grief

Woke up this morning glad to be home--4:45 am yesterday we were in the Mayfield Guest house in Nairobi, by 9 we had landed in Entebbe and except for having to send Julia through a window in the un-manned guard kiosk to get our keys and rescue our truck from the long-term airport parking, the trip was remarkably smooth.   A lot easier when you aren't sick!  We wove through traffic to the Capital Shopper's Delight grocery, stocked up as best we could in a short time on food for the next month or so, met up with Sarah and Ashley, and drove back to Bundi before 7 pm:  14 hours door to door, not bad across two countries!  We were welcomed by a lovely candlelight dinner hosted by the single men on our team, a balm which soothed the travel-weary day, and emphasized the fellowship of arrival over the loss of departure.

But also woke up this morning to grief, the delayed gut-punch of being a family of four not six.  As I lay in the dark, praying for the boys, I knew the tension of two truths:  they are in the best place for them right now, right where God has placed them . . . but it is a grief and sacrifice and sadness for us too.  God's path does not skirt death's shadows, and after the pastures of the weekend we're back in the valley, walking on.  And as I prayed, it hit me that our parents are in the exact same place.  The parents of all missionaries.  Holding that tension that their kids are where God wants them, but that they bear the grief of that separation.  Six more weeks feels long and painful, but my mom has waited over 16 years . .  The Gospel involves sacrifice, it is a story of one person's death bringing life to others.  This is our little taste of it, for today, the real grief of separation in spite of the good it brings.