They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. Maybe. But I find I am forgetting. My heart aches to be in Zambia, but life must be lived here, too. The daily decisions we have to make impede trying to think about leaving. Do we sign the kids up for swimming and camp? Do we buy dressers so we can stop living out of boxes as we have for 7 months? Do we pack? Do we get passports (the childrens' passports are good for only 5 years, so we want to wait as long as possible before we get them)?
While living in such (relative) luxury, I forget why we are doing this. I forget that we are needed elsewhere. I trust that God's timing is perfect, but I also wrestle with the thought that man's free will means that people will die without hope because we aren't there. On my best days, I muddle through, doing the next thing. On my worst days, I want to just give up. I want my house back. I want my schedule back. I want to be able to make plans and settle into a routine.
There is no glory in this. There are no sparkles and unicorns. We are struggling with this in-between, this chaos, this uncertainty. I have come to the end of my rope so often. I have tied a knot and am hanging on. But I still have rope burn.
And all this longing...for something hard?! I sometimes question my sanity for wanting this. So many people have reminded us of the difficulties and challenges that are ahead. We have to move to a new culture. We have to learn to live life somewhere else, coupled with the challenges of a new language and being a minority. This is not a short trip. This in not a vacation.
Sometimes my reason is just that I know God has asked this of us. And that has to be enough.