Tag: returning

Coming Home: The Hidden Struggles of Reintegration

by Ken and Brenda Groat

As the airplane lifted off, the tears began to roll down. We were leaving a place that had become our home. We were leaving behind friends who had become more like family, familiar places, and a culture and a people we finally adapted to and fell in love with. And in our case, we were leaving behind our daughter, our only child, who was finishing up her post-graduate studies.

We lived and served in Israel for almost ten years. We did not have a sending church, but we followed God’s leading and sold everything we owned and moved overseas to serve in full-time ministry. Settling in to the new surroundings, the new culture and new relationships was a challenge. We quickly learned the public transportation system, enough language to order a coffee or a meal, and our new roles at the ministry we were volunteering with. I’m not sure I can count the number of times we purchased cottage cheese instead of the cream cheese we were supposed to get for a recipe, or vice versa.

Living abroad without being completely fluent in the language was a challenge, but we blended in and found our way. After living abroad for years, we grew close to other volunteers, and of course to many people in our adopted homeland. 

Returning to the U.S. was never something we thought about, but as our parents aged, we came to the conclusion that we needed to be close to them in case they needed help. Giving notice to the ministry we served with was difficult. Packing up what we could afford to send back to the U.S. on a pallet was even more difficult. I’m not sure if giving a one year notice and having that amount of time was good for us or not, but we thought it was the right thing to do for the organization.

As our departure date approached, we began to experience the lasts; the last time we would go to our favorite restaurant, the last time we would see these particular friends, the last time we visited this special place, the last time we closed the door to our apartment, then finally the last time we hugged our daughter and said goodbye until she finished her university studies.

We were almost silent for the hour-long ride to the airport, then waiting for our flight at the airport seemed to take forever. As we took our seats on the plane, a sense of dread set in. But we knew this dread. The few times we left our adopted homeland for trips back home, we experienced this same dread. This time, however, was different; this time we knew we weren’t coming back.

Being back in the U.S. was strange. Of course our family and friends were happy to see us, and we were happy to see them, but it felt, I don’t know, different. No one could possibly understand what we had experienced, so conversations were shallow. We gave everything we knew, everything that was comfortable for us to serve abroad, and almost no one wanted to hear about what we were so incredibly excited to share. 

When we returned, we had to start over completely. We didn’t have jobs waiting for us. Apart from family, we had no place lined up to stay. We had no vehicle, no car insurance, no health insurance, no furniture, no cell phone plan that worked in the U.S., no church to support us spiritually. Fatigue quickly set it.  

People were not the same as we remembered, and the culture was different. In our case, the stores were overwhelming. It was difficult to walk into large American stores with so many choices for nearly anything we could want. We returned to an America that was very different then when we left it. Family dynamics were not what we expected. We were outsiders and no longer had a community of people that we could rely on.  

Few people understood what we were going through, except those who had returned before us, and they were also struggling to adjust to their new situations. Depression was easy to fall into. We had given everything to follow God and now we felt like we were being kicked to the curb, punished or forgotten.

We struggled for a long time, but eventually things became easier. It still doesn’t quite feel like home, but we are adjusting to the new normal. We have come to realize that we will always miss our adopted homeland, and we may never feel completely at home in the country we grew up in.

Reintegration takes time and intention. Something that helped us was to speak about our experiences with others. You can read articles on A Life Overseas, make the effort to find others with shared experiences, and talk with people who supported you while you were abroad. As someone who has given of yourself for perhaps years to improve the lives of others, it’s not easy to openly talk about what you’re going through and make the conversation about yourself, but it’s necessary and it’s worth it.

As we worked through our reintegration and talked with others around the country who had similar experiences, we realized there is a need for a landing place where you can work through your thoughts and emotions with people who have lived through it. From our first-hand experience, Return Again was born. It was created to be the landing place that we desperately needed but couldn’t find. 

Based in Central Florida, Return Again aims to provide temporary housing, access to vehicles, and—perhaps most importantly—a compassionate community for ministry workers during their transition back to the United States. Although we’re still seeking the right location to build and are awaiting full funding, we can still provide many services and resources to help returnees. 

Whether you’re on deputation, furlough, or returning permanently, Return Again offers practical resources and emotional support during one of the most challenging seasons of your life. Because coming home shouldn’t mean coming home alone. You gave everything to follow your calling. Now it’s time for someone to be there for you. Learn more at www.returnagain.org.

