year, I was spending time in prayer and read the devotional “Streams in the Desert”. It said, “Today we stand at the threshold of the unknown. Before us lies a new year, and we are going forward to take possession of it. Who knows what we will find? What new experiences or changes will come our way? What new needs will arise? In spite of the uncertainty before us, we have a cheerful and comforting message from our heavenly Father: ‘The Lord your God cares for [it]; the eyes of the Lord…are continually on it from the beginning of the year to its end.’” and for some reason that struck me so deeply that it made me a bit uneasy for the year to come. We always stand at the threshold of the unknown, each passing year, and honestly each and every day. Yet, this time it was different. So when we were pulled out for safety reasons in January, I thought, “Oh, this is it. This is what I didn’t expect, the hard times that were coming.” But then I got pregnant in July and realized that no, in fact, that was what January 1^st was all about. This was the incredible unknown that caused me a bit of anxiety because adding a fourth child to the family was never part of my plan. The Lord was teaching me about His plans vs my own and while up until that point I was living the life I had always planned for and was happy to have achieved it, He was showing me that His ways were greater and He had more for me. In July, I couldn’t have fathomed a more life changing situation. Yet, October came and met us with one of the greatest losses of our lives. I am hoping that this was what January 1^st was about and there isn’t something else around the corner. At least there is only December left.

Today, as it is 4 in the morning as I write, I will face my last day in Koutiala. My last day in the first (non apartment) house that we lived in as a family. The place where I grew up a lot. Where the grounds are seeping with memories of my boys and times we shared as a family. Where the dirt on the wall is an imprint of a moment in the life of my kids. I want to embrace it and take it all in. I just hope I can bear it.