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I attended a transitioning seminar at the school this morning.  Though I was happy to hear that we have been doing the “right” things for our children to make the transition more seamless, it seemed to stir up a host of emotions that I had successfully repressed for the last few months.  At one point, someone reminded us to “separate carefully and respectfully.”  I wholeheartedly agree with this advice and have been very cognizant during this move in particular to do just that.  Here’s what it means…when you transition, it’s not abnormal to begin to disconnect.  In fact, sometimes to completely withdraw.  However, it can also sometimes disintegrate into outlining all of the things you hate about the place you are leaving.  It’s not uncommon and in fact, allows you to emotionally move along.  It allows you to numb some of the pain that you are feeling during the separation by saying, “I’m so glad to get away from (fill in the blank).”  It’s a release.  But, it’s damaging.  It’s damaging to the people you leave behind and it is damaging to us because we leave a lasting impression of negativity.  Sometimes we carry that into our next place by talking excessively about the stuff we were so happy to be done with.  It infuses doubt into the minds of our new friends about what we might say about THEM when we leave them behind next. I know this because I’ve lived it.  It is HARD not to do it.  Friends - hold me accountable.

This made me stop and think about what I AM leaving behind.  What will I miss?  And where I am going.  One would think that this process would become easier. It doesn’t.  This is about our 10^th move…our 8^th international move.  We have most of the nuts and bolts figured out, but the emotions keep returning.  I confess I had to think hard about what I would miss about Romania. (I’m in the separation phase.)  I figured it out.  It’s the people.  I love the friends I’ve made here…American, Romanian, British, Dutch, Canadian and it goes on and on.  I love the church we have helped build here.  There are no words to describe that process or that group of folks with whom I’ve worshipped, cried, laughed, and mourned with...they are forever going to be in my heart and on my mind.  It’s the weather.  We have all 4 seasons, and they are beautiful.  The food.  This is a place where I found healing in my own physical body.  It’s a place where, through that food journey, I have honored my own father’s life and death.   It’s where my children have blossomed.  They have matured and grown into beautiful young people.  I am so proud of them all.  I have had my sisters and mother and mother-in-law and friends visit us here, we have traveled and seen interesting things, and we have come together here as a family.  There’s so much to miss. 

And now, my heart must move on.  I’ll treasure up all of these things with me on my journey.  They won’t be far from my thoughts.   However, this is an unusual move for us.  The children and I will go to my hometown in Louisiana for a year and my husband will spend the next year in Baghdad.  This is like no other move we have ever made.  There is such joy in knowing that I am going home.  But it won’t be the same.  It will be wonderful to sit and have coffee with my sisters and mom and friends…but I’ll be alone.  We will get to be present for all of the family birthday parties and holiday celebrations in the coming year.  But I will be alone.  It sounds horrible and morose, but it’s true.  Learning to live with part of your heart across the ocean may be excruciating.  And worse, I fear that moving home will bring such a sigh of relief that I may never be able to leave again.  The first time was hard enough!  And yet, there’s nowhere else that I want to go this time.  Where is home?  (A special hats off to all of my military friends and Foreign Service families who have already walked in my shoes.  I understand.)

We are nomads and this move has made me sit and reflect so much on not only our earthly transitions, but on my spiritual home.  We are never to feel like we are at home in this world.  We are but visitors here, in a foreign land.  Is this my new normal?

Despite all of the wonderful, lovely experiences my family and I have had in Romania, I feel that I was never home.  Will it feel that way when I return to my country of origin?  To my “homeland?”  Will my children feel as if they have gone home?  Will we all be forever strangers on this journey?  Time will tell. 

My husband has already sent me the list of prospective places that we can bid on for our next assignment abroad.  We’ll have to bid in July.  I keep filing it away.  I look at it…and feel sadly overwhelmed.  To think of going to a new place, when I haven’t even vacated this one yet and am headed “home,” is just too much to process.   It is now that I pray that quiet little prayer, “Lord, please prepare a place for us.  Please open our hearts for this journey.  Please comfort us and protect us.  Please show us how we can represent YOU in all that we say and do. Let us not grow weary.  Give us strength to face the obstacles that will surely come our way.  Give us patience, compassion, grace, and love - for each other and for those we encounter along the way.  Amen.”