I have a creeper friend who stalks me during church.  Yesterday, she captured this moment, which was seemingly insignificant, and made it a moment I will cherish.  Libby and I were sitting in front of her; we were holding hands.  (And by the way, my friend is so dear to me for taking this photo, being her creeper, stalking self, because she knew it would so touch my heart!)

Yesterday was the end of a week of goodbyes.  We've made it a point to be intentional and take the necessary moments to say goodbye to friends who have impacted us during our tenure in our beloved Vienna.  There have been tears.  There have also been countless laughs, deep looks into loved one's eyes, touches on faces, and times when words and looks wouldn't do - so holding hands just seemed like the right initiative to communicate the deep affection of my heart.

Like most events in life, in the moment of a goodbye, it's painful.  It's not so much about the loss of a regular encounter with the person for whom you are leaving but the loss of so much more.  Relationships will and do stand the test of time.  However, it's the projecting of what will not be the same, the time that will occupy space until you see one another again, the changes both good and bad that will take place in the course of your journey before reuniting, the moving on.

Winnie the Pooh says it best:  "Sometimes the smallest things take the most room in your heart."

It is the small things - when gathered and reflected upon when saying goodbye - that make a deeply profound pain in your heart when saying goodbye.  The pain doesn't last forever.  We, humans, are resilient.  But in the season of goodbye, the pain needs to be felt and managed well.  It reminds us of the important things.  It reminds us that we have been created to love.  It reminds us that God's greatest gifts aren't wrapped in beautiful packaging but in the shape of humans who forever change us.

I will hold more hands ... and I will grieve ... and I will be grateful for every bit of it,
Christina

I was the child of a Military Father.  We moved about from place to place with effortless transition - or so it would seem.  I was a child.  I had only my "stuff" to keep as the center of my world.  My parents, on the other hand, navigated the waters of international moves.  All the details of paperwork, contracts, plane tickets, rental agreements, money exchanges, and filing for new documents were hidden from me.  It wasn't my job.  They took care of those details for they were not mine to accomplish.

I am an adult, making another international move.  While the process is the same, my role is quite different from that of a child of the 70's.  I still have my "stuff" to keep as the center of my world ... it's just that my "stuff" includes a much longer list!  For example, just his week we walked through:  2 graduations, 2 goodbye parties, 8 furniture pickups, numerous cleaning sessions, 1 residence permit email dialogue, 1 Award assembly, 1,243 trips to the trash bins, and lots of other random things in the middle.

Saying goodbye requires honesty.  Say the things you need to say to those to whom you are leaving.  They will be left with routines that once included your presence.  You will be missed.  Say the things that need to be said.

Saying goodbye requires tears.  You can't get around it.  Tears will come.  Healthy people will grieve the loss of saying goodbye to parties with whom you have shared your life.  Let the tears fall.  Get away and "ugly cry" if you need to for it has a cathartic property the soothes the soul.  Cry.  Tears help the letting go.

Saying goodbye requires vision.  When you landed in the place you are now leaving, you said goodbye to a place that was familiar.  Goodbye also means hello to a new place with new people and new experiences.  It's a new chapter.  Keeping a vision for what is to come in the middle of what you are saying goodbye to helps center you.

In saying goodbye, feel what you need to feel.  I have daughters who have lived in a foreign country that now feels like their "home".  I grieve for my losses ... and I grieve for theirs.  Oh, that I could take away the pain that sloshes around in their hearts and spills out in moments of emotion.  This is their journey.  Having walked through this season will make them stronger women.  But for now, this Momma wants to cradle them in my arms and stroke straight hair and let sweet kisses fall on smooth foreheads and remind them all will be OK.

Saying goodbye reminds me that despite the numbers that indicate how many years on the planet I've lived, I will always be a child of God.  There are certain things I can lay at his feet while I make this transition.  Some things simply aren't my job to solve, figure out, arrange or make happen.  It's the job of my Father.  He takes care of those details for they are not mine to accomplish.

Finally, saying goodbye reminds us that if you know Jesus - there will be a time and place were no more goodbyes will ever be uttered.  Until then, get the Kleenex out, write the cards, whisper the words in ears of those you are leaving and embrace the transition.

