A few weeks ago, our lovely church held a send off party for us. It was amazing! It was so special to have so many people that truly love and support us in one place cheering us on and praying for us! Below is what I read to the group. Since many of our loved ones and supporters could not attend I wanted to share it here.
As a missionary, you learn to introduce
yourself and you learn to say goodbye. Then you repeat the cycle over
and over again like Bill Murray in Ground Hog Day.
As a missionary, I am learning to
introduce myself. In like 3 languages. This forces me to ask, “well
who am I?”
To others I am “the missionary” or
“that missionary.” In
American churches being “that missionary” means I am on the track
to sainthood or something. Yeah, that identity certainty doesn't
match the “me” I know. Really, there is nothing special about me
that qualifies me to be a missionary other than saying “yes” to
the call. And honestly, sometimes that yes is accompanied by kicking
and screaming.
To people that do
not know Jesus, and even some that do, I am the “crazy one” who
is moving to a land that yes has malaria and no does not have
Netflix. Yeah, crazy, weird- I can own that.
In Africa, I am
the “white person.” No really, people call me “white person”
to my face like it is my name. “Nasara- Nasara- white person.”
This is really jarring sometimes because some days I forget that I
look so different and I am like, “Yeah, I'm blending.” Totally
not blending. So what does it mean for me to be white? And what
responsibilities does that entail for me? God and I are working on my
understanding of that. Am I white? Yeah, unless I am trying to get a
good deal in the market then I tell them in Fufulde that I am Fulani
at heart and that I do not pay white tourists prices.
Amongst some of my
Muslim neighbors, I am sometimes called “Alhajja” or one who has
been on the pilgrimage to Mecca. I have never been to Mecca. It is a
respectful term. Other times I am called, “infidel.” The best
though is when I am called “friend.”
To missionary kids,
I am “Aunt Lori.” This is awesome. When separated from family,
God surrounds me with an extended one. I am loved and entrusted to
love others that have left their homes. I love this “me.”
Ultimately, it is
not about me. I am a just sinner- a sinner saved by grace. Grace that
is too good to keep to myself. When my patients ask, “Why have you
come here? Why do you love me like this?” I respond, “Because
Jesus loves me and you need to know that He loves you too.”
So hello, my name
is Lori or you can call me Daada Charlie and I am not a saint, I am a
little weird, I often don't blend in, I have never been to Mecca, I
prefer you call me friend or Aunt instead of infidel, and I am loved
by Jesus. That ladies and gentlemen is my introduction.
Now for the
goodbye. I hate goodbyes. I really would rather just say, “see you
later” and pretend we will see each other tomorrow instead of years
from now.
As our time for
departure nears, more and more people ask if I am excited. The
reality is that before the adventure begins, there is loss and
grieving. Everyday is a different “goodbye.” The last time I will
eat sushi, the last time I will buy meat without flies swarming on
it, the last time I will drive a car and so on. And let's not even
talk about the last Chick-fil-A or diet coke!
And then there is
the saying goodbye to my twin nieces who are juniors in high school
knowing that I will miss their high school graduation and next time I
see them, they will be adults. I am grieve all of the precious
moments that will be missed.
Goodbyes are also
hard because there is no adequate way express what you all mean to
me. There is no way to thank you for blessings you all pour over me
and over my family. But if it is okay, I would like to try. Warning
there will probably be a lot of ugly crying. Oh I cried ugly tears
when I wrote this.
To our church
family, this year home has been so refreshing. There is nothing like
worshiping in your own heart language especially alongside people
that love the Lord and love each other! You have supported us and
loved us well. Thank you.
To our friends- to
old friends from before there were grey hairs on my head and to those
that took a chance this year on a new friendship despite knowing that
we would be leaving, thank you. Thank you for your love and
encouragement. You believed in us when we didn't believe in
ourselves. Thank you for sharing your lives with us and for being our
tribe.
To our supporters,
let me just tell you every time I questioned “Does God really want
us to Go?” We would get a check in the mail. Like that day. Big
checks. I think in every thank you note I wrote, I mentioned that we
were overwhelmed by the generosity shown to us. More than just your
generosity, your support speaks to your faithful obedience to God's
leading to be apart of His mission. We are in this together. We are
jumping into the well, but you are holding the ropes. We could not do
this without you. And p.s. You are welcome to visit at any time!
Now to our family,
thank you for loving the Lord enough to let us go even though I know
it takes every ounce of strength you have not to lock us in the
basement. It is easy to say “yay missionaries go do your thing
around the world” until that missionary is your son and his totally
awesome wife not to mention the cutest little girl in the world.
So to end, I would
like to quote the great theologian Winnie the Pooh, “How lucky am I
to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” Thank you
all for making it so hard to say goodbye!
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