For a few months now, I have been alluding to decision making and changes coming down the pipeline for our family. It is probably no surprise then, that I share with you the news that we will be moving back to the States this summer.
When we came to China sixteen years ago, I had two little boys, short hair, and young skin. Josh was a new history teacher, finding his way in the classroom, and we had no idea what the coming years would bring. We were in it for the long haul, however long that might be. We had a missional purpose in mind, but didn’t really know what that would look like. We just knew the road had led us to this point and we wanted to live lives of worship no matter where that was.
Coming to this place of returning to our home country has always been an elusive future event in my mind, even though I knew that it would happen at some point. It was never something we agonized over or considered, even through the COVID struggles of these past few years.
That is not to say that the situation we’ve been enduring hasn’t given me pause about whether or not this was sustainable for our family. I remember a particular stretch last spring, when we had been locked down again for months and I ached for my kids to have a life different than the one we’d given them. I wrote about it then, the unexplainable experience that sometimes happens, when God meets you in your need. I heard no audible voice, but the words came to me just the same— something I could not have manufactured on my own. And I sensed that He was asking me to trust him with my kids. I literally held my hands out, palms facing the sky, and said okay. I trust you. I’m letting go of agonizing over them.
As the summer ended, Josh and I began to share with one another a growing question, a sense that perhaps our time here was coming to a close. There were many reasons and layers of factors. We weren’t sure and so we began to pray and question ourselves and to take small steps towards what could be. We asked for closed doors and instead they opened. We asked for clarity and instead were given a wide path of possibility. I wanted the decision out of my hands, so I wouldn’t be able to question it later, but in the end it felt like we had to exercise every last drop of discernment and wisdom we could muster. Maybe that is called growing up.
But even though the way forward was not handed to me in the nice package I had hoped for, that moment of surrender earlier in the year was something I was grateful for. It helped me know that this decision was not reactionary, or based on some elusive pursuit of giving my kids their best life— something I don’t have the ability to do no matter how much research I do or resources I have. And I have to keep coming back to that, even as all the unknowns and worries about the next place we land can plague me with renewed doubt. It is my job as a parent to think responsibly about the needs of my kids, but it is not in my power to curate their best life. I have to trust so much of that to God.
Transition and change and decisions have been like frontlets hanging over my eyes for the past six months, and I think they will continue to be there for awhile yet. It’s an unexpected place to be, and one high with emotions— excitement, trepidation, delight, worry, gratefulness, angst— it’s all there. Most days, I feel in a sort of fog of wonder and worry, swinging wildly between the two. I can’t believe we are leaving; I can’t wait to be in America. I’m scared to death to go back; I’m so thankful for where we are headed.
Where we are headed is a school in Massachusetts where Josh will be the headmaster and all our kids will attend. There is a small house tucked into the corner of the property that we will live in. It has trees behind it, and a window in the kitchen. We will be a days drive from my parents and a little less than that to Josh’s. It is closer to family than our kids have ever known.
Ahead of us are five months of our last days in China. What a weird thing to live for so many years in a country and then up and leave it, possibly never to return. What a gift it has been to learn and grow and raise a family here. So many people we have loved and been loved by. So many beautiful things we have seen, places we have been, ways we have been shaped.
There has never been a turn in this journey that I planned or could have foreseen. Moving forward, inching our way into the next steps, I find some weird comfort in the unknown of it all. How faithful God has been to us, how steadfast and present, even in the darkness. I know it will be hard, I know it will be good.
Every night, Margot recites this Psalm to me. “It’s my favorite,” she says, and it is mine as well.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, you are with me.
Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
Amen.
All the best to you Christine and your beautiful family. I love following your journey and seeing God's faithfulness. Much love,
xoxox
Sherri
I must say, I am really enjoying following your blogs! You have such a beautiful family! You have no idea how much I loved our get-togethers in China. You showed me so much kindness, and I developed such an admiration for you as a mother, wife, and blessing to a lovely community of people. Those days are forever etched in my mind as sweet and peaceful. I can’t imagine what this move must be like for all of you! It would be wonderful to chat with you at some point. I’m not great at keeping in touch, but I’m getting better. Your oldest girl, “our girl” has grown so much since I’ve left. She made my job there easy and enjoyable. Please, tell I her I said, “Hello!”