A few months ago someone said to me, “I was told never to move back to your home country the same year that your child graduates. It’s too much. For both of you.”
“Oh,” I said. Well, great.
This week I washed all the rugs we don’t really need, except that they make our home feel softer, and more like our home. I began making lists of things we will sell or give away, and the rugs seemed like a place I could start. But the thing is that there are a million places I could start— the box of Christmas decorations, or the books, or the lunchboxes and baking dishes, or the extra linens, or the winter coats that are piling on the banister as the days get warmer and summer looms closer. All these things need to be organized and yet the more I sort, the more our home feels transient and out of sorts.
In three months we will leave and in the meantime an entire house needs to be disassembled and reorganized into what will be sold, what will be packed, what will be thrown out, what will be given away, and when exactly each of those things should happen as we still have to live life right up until the end.
We talk a lot about the days ahead. After dinner, sitting around on the couches (whose covers need to be washed, and priced, and sold) we often drift into discussions about what life will look like this summer.
How will we get a car? Will we have beds when we get there? Will dad be working every day, and if so, will mom be stressed trying to figure out setting up our home with kids underfoot? Is there food delivery? Can we get summer jobs?
At one point, Quinn asked me, “when do you think we’ll have… like… a schedule again? He was taking all of our “We’ll have to see when we get there” and “I’m not sure yet” responses and realizing the summer will be pretty chaotic. When will we have a routine again? he wanted to know. When will it feel normal?
And the thing is that on top of the physical details of moving and relocating your life, or perhaps down underneath the surface of those things are the people you love. As important as the packing is, the people are even more so: the inevitable process of saying goodbye, of leaving, of loss. Of change and upheaval and excitement and nervous fear and expectation. And all of that takes its own kind of time and attention.
The same Quinn, who is not alone in his processing but is my clearest example of it, told me how every day on the way home from school he has been looking out the window, thinking about leaving. He tells me how nice it’s been to grow closer to the Korean kids in his class this year, and how (head down, face in his hands) he will miss them. And he talks about the streets and the lives of the people he sees, the workers and the old men riding their three wheel carts hauling garbage and recycled goods, and what will our neighborhood look like in Massachusetts? Will it look very different?
Our oldest son’s plans are slowly coming together. He is close to making his decision about where to go next year, and we are thrilled for him. My mind has been thinking back on all those times that led up to this moment: when he agonized over a story he was writing for 7th grade English class only to find out he had written twenty pages (when the requirement was five). When someone corrected his push-up form after he had been working on it for months and he was devastated, but took the correction, and started again. When one long summer he went out to play basketball every day in the rain by himself at the park. When he came into his freshmen year halfway through, after we had traveled for 6 months, and was put into Physics and and AP European History class cold turkey, and had to figure it out on his own. And he did figure it out. He did. When I say he’s worked hard, I really do see that he has worked for this moment. And I’m happy for him.
But, hey— this is just your mom, who stood behind you in all those moments and rubbed your back, or cheered you on, or prayed over you, or corrected you when you didn’t want to hear it, and who loves your presence in this family in a way that is hard to explain. And I’m going to miss him, so much so that when I think about it right now with only three months to go I can hardly handle it. And I don’t have time to do anything about it, which is maybe good but also—maybe according to that lady’s advice—the worst idea ever. But here we are. And if God is holding my hand and telling me anything through it, it is to ask for daily bread and know that it will be there.
I have been telling myself to take these days in stride. Not to worry or overthink the schedule or get hyper about making plans. It probably helps that I am not Type A and I am not a good planner. I can live with vague and foggy futures. But the truth is that I do not always feel like I’m striding. I’m tripping here and there, slowing to a halt at times or trying to hurry. I want to walk calmly, and not scare the daylights out of my children with my stress or sadness, and sometimes I think I can do that. Other days, I go back to that piece of friendly advice and think, Well, great. What have we done.
In truth, it is just a season of change and everyone and their mother knows that change is hard and takes time. Maybe it will be too much and my heart will break into pieces. But I don’t really think that will happen. I will wash and give away these rugs, and hug my son every morning if I can, and ask Quinn what he thought about on the way home as he looked out the window. And if it looks less than ideal, maybe it will also look like grace.
Is All This Transition Too Much?
During the short time that I spent being a part of this beautiful community with you, I developed a great admiration for you and others who had been there for a number of years.
What you all have invested of your time and energy is immeasurable. This place became home and all that entails. Even for me, having resided there for only seven months and living in two different spaces, I considered it home. The love and care poured by you and many others definitely contributed to my sense of belonging. It really kept me from isolating which is very easy for me to do.
I went to Tianjin open to learn, and that’s exactly what I did. I learned that it’s ok to experience human emotions that come with not meeting my own expectations, regardless of how “perfect” things may seem to others looking from a different vantage point.
YOU showed me that-as I observed how you navigated motherhood with servanthood to your community all while being pregnant with your fifth child. You occasionally asked, with sincerity, how I was doing and made yourself available if I needed anything. It was a reminder that I really can do all things through Christ who strengthens me even when I don’t think “I measure up.” Thank you for that. I pray you experience divine peace in the lengthy transition. Tell S hello!!!💝
Praying for you. God has this and you! Many changes but God knows the details not your well meaning friends, even me.
Can you believe depending on Visa that I could be in TJ soon to see Caleb and then maybe complete our service in Qingdao, where you began.