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Ken Groat serves as the Deputy National Director for Bridges for Peace USA. He co-founded Return Again Ministries with his wife of 33 years, Brenda. Together with their daughter, they served in Israel for nearly a decade.

If at All Possible, Take Them Home

The tears started when we got out of the tuk tuk and stood at the edge of our old neighborhood. My teen girls wanted to meander from the main road, down the hill, around the corner. They wanted to walk slowly home, taking it all in and letting the memories come as they may.

We were five years late, but we had come home.

Our furlough was supposed to last from April to August of 2020. As the world began to shut down, we talked with our medical advisors and bumped our flights up to mid-March; we packed our suitcases, wore our masks, hoped all six of us would remain fever free, and boarded our flights from Phnom Penh to Taipei to San Francisco to Kansas City. The flight board in Taipei was nearly all red, full of cancelled flights. Thankfully, TPE to SFO was on time.

We didn’t know it then, but this was how we were wrapping up eight years of life and living in Asia.

About a month into our time in the States we realized the doors were closing on Cambodia. We cried, we planned, we wept. We ate a lot of ice cream.

And we did our best to end well during a global pandemic and without the chance to say goodbye in person. Our kids kept meeting with their international youth group virtually, we used Google maps to “walk” down our streets, we tried to do what we could while also figuring out how to survive in the vastly altered America we had just landed in.

***

But now, five years later, I saw my girls enthralled with the country of their youth. They were coming back to their childhood, and they were loving it. During the late-night taxi drive from the airport, they rolled down the windows and said it felt like they never left. The sharp smells, the weight of the air, the Khmer throngs, the Chinese neon blinking signs.

We went to the Japanese mall where our family spent many Saturdays, we walked through the Russian Market and bought trinkets and shirts. Some of our favorite restaurants had had to shut down during the pandemic, but some made it through, so we ate and ate and ate. We were tourists who didn’t feel like tourists.

We went to our old church, a place where we all experienced the beauty and complexity of the global, international Kingdom. We were the last ones there that Sunday, walking around the church compound, remembering hot Sundays playing in the grass and eating samosas from our Pakistani friends.

My girls loved hearing Khmer again and feeling the humidity and swimming late into the night. They loved the French pastries, leftovers from a not-too-distant colonial time. They said the visit changed their memories of Cambodia, that when they thought back of Cambodia now, it wouldn’t be all loss and empty space and a shapeless goodbye. Their memories would now include long walks with teenage eyes, good hugs, the beauty of long friendships across oceans, and laughter at how our 7th floor hotel room flooded because the bidet exploded while we were touring the Royal Palace.

***

When we walked down the hill and turned the dusty corner of our street, we were known. Our old neighbors, cooking and chattering away outside their houses, saw us from several blocks away and started waving their hands wildly. They welcomed us back so sweetly and with such smiles; I will cherish their gift for a lifetime. They asked about the family, about America, about work. They showed us how five years had grown their children too. We visited with our old landlord, who surprised us with an invitation to walk through our old row house.

We climbed the stairs, peered into the old spaces where we lived. The girls saw some of their old furniture, repurposed now by a Cambodian family. They went out on the little patio, my youngest’s first “garden,” the place where she first tended to living things. What a beautiful, unexpected, wonderful gift.

The trip was so much better than I had even hoped. I knew I wanted to get them there; for five years I had known that somehow, someway, I needed to get them there. And I am so grateful.

***

We stood at the Phnom Penh airport, departure tickets in hand, and breathed. The girls wanted to recreate the last photo we took in Cambodia in 2020: at the top of the escalators, just before immigration, looking down on the airline check-in counters. Arched ceilings framed reliefs of Cambodian scenes. The girls are much taller in these new photos, and their smiles are older too.

We were all sad again, a little bit. And we were happy too. This time, we were leaving a Cambodia that had been home, that still felt like home in many ways, and we were also going home. Soon, we knew we would land at a little airport in Southwest Missouri that would also feel familiar. We would greet the rest of the family and tell all the stories. We would go to church on Sunday, a place with dear friends and kind hearts where we, once again, feel known and cared for and seen. The global church, it turns out, is in Missouri too, with all her beauty and complexity.

We would recover from jet lag in our own beds, and we would sit around our own table once again and laugh and laugh. There aren’t palm trees outside, and we can’t usually smell our neighbor’s dinner. The air isn’t thick year-round with humidity and incense, and there are no geckos. But we can walk down our not-so-dusty street. We can fall in love with the four seasons of an American Midwest. We can drive to our new favorite Asian restaurant. We can still live.

