Longing to Return: A Time to Mourn

Today marks the 4 year anniversary of leaving a place very dear to me: Namwianga.  I am torn about how to feel because society says things like, "Don't cry because it is over, smile because it happened."  Well that is all well and good, but I believe that there is a time for everything: "...a time to weep, and a time to laugh, a time to mourn, and a time to dance..."

So today I mourn for a time that I will never get back.  I mourn for children I will never hold again.  I mourn for friends that I will never see or hear from again on this earth.  I mourn for adventures that are over and for lessons that have been long learned now.  I mourn for the relationships that I had with my classmates that have dimmed over the span of time and distance.  I mourn as I read through my Zambian journal and remember the goodbyes that I wrote about:

"As I was walking away, she told me to wait and asked for a kiss.  I kissed her on the cheek and she didn't wipe it off.  There is no word to describe how much I love that 5 year old girl. She told me that she loved me too."

"I said, 'I love you.'  He said, 'I love you.'  Then I asked for kiss and he gave me one.  I have never been so happy to have the snotty face of a little boy pushed up against mine as I was in that moment."

"...we drove down that beautiful tree lined road to the Havens and my heart shattered.  I will never have this again."

But I do not mourn as those who have no hope.  I have the hope that just as Jesus promised, those who mourn will be comforted.  I have hope that I will have something better after this world, even if I will never have it again in this world.

This is a poem that I wrote just after I arrived back in the States.  I still long for this.

Return

I want to see the Jacarandas, Bright above the sand.

I want to walk a mile just to hold a tiny hand.

I want to sing and dance and talk

Where people understand.

I want to leave the task by task,

Return to that still land.

I long to feel connections and not minutes slipping past.

I long to comfort those in pain, not stare with eyes aghast.

I long to walk and pray and dwell

On things I know will last.

I long to be a hand of God,

Help the weak to hold Him fast.

But I’m not there, for I am here so distant from my heart.

I have to face the future, seeking what life can impart.

I want to remember everything,

With mem’ry I’ll not part.

I’ll use the past and clean the slate,

Give this place a fresh new start.

So, I’ll see the Jacaranda’s warmth in a smile so sweet, unplanned.

I’ll walk many more miles holding to a larger hand.

I’ll go and sing and dance and talk,

Help people understand.

As I wait, someday I know I will

Return to that still land.