More goodbyes and lessons learned,
Christina

A few weeks ago, Chris attended church while we girls stayed home feeling poorly.  During the service, our pastors handed out stars.  They had previously and prayerfully collected words that they wrote on paper stars which were laminated and then passed out to the members of the congregation who were willing to take one.  There were no lightning bolts that magically appeared directing members to a star nor were there spotlights that shone on the star that was meant for you ... you just took one.  The prayer was that the word would have significance for you.  For my Chris, it did.  The word:  satisfaction.

As we capture our imaginations about what moving back to the U.S. looks like, it usually involves a sense of being dissatisfied.  On paper, when one has lived overseas in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, moving to the center of the Bible belt seems - no offense - a letdown.  Being rated among the best-rated cities for overall quality of life in the entire world - Vienna - Norman, Oklahoma seems like a far inferior place to put down roots.  I can say all of this because Norman is my home.

A feeling of being unsatisfied with the future - in our future "home" - in our future normal - has visited us too many times to count.  We've projected ourselves into the future, lacking proper coffee, places in which to sip it, and places in which to be left alone or visit for hours with another human while sipping it.

And then the word:  satisfaction.

Years ago, my dearest kindred spirit had a son who was sent to Iraq.  Months before his deployment, her imaginations were all over the place.  A mothers' heart in unrest plotting what "could" be before his feet ever traversed difficult soil.  Then, she got a word.  It wasn't on a laminated star.  It came from a place of quiet, in her spirit, from a loving God.  In a nano-second, she was at peace and satisfied with her reality and the reality of her son.  Her son would be just as safe in a foreign, hostile land as he would be in a local 7-11 in his hometown.  God was both places.  He would protect him ... no matter where he was.

Just as my friends' word brought her imaginations under submission to a greater force that reminded her of whom is really in charge of protection, our word has reminded us that God will be our satisfaction ... no matter where we are.  Coffee may taste different but it doesn't mean we will experience deficit because of our location.  The condition of the heart, in total obedience, is what sets the stage for satisfaction.  When I yield to the One who directs my paths and makes me lie down in really good, green, pastures, what I see with my eyes doesn't define me.  My zip code is not relevant.  Where my heart is ... is.

My zip code will change.  For that, I am - satisfied,
Christina

Plane tickets have been bought.  June 28, 2018, is our departure date.  Wow.  I've bought tickets coming and going "home" for over 9 years.  This is the first time I wept after hitting the pay button.

Going "home"/going "back" seems right.  However, it's packed with so much emotion it often leaks out of my eyes in the form of slow, salty tears and drips to my shirt and while bringing a reflective smile to my face.  I love my home - here.  I love my community - here.  I love my friends - here.  I love what we've carved out for ourselves and what God has brought in and out of our lives:

• Sunday afternoon walks through the city
• Sleepy cafe's that let you sit for hours
• Crowded public transportation filled with others who do not make eye contact
• Lugging a granny cart to the grocery store every other day
• Speaking German with a funny American accent
• Taking a bath in the winter because it's the only way to warm up
• Buying cut flowers on a regular basis because they are cheap
• Making espresso every day
• Wearing the same pair of boots every day in the winter 
• Wearing the same comfortable shoes every day in the Spring
• Kissing cheeks twice as a normal form of greeting
• Eating insanely thin pizza with ham and corn
• Grabbing coffee with parents from all over the world who send their kids to the same school my girls attend
• Traveling to other countries for volleyball tournaments
• Not speaking dialect because high German is all I know
• Eating the best sausage on the planet while standing outside the Wurstel Hut

I've started hunting for plane tickets for our summer return.  For the past three summers, I've  embarked on this routine: search for best prices, juggle calendars to determine the best departure and return dates, and book.  But this year, I'm selecting one-way journeys on my search engines.  The first time I clicked that little button (that is the second choice when conducting a search by the way), my heart quivered.  It's one thing to make a statement by faith.  It's another thing to take a step of faith.

We are not unique to taking steps of faith.  Millions upon millions of others have left home and country to start new lives in places that seem unfamiliar.  My goodness, we are in the "blessed" category!  We are not fleeing due to civil war, national crisis, or refugee status.  We are simply relocating back to a place we once called home.