Because, wonder of wonders, after traveling there and back again, we have come

Home.

It is not always possible to return to a once-loved place. For ideas on what to do when you can’t go back, check out The Day We Didn’t Go Home. Also, if you’re not familiar with TCK Training and all their excellent resources, visit their website at tcktraining.com. Marilyn Gardner has written a beautiful piece for adult third culture kids on returning home: So, You Want to Go Back ‘Home’?

I asked a lot of questions during our trip: Has anything surprised you? What is this like for you? Is there anything left undone? What are the things you really need to do here or the places you really need to go? I didn’t really have much of an agenda at all, and I didn’t really try to anticipate what they would want or how they would feel.

After the trip, I asked one of my daughters for her advice to families making a return trip. “Let the feelings feel,” she said. “Let it be happy if it’s happy, and let it be sad if it’s sad. And if the feeling’s anger or frustration, let that be too.”

Rediscovering Home: When the Familiar Feels Foreign

by Mari Eygabroad

“Welcome home!” I heard the words, but they didn’t feel right. I stood wide-eyed. Were we home? The whirlwind of events over the last month darted through my mind. My heart sank, unsure of what to say. “Thank you” was all I could muster.

The word “home” is supposed to bring comfort. We weren’t there yet. We landed in the US just a month earlier after months of packing and a forty-two-hour trek around the globe, toting as many belongings as we could fit in action packers and checked luggage. We were still adjusting to the ten-hour time change, didn’t have our own space, our kids were sharing an air mattress, and we were all living out of suitcases until our rental house was ready.

Looking back, it took several years of living in Lesotho before it felt like home. We didn’t fit into that culture, but we also didn’t fit in in the US anymore. Maybe anywhere. But isn’t that right where God wants us? “Home” is where He wants us to be. No matter where we are, home is where we are together with God.

By about our third year in Lesotho, we were settled. Most things had become comfortable but not necessarily familiar. We adopted a year-round school schedule, providing our kids with a regular routine that only deviated when we were sick, on break, or on vacation.

We built our community, meeting regularly with friends for coffee or meals. We participated in team gatherings and our home church, and my husband attended regular men’s breakfasts. We gave and received love. Conversations went deep, discussing heart issues, morals, and values. Small talk had no place.

Almost a decade had passed since we began living life overseas when the Lord put it on our hearts to consider returning to America. We thought of so many reasons why we shouldn’t. Nothing was pushing us out of Lesotho. We loved the people, our community, the pace of life, and the ministry we were doing. But one thing remained: God was calling us in a new direction.

So we prayed. A lot. We also invited others to pray with us, which was one of the best decisions we made. We yearn for the wisdom and counsel gleaned from the experiences of others who have walked this path before. After bathing the matter in prayer and receiving a great deal of encouragement and counsel regarding repatriation, we felt prepared to return to the US.

The number one thing we learned from the experiences of many others is that getting plugged into a church and building a community can be a challenge. Though we were returning to our “home area,” many of our friends had moved away. So, we knew we would be building a new community from scratch. We wanted to be intentional about finding a church, so we began scouring websites and attending online sermons as we researched churches in the area where we planned to live. Although we were unable to make in-person connections, we still gained a sense of the church environment and its pastors.

We decided we would attend a church with a homeschool co-op near our rental home. Being comfortable with the pastor and his messages allowed us to feel more at ease about committing to that church. The church has proven to be a solid, biblical church, and we have been able to connect with some smaller groups without hesitation, which would have been a concern if we were unsure of which church we wanted to call our home church.

Initially, we wanted to keep a low profile — just be normal and not play the missionary card too early. However, when attending a small church, people know you’re new, and a straightforward question like, “Where are you from?” opens up a whole can of worms. That’s when I also learned that not everyone is fascinated with our life as missionaries.

It’s challenging to reduce a decade of life into a few sentences. We discovered that we would only be able to share our life overseas with a select few people. Thankfully, we have friends who have been on this journey before us, and they have been great at listening to our stories. It can be a struggle to find friends who genuinely want to hear about your life, so it may become necessary to find a counselor or a repatriation mentor who understands.

Developing relationships has been a slow process. Friends meeting regularly is almost unheard of, and creating depth in a relationship seems tantamount to torture for some people. I cherish the few people I’ve found who desire more serious relationships, but my husband and I both long for that one person we can call our “bestie.”

