On leaving. On waiting. On growing.

There are days I really miss Zambia.

And not just because it’s crazy cold here and I want to throw open all the windows and doors and walk around in flip flops (though all of that is very very true).

But I miss the culture. The pace. The people. Our sweet little house with all its flaws. The music. The color. The red dust in every corner and crevice. Laundry and diapers drying on the line. Mulberries straight off the tree. The incredible sunsets over our backyard, easily visible from the kitchen sink. And Jungle and Chibi running like crazy around the yard as they did most afternoons as I prepared a from-scratch dinner with locally grown tomatoes and other goodies.

The simplicity of life, despite the complexity of living in a culture not our own.

We loved Zambia. We still love Zambia. And quite honestly, as we continue in this period of not knowing what’s next for us here, I kinda wish we hadn’t left when we did.

And yet, we knew it was time.

There were such a myriad of factors and so much of the reasoning can’t be explained in a letter or blog (but we’d love to share more over dinner or coffee sometime)! We spent the entire eight months we were back (and honestly, the entire year and a half before that) asking God if that was really where He wanted us. For seven months we just heard “wait.” For seven months, I watched my husband pour himself into our ministry and hit dead end after dead end, wondering if the resistance was from God or the Enemy. I watched him wrestle with our call, our place, our identity, and ultimately, with God (remaining faithful through it all). I watched him get hurt in relationships that we expected to bring life. I watched as daily frustrations and difficulties became unmanageable and debilitating. I watched him battle loneliness that I could not fill and depression that I could not fix.

And I prayed. Because that’s all I really could do. I didn’t pray that we stay or that we go. I just prayed that in the right time, we would know, and that there would be peace in the knowing.

So on that one day in late October when all of it seemed particularly hard and getting out of bed was daunting enough a task to send Luke right back under the covers, we prayed again. And together we felt God was saying “go.” By the end of that day, that “Go” came louder and clearer. And then there was peace. We decided it was, in fact, time.

Funny thing (or God thing) is that when we made the decision officially, there was a light and passion in Luke that I had not seen in many many months. Looking back, it’s as if the depression was more of an oppression. 

Now, going without knowing where we were going was not exactly an easy or straightforward thing. We don’t like not knowing. We like planning. Doing. Having “all our ducks in a row” (whatever that actually means). But just as the Lord told Abram to leave everything to Go “to the land I will show you”, we knew we were just supposed to go, and God would eventually show us where.

From there we think things got a little muddled. In fact, we probably burned a few bridges from unclear or hasty communication. For that, we are deeply sorry. When you’re telling a hundred different people bits and pieces, the whole picture gets a bit blurry and convoluted. Hopes came across as facts. Leaving came across as quitting altogether. And despite months and months of prayer and communication with dear friends, it all happened very fast once the decision was made. So here are a few logistical details:

Luke’s work permit was set to expire January 6, so we knew it would be best to go before that rather than reapply. Then it just made sense to try to leave before Christmas to be with family for the holidays, especially with Michael’s first birthday on Christmas. Plane tickets get more expensive as you get closer to the holidays, and we knew we would need time to fight jetlag and prepare for Christmas. So we booked our tickets for December 9.

Those last several weeks were busy with selling, giving, packing, and arranging. They were also full of meaningful farewells, joyful celebrations of friendship and ministry, and good closure on that chapter of our lives. Every day, we miss something about Zambia, but we don’t question the decision to leave. We weren’t excited to come back, but we are excited for what God has next.

We did not leaving knowing we had a definite position here, and we are still in limbo as far as that goes. We definitely aren’t quitting missions. Our hearts are still very much for sharing Jesus with those who have never heard the Gospel. We won’t even say we’re done overseas (though, for the time being, we feel we need to be Stateside). We’re just waiting to learn the what, where, how, when and who of it all (living out of suitcases and trying to make sense of life).

Let me tell you. The waiting is hard. We spent February at a conference in Michigan for missionaries who have faced burnout or other difficulties. This was a healing time. A renewing time. We were affirmed in our decision to leave and equipped for whatever lies ahead. During a seminar on suffering, one thing struck me more than anything else. So often, Romans 8:28 is used as a band-aid to “comfort” those in hard circumstances – you know, that “all things work together for good.”

Well, they do. And not in a, tomorrow, life will be rosy sort of way. Life may still be hard. It may get harder. God uses that. He uses it in ways we will never know to bring results we will never see.  But He also uses that for the good in us. Our hardship draws us to Him. It sanctifies us – makes us more and more Christlike – and for that we truly can rejoice in the trials.

We don’t regret our time in Zambia. We don’t regret leaving Zambia. We don’t even regret all the junky stuff we experienced along the way, as we know:

…“suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts...” (Romans 5:3-5)

That, my friends, is good. 

*so that was intended to be a lighthearted blog about missing Zambia, but I apparently had a lot more to say. That probably wouldn't be a problem if I updated the blog a bit more often. Thanks for reading, though! Perhaps Luke will have more to say....*