Because we know we are stepping into unknown waters based on a directive from God that others have confirmed and affirmed, there is a certain amount of wonder in the whole process.  I'm not letting myself land in places that God has not promised.  I refuse to open that scary door in my imagination that lets fear, doubt, and "What are you thinking?" thoughts run in like a herd of wild horses.  God's done too much in our hearts and has given us too many promises to cheapen this experience by letting that junk creep in.

I love how Mary (the Mother of Jesus) - when told what plans God had for her - reacted.  How can this be?  It wasn't a statement of doubt that God would not be able to pull this off but rather an honest question of how the plan was going to unfold.  Her questions came with sweet answers from a caring Father.  I've got questions, too.

How are you going to provide, again, for establishing another household?  I will have no towels.  I will have no silverware. I can't even think about beds, couches, pots and pans.  What about cars?  We'll need cars.  And what about lamps?  Any kind of electric gadgit I have won't work with U.S. electric sockets.  Oh my word, I'm going to have to buy a wash machine, a dryer, a lawn mower.  God, how is this going to work out?

Goodbyes.  I know a little about this topic.  Living abroad makes me more than a novice - more than an amateur - it makes me a downright professional Goodbye Sayer.  You get to know how to pack the most in a short period of time, sum up your feelings near an airport gate, and contain tears that want to run like rivers until you are behind security and alone, with a Kleenex, to wipe the moisture from eyes that don't know the next time they will see precious humans you love.

I really appreciate that Jesus was not a stranger to goodbye's as well.  I've been reading the book of John.  The last few chapters are a long goodbye letter to his dearest friends.  At times, they don't get it.  At times, they struggle to understand all that he's communicating to them.  But he knows.  He knows what he wants to convey and the important truths he wants bouncing around in their heads after he's gone.

Before all hell breaks loose, literally, he tells them to take heart - for he has overcome the world.  These are his final words.  He's already told them he was leaving them with a gift - Peace.  He also told them about the Advocate who would come after he left - the Holy Spirit.  He spent lots and lots of time defining and showing them the benefits of remaining in him - fruit.  He's ready.  His last message:  take heart - I have overcome the world.

I'm tired of the message many Christians have been given and are living as if they are slaves to "the world".  The message is that life is like an old-fashioned pinball machine, and you must dodge all the evils life throws at you.  Yet, this is not the truth Jesus left as his final message.  He said he had overcome the world.  He didn't live in a pinball machine.  Evil things happened yet he navigated them through the power of and in the constant presence of the Holy Spirit. Peace in the storm.  Presence in the battle.

What if we - Christians - stopped living as slaves to the world and acted in faith on the words of Jesus?  What if we lived as if Jesus really did overcome the world?  What if crisis didn't bring chaos in our souls but defaulted in dependence on the Overcomer?  What if tragedy didn't bring weak knees and fearful hearts but humble dependence  entirely on the One who we knew would show us the way?  What if financial need led us to praise God before He provided because we trusted that He would?  What if we simply took God at his word ...

Overcoming the world doesn't mean overcoming hard places or difficult circumstances.  Overcoming the world means we don't have to react without hope.  Overcoming means we unwrap the gift of Peace, rely on the Advocate, and start embracing the Presence of the One who walks right next to us through the other side.

No more Pinball Games for Me,
Christina

Airports.  I don't know the folks greeting each other in front of the arrivals board at the Vienna International Airport.  I just randomly snapped the photo while waiting on a friend to arrive from the U.S.

As I watched for her flight to land, estimating the time it would take to get her luggage (as not to stand near the arrival gate too long and loose my comfy seat in a nearby waiting area) I thought of the number of times I have been in this situation.  Airports.  Arrivals.  Departures.  Delays.  Hello's.  Goodbye's.

Airports are almost like a second home.  In them I have:  greived as if my heart would burst from grief, shed happy tears upon seeing the face of someone I've loved return home or visit, contemplated my lifes' work, settled into the transient nature of my life's rhythm, questioned my need for travel, admired well-dressed women who are able to wear high-heeled shoes while traveling, banished the thought of ever living a "normal" life, decided to change my hair style, fussed over slow customs lines, giggled at way too many awkward tight red capris ... on boys, prayed for my daughter I was leaving behind ... aching for the distance that miles would put between us.

In aiports, I'm always keenly aware of eternity.  I guess it's there I long for the never having to say goodbye ... again.

still snapping photo's,
chritina

Goodbyes are tough for Modern Day Nomads (MDN).  Just because we've said them more than your average person, it never gets any easier.  Goodbyes mark end of chapters.  New ones are left to be written ... and they will be written well.  However, it doesn't make turning the last page of the current chapters' end any easier.