One of the things we looked forward to when coming back was the opportunity to be involved in church and for our kids to participate in sports or other activities. We dove into quite a few church activities. Although we loved the Bible studies, having more than one a week, in addition to youth group and small group, we realized how quickly those activities can fill up our calendar.

Understanding that packed schedules and constantly on-the-go friends are part of the culture, I’ve realized the importance of not only adjusting my expectations but also protecting my own schedule so I would not get wrapped up in the pace myself. That’s when I resolved that our first few years would be our “try and see” years.

A wise counselor once told me that it could take several years to find a rhythm and establish a routine upon returning. I am beginning to see the truth of that statement. Within the first year, we transitioned from full-time homeschooling to homeschooling plus a co-op and then to private school.

With all the transitions and newness, we’ve discovered that our kids, what some would call Third Culture Kids (TCKs), though resilient, are different than most American kids. We’ve had many tearful discussions around the dinner table about what we miss about Lesotho and the struggles we’re facing. Our son was upset one day after a schoolboy laughed at him because he didn’t know what the phrase “cut the cheese” meant. A seemingly minor colloquialism, but to him, it was a stark reminder of not fitting in. It’s important to encourage our kids that it’s okay to be different while still allowing them to express their emotions.

We’ve also had many joyous conversations about what has been good. Being in school has provided both educational challenges and social awakenings for both of our kids. Having the opportunity to connect with other children has made us realize how significant a role their social life will play in their development. They are forging their own paths and developing their own relationships. Some of their uniqueness and quirks will remain intact, while others will fade away.

It will take some time for all of us to adapt as we continue to learn what it means to live in the US. We will prayerfully enter into church ministry, carefully select activities and events, and continue with patience as we develop new relationships. In trying to establish a routine, I’ve learned that the rhythm of life in America seems seasonal — just as we were beginning to feel we had a good rhythm, along came summer break and bored kids!

When the time comes for you to return to your home country, remember to give yourself time and grace. As you research churches in the area where you’ll be living, try to get plugged in earlier rather than later. Also, understand that past friendships will be different, even if you’ve kept in touch. As you’ve lived, grown, and changed during the time you’ve been away, so have they. Even if you have a few friends to reconnect with, you will likely still need to build a new community around you.

And if you have children, check in with them. They are adapting to everything new on an even larger scale. Our kids only knew Africa. America is an entirely different experience. Children need to have a safe space to process their struggles and successes. Even if their emotions seem irrational to us, they are still real to them.

Moving overseas, you expect things to be difficult, so it seems strange to think things would be so challenging upon returning to your home country. But more and more people find their return more difficult than their departure. So let the Lord be your guide. Invite people to pray with you, pray as a family, and seek counsel from others who’ve walked this road before you. The journey is long. You’ll need some help along the way.

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Mari served as a missionary for eleven years in Lesotho, Africa, with her husband, a pilot/mechanic with Mission Aviation Fellowship (MAF). During their first few years living in Africa, her family faced many hardships and tragedies. After searching unsuccessfully for resources that could have prepared her for what they experienced, God put it on her heart to write the book she wished she’d had, and Living Uprooted: Encouragement for the Missionary Wife was born. She and her husband returned to the US in 2024, where they now train and mentor new missionaries. You can find her online at marieygabroad.substack.com.

To the Returning Missionary

You have walked with God in this place a long time, and He has walked with you. He has been beside you and inside you this whole time. The same Spirit remains in you and with you in your new place.

This place has changed you, and you have changed this place. Do not be distressed if you don’t understand everything that has happened and that is happening. Remember that the stories God writes are always long. They unfold over generations, not days or weeks or even months.

You have been here long enough to understand some of what God is writing, for both yourself and the people you’ve served, but some things may not make sense yet. Do not fret, and do not fear. The Father will show it all to you One Day. Until That Day, remember that you leave with our love, even as you live within God’s love.

Many years ago you came to this place as a foreigner, and the place you’re going now may also seem foreign to you. Everyone and everything has changed, including you.

So in the days and months and years to come, when you feel misunderstood, remember that no one understands your foreignness like Jesus, the One who came to the most foreign land to show his beloved creatures Truth and Light. He will understand your sorrows like no other.

