The Beginning of Goodbye

In approximately 5 weeks, I will be walking in my front door, followed by my dad, who will be lugging at least one of my souvenir laden suitcases.  My brothers will likely be at home, and if they aren't, it just means they're dominating a sand volleyball court somewhere.  Mom will be briefing me on the upcoming weekend's schedule and asking questions about who I sat next to on the flight from LA. 

I will return from Australia July 12.  My adventure with SG and St. Mark's Church will be over.  No more meat pies.  No more ginger beer.  No more family dinner with Ian and Joan.  No more Southern Hemisphere winter.  No more superfluous u's… colour, flavour, honour.  No more Aussie friends getting together to swap accounts of the week's escapades.  No more ocean sunsets and beach trail runs. 

The full force of an Arizona summer will welcome me as I step off the plane.  There will be coffee pots everywhere.  Drums will reappear as a part of my worship experience and the organ will disappear.  Old high school friends will again become my coffee shop companions.  Different bed.  Different pillow.  Different power outlet shapes.  There will be more change than an Obama campaign. 

I don’t really know what to think about it.  People keep saying sweet things about missing us when we're gone and won't we come visit some time and are we so excited to go home.  Yeah.  Yeah.  All those things.  Too many things to think about missing.  I'd almost rather run away and skip the goodbyes.  They'd be less painful if I could somehow forget the way these people have been so heartbreakingly wonderful.  If I just jumped right back into Arizona summer, maybe being busy would deaden the "second home" sickness.  I wouldn't miss the way TJ makes up songs as he sings them or how Cath loves both fashion and physics.  I wouldn't have to think about Cherie's amazing drawings or the way Sam taught us how to play cricket.  Ian and Joan would be characters in my journal.  The Matthews would be old people in pictures. 

What's that thing people say?  It's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.  Well, they're right.  I can't forget these people.  I won't be able to anesthetize my aorta every time I think of Zoe and the kids or going to John and Julia's for tea.  I'll have to go through the blasted process of leaving and grieving again.  But it was worth it.  Walking  in ministry with so many incredible Jesus loving people was worth it.  Visiting the Great Barrier Reef and Uluru and the Great Ocean Road was worth it.  Telling first and second graders that Jesus loves them SO much was worth it. 

When I signed up for this gig, I didn't think about falling in love.  The position seemed like a good fit.  I wasn't afraid of going somewhere I'd never been.  Australia wasn't too foreign anyway; at least they spoke English (sort of).  It was all logistics.  Passport, visa, resume, packing list.  Great.  Get excited.  I'm going to Australia to do good stuff.  I didn't think about falling in love with the town or the church or the way a cup of tea is built into the daily schedule.  I didn't begin thinking about the end, except that a year isn't too long and don't worry, parents, I'll be home soon enough.  Maybe my expectations were too low, or my faith too small.  Who could I possibly meet in Australia that I could really get to know and love in a year?  So many people.  And I wish you could meet them all and see their dear faces, and know them like I do. 

I fear there will be several more dishearteningly sentimental posts about things I've learned this year and the outstanding people I've met.  Oh, and the books I've read this year, look for that post.  It won't be sappy, I promise, and I've read some all star titles in my free time Down Under.  The average number of paragraphs in a Sunshine post is 7, so I'll close now.

Love,

LMS