It’s all about the journey. At least that’s what we’ve been told.
Is it though? Anyone who’s bounced between continents, countries, or even cities may testify that sometimes we just want to get there. Move from point A to point B. Skip the hard stuff, the demands of packing and nausea and opportunities for personal growth. I’ll take the Dramamine, earbuds, and an uneventful journey if you please. And if I miraculously manage to fall asleep in transit, wake me up when we get there.
We are leaving London. After nearly eight wonderful, challenging, transformative years of ministry, we’re heading back to our home state of Wisconsin. We’re happy. We’re sad. We’re every emotion in between and a little off kilter because we’ve entered that ambiguous season of both belonging and not belonging to two worlds, of wanting to reside in two places which, of course, as limited flesh and blood people, is impossible.
I still love London; this wasn’t a casual breakup.
And we’re still here, carrying on in our little ground floor flat and walking our noisy neighbourhood, but we’re currently in the process of buying (by London standards) a roomy house with quadruple the storage space. We’re zipping along on public transport here whilst a recently purchased good used Toyota waits for us there. I get choked up when I think of leaving family and friends here, yet can’t wait to see family and friends there.
Here to there, there to here. Transitions can be brutal, demanding physical and mental energy that ordinary life does not. Some of that comes down to logistics.
Our aim is to cram life into nine bags or less, just like we did when we crossed the pond in 2018. Every little thing we own must be handled, assessed, and categorized: pack, pitch, sell, or give. We’re preoccupied with a game every pilgrim who’s set off for a new place has played: What’s it Worth?
Do we have room for all of those books? Is the teapot more valuable than the pub glass? Should we go for broke (hopefully not literally) and pack both? Space is limited. Every item needs to earn its spot, and that’s alright. Pilgrims are meant to pack light.
This transition season will end, of course. Packed poorly or brilliantly, we’ll eventually board a transatlantic flight and move ourselves from point A to point B. Realistically, we’ll enter a new season of transition because that’s how it goes. One transition bleeds into the next. But by definition, the word transition implies something temporary: a shift, a change, an invisible, interim tyrant that takes over our lives and emotions and resources. If only for a time.
The tyrant isn’t all bad. Change can be life-giving. New chapters are exciting. Parting with possessions can be liberating. Even so, after jostling along on ambiguity and adrenaline for a while, most of us long to land on solid ground, set up camp, and establish routine. Let our stomach and emotions settle.
In London, when your train reaches its destination, an automated voice on the loud speakers announces in no uncertain terms that the journey is over. “This train terminates here. All change.”
Get up, get out, grab your stuff and go. We’ve transported you successfully, now leave. No one is meant to live on the Northern Line.
Real life seasons tend to blur together. Pages stick. It’s up to us to pay attention and tribute to our endings and beginnings, to call out griefs and joys, satisfactions and disappointments. Scribble a journal entry. Mark the calendar. Toast a victory. Mourn a failure. Curate a prayer. Set a stone.
Jobs, addresses, roles, relationships, finances, health — it’s all up for grabs — can shift like sand, and getting through to the other side, going from this to that, comes with a unique brand of exhaustion. Change rumbles in like a roaring train, ready or not. It’ll take its toll as it sweep us along for a crazy ride.
So I am owning it. We are in transition. We’re preparing to transport ourselves transatlantic-ly, to transfer from a big European city to a small American town, to transplant our lives.
To strip it down to the root prefix: trans, meaning “across.” Crossing from here to there. Going from this to that, from point A to point B. In our case, from London to Wisconsin.
Across. Funny how adding one little space changes everything. Presto, you have a new word. A word that also points to change, to the ultimate story of transformation: a cross. Once there was a cross that changed everything.
We were stuck in our sin, far away from God, until Jesus’s arms stretched across those rough, wood beams and died in our place. Humanity had incurred an un-payable debt, and although that moment was transient, it was also final. For those who trust Him, our sins were transferred fully onto Christ and dealt with for good. He became the mesitēs, the mediator, the one standing “in between.” The bridge between us and God. Now sinner could be saint, orphan could become daughter.
His death led to our life. The veil tore, Jesus rose, and nothing was ever the same. The cross stands taller than any other event in history, the most consequential stake in the word’s timeline. But that moment, when our sin was transferred to Him? It didn’t come easily. Remember how Jesus prayed in the garden? How sweat dripped from His head and He begged God, Might there be another way?
Our struggles may be incomparable, yet our response to our own dark nights can be the same as His. Whether we’re facing a life and death situation or not, God says come to Me like Jesus — raw prayer, real emotion, hard questions, big fat tears and all.
Come to Me instead of falling asleep, instead of checking out, instead of wallowing in pity, instead of pretending it’s nothing.
Life is fleeting, and our afflictions might not seem light or momentary, yet for now we’re meant to be here, clinging to Him as He leads us through the unsettled in between, until He carries us there.
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Rachel Allord currently serves in London, UK, and is the author of several novels including The Addie Brown Books, young adult fiction that explores all things related to TCK life. After eight years of living in London, she and her husband are transitioning back to the United States. She’s processing the transition through writing at The Laughing Pilgrim. To follow along, peruse her books, and explore how Rachel could connect with your book club, ministry, or event, head to rachelallord.com.