You have seen so much change in your years here. Change in the people around you, change in yourself, change in the people you’re returning to. And you are tired. So tired. No one can work and live as long as you have and not be tired. Remember that Christ is your rest. (And on your journey, also remember to sleep.)

Circumstances change, and communities change, and in the end, He is all we have to hold onto. So don’t lose hope: He IS our hope. Hold onto Him, and remember that His love never fails. It will never fail you.

Though organizations may fail you, though supporters may fail you, though cultural acquisition may fail you, though years of experience may fail you, though people you love and invested in may fail you, though you may even feel you’ve failed yourself, still one thing will not fail you: the love of the Great Three in One will never fail.

And One Day, this squeezing in your heart and this aching in your bones from all these years and all these travels and all the years and travels to come, it will all be undone. Everything will be made new. Remember this.

Leaving (and Arriving) Well — what to do when your time comes

You’re probably going to leave the field.

Someday, somehow, the vast majority of us will say goodbye, pack up, cry tears of joy or sorrow or both, and depart.

How will that work out for you?

Well, frankly, I have no idea. But I do know that there are some things you can do to prepare to leave and some things you can do to prepare to arrive. And while a cross-cultural move is stressful no matter which direction you’re going, knowing some of what to expect and how to prepare really can help.

The first part of this article deals with Leaving Well, while the second part deals with the oft-overlooked importance of Arriving Well.

In Arriving Well, we’ll look at

– Embracing your inner tourist,

– Making movie magic,

– Identifying your needs, and of course,

– Grieving

We’ll wrap up with an Arrival Benediction, which is a prayer for you, the transitioner, from the bottom of my heart.

 

Preparing to Leave Well – How do I debrief all of this?
Maybe it was nine months or maybe it was 19 years. In any case, debriefing is your friend.

For starters, find someone to talk with. A safe person who will value your thoughts and feelings about the whole range of your experience. They don’t have to understand missions or life on the field; they just have to be willing to listen, empathize, and listen. (And yes, I said that on purpose.)

Try making two lists: one of what you’ve gained and one of what you’ve lost. And remember, this isn’t algebra; you’re not trying to balance an equation, and the sides don’t have to balance each other out. In fact, they won’t.

Some folks more easily list what they’ve gained. If that’s you, it’s important for you to wrestle with identifying and grappling with losses.

For some, the losses are the prime (or only) thing. If that’s you, it’s important to wrestle with the truth that there is some good in all of it, even if the only good is God.

There is tremendous power in making room for the paradoxical truths that there was good and there was bad and there IS God.

 

Preparing to Leave Well – Am I a Failure?
Maybe some things failed. Maybe things really did hit the fan. But there is a world of difference between stepping back and saying, “Wow, that thing failed,” or even, “I failed to accomplish that goal,” and “I AM A FAILURE!”  If you find yourself lurching towards the “I am a failure” side of things, heads up, ‘cause that’ll destroy you.

You’ll need to deal with that sense of being a failure; if you don’t put that to rest right here and now, it will rise from the dead like Taylor, all the time.

It will blind you to whatever God is calling you to next. Please don’t let it.

Further reading: To the ones who think they’ve failed

 

Preparing to Leave Well – What should I read?
Well, for starters, here are two articles from A Life Overseas writers…

Leaving Happy or Leaving Well? (by Jerry Jones)

“Everyone wants to leave happy but not everyone wants to leave well.  In fact, some people are so committed to leaving happy that they absolutely refuse to leave well.”

Transition – Building a RAFT (by Marilyn Gardner)

This one is my go-to when I’m meeting with a client who’s preparing to transition. Do yourself a favor and read Marilyn’s thoughts about building a RAFT.

 

If you’re willing to invest in a book or two, these are highly recommended…

Returning Well: your guide to thriving back “home” after serving cross-culturally

Perry Bradford, President of Barnabas International, says this about Returning Well: “Thousands transition back to their home cultures each year without any formal debrief to assist them. Returning Well will guide the reader into an in‐depth look at their transition and lead them to discover how to manage the re‐entry process with spiritual and emotional health.”

Looming Transitions: starting and finishing well in cross-cultural service

This one’s from A Life Overseas writer Amy Young, and it’s excellent. Also check out the companion book, Twenty-Two Activities for Families in Transition

 

Preparing to Arrive Well – Embrace your inner tourist
Many of us want to hit the ground running. We’ve got a bazillion things to do and people to see and contracts and license renewals and logistics and ieoafioefoaeifnaeoifneoiafjeio…

But you know, much less has to be done immediately than you think. Really.

Instead, what I’d like for you to do, for a time, is just pretend to be a tourist. Let jet lag have its day, and then be a tourist. Maybe forgo the tourist pants and camera straps, but if you want to go all in, go for it.

A tourist is one who “is travelling or visiting a place for pleasure.”

Let yourself enjoy your new place, even if it’s your old place; it is your new place now. Go to the parks and museums and restaurants. Go where tourists go, and go with tourist eyes. The place has changed, and so has your vision.

Enjoy the place. Enjoy the people. Give your soul time to breathe.

I always ask clients to list out the stuff that absolutely HAS to be done in the first two weeks. Ask yourself, “Will I die if this doesn’t happen RIGHT AWAY?”

Remember, God’s where you’re at. You didn’t leave him on the field. The Creator’s not stranded in customs. Ask him to show himself in this new-to-you part of his creation, and then give yourself time and space to hear his reply.

 

Preparing to Arrive Well – Make movie magic
Some people will care about your stories. Some won’t. Some will act like they care and then their eyes will glaze over like a warm Krispy Kreme donut.

Which is where the movie magic comes in.

I want you to create a movie poster. Come up with a few sentence snapshot of your experience (whether it was 6 months or 6 years). I want you to have something that’s quick and that you can say without having to use a lot of computing power.

This “movie poster” is for the well-meaning folks who pass you in the church lobby and say, “How was your trip?” I want you to have something to say to them besides, “YOU MEAN MY LIFE?!! YOU MEAN HOW WAS THE LAST DECADE OF MY LIFE?!!!”

For those folks, give them the movie poster. Maybe it’ll intrigue them and maybe at some point they’ll want to hear more of the story. But if they don’t, whatever.

Then, I want you to create a movie trailer. Create a two or three minute synopsis of some of the important points. Tell some of the story, but don’t reveal it all. Keep in mind that a movie trailer isn’t designed to tell the whole story, but to help people decide whether or not they want to invest in the full-length feature film.

Some will watch the trailer, they’ll hear your three-minute story, and be satisfied. They’ll say, “Wow, that looks cool. I’m never going to see that.” And of course, some will say, “Hmm, that actually looks really interesting. When is it showing?”

And then create the feature film. The movie.

This is your story, shared with the folks who really want to hear it. These are your people.

Not everyone will want to see your movie. And that’s ok.

Not everyone will like your movie. That’s ok too.

You weren’t making it for them anyways.

 

Preparing to Arrive Well – Grieve again (and again and again)
Grieving big losses is measured more in years than months. So when you’ve been back for 5 weeks and hit a speed bump, please don’t be mad at yourself and don’t you dare think, “I should be over this by now!” Um, just no. Even if you move back to the same town where you grew up, you’ve changed and the town’s changed and this isn’t Kansas anymore.

Big losses take more like two years to grieve, not two months.

Further reading: How do we process loss and grief?

 

Preparing to Arrive Well – Identify your needs
This was originally written about cross-cultural living, but it applies here too:

We’ve got to start asking our cross-culturally-working-selves, “In an ideal world, what is it that I really need to make it? To thrive? To be ok? To survive where God’s called me? What is it that I really need?”

Can I mitigate it, or do I need to sacrifice it? These concepts continue to ring off the walls of my counseling room, and I think transitioners need them too.

Read more here: The One Question We Must Ask

 

An Arrival Benediction
Here’s my prayer for you, a prayer for the middle spaces:

May you arrive more whole than when you departed, though the intervening time may have been splintering and hard.

May you arrive with more hope than when you left, though you’ve been in hopeless situations more often than you thought possible.

Perhaps you’ll arrive empty, but may those you’ve left behind (there and here), fill you with the love of the Father, aged and distilled through time and perhaps darkness.

May you arrive with peace, knowing in your gut that he is Good, that he is Faithful, and that he isn’t finished with you (or with them).

May you find rest, safe in the arms of love, behind the Captain of the Lord of Hosts, your Healer.

And may you hear him ask you the same question he asked a confused and lonely and traveling Hagar, “Where have you come from?” and “Where are you going?” At the end of the day, may you proclaim along with Hagar, “You are the God who sees me.”

And after your arrival,
May you keep your eyes fixed on the horizon,
Awaiting the day of all days,
When the sky will split,
The darkness flee, and
He will, finally and irrevocably,
Arrive.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~