Several years ago, my parents came to visit us.  They left Vienna on a train bound for Germany and eventually back to Oklahoma.  As we stood on the platform, waving goodbye and trying to be brave, I can still feel that sinking feeling in my gut as the train pulled away.  Despite my 40 something year old body, I felt like a little girl lost ... and desperately wanting to run with the train until I could no longer keep up its pace.

To the outsider, it's just another goodbye.  You will see them again.  Yet, the outsider doesn't know the loss of always wondering if this will be the last time you see those faces or hug those necks.  The outsider doesn't know what it means to sacrifice living safe.  These once a year - at best - visits have to encompass a whole lot of daily living in a short period of time.  That  says nothing of missing the passing of birthdays, school events, sad days, happy days, celebrations, promotions, just because visits, dinner out, dinner in ... you miss them all.

As our friends leave, another goodbye begins.  These goodbyes are the tough goodbyes.  What outsiders don't understand is that we, MDN, form our own ... family.  When those with whom we share the same physical DNA are oceans away, you develop bonds with those with whom you share the same spiritual DNA.  We come from different places and have different backgrounds but our common MDN status makes us all equal.

This week we went to our friends house to gives homes to some of their belongings that will now reside in our home.  As we hauled off their treasures to treasure them at our house, we parted at the Ubahn (subway) station.  This wasn't our last goodbye.  But, as I watched them ... all five of them ... walk away from our family the tears tumbled down without warning.  Here goes another Nomad into the great unknown.  We've all been there.  They will be fine because they trust One who knows the future ... their future.  They are merely taking steps, one by one, to find out what the future holds.

"I know the plans I have for you ... plans to prosper you, not to harm you.  Plans to give you a hope and a future."  Jeremiah 29:11

Today is another goodbye.

This time, we say goodbye to Chris' Mom - Shirley.  This is where the rubber hits the road emotionally.  Letting go of this hug requires super natural strength ... trusting in the One that has knitted us together in a Mother/Daughter relationship will also hold us together as we watch each other step away.

I love that God reminds me of His love, His parenting, His Way of planning a time and place where goodbyes won't exsist and steps will always lead us closer to those we love ... and to Him.

In the meantime, we walk in our humanity ... and take our steps. Tears, pits and all ... He's there ... loving us.

More steps,
christina

My oldest is making her way ... out.  She is preparing for departure.  She's checked in and waiting for boarding.  

I have a friend ... a dear friend that I have known longer than my Chris.  Beverly has seen me with mushroom hair, pregnant, overweight, underweight, in my pj's, with short hair, in college, out of college, working, unemployed, in style, out of style, with permed hair, grieving, celebrating.  She's been around awhile and she has seen it ... in some form or another ... in me.

We are the Queens of Self"ies"!!

My oldest is preparing for flight.  Friends have inquired about my heart.  It's always the build up that is worse than the actual event.  Right now, I try not to live in the build up ... just live in the right now.

This first-born, leader type of mine occupies a lot of my thoughts.  When she is sick, I think about who will care for her when she's sick in the future.  When she calls me and asks me to meet her for coffee, I think about how long it will be ... and how far away I'll be ... to drop everything and share some Java with my girl.

I know this child.  I know her heart.  I know that in her innermost being, she has made a commitment to follow this Jesus ... just as I have.

When the tears come ... from projecting way too far in the future ... I cling to a promise.  Jesus said that He was gonna go and prepare a place for me.  This place is for me ... and for my Addie ... and for others who have made a commitment to follow Him.  When life is over as we know it ... that's where we will be.

I don't find myself longing for heaven.  I don't know how I feel about that ... if I should ... if I should be worried that I don't.  What I do long for ... is no more pain ... no more tears.  I do long for a day where living with no more goodbyes will be a reality.

My parents left yesterday ... and another goodbye at the train station was said.  I cried.

As we made our way away from the platform, the tears came freely.  My Libby held my hand and kept looking up at me ... making sure I was OK.  She's 8 and wise beyond her years.  A conversation followed that proved to hold a fingerprint of God right in the middle of it.

I was trying to explain my tears.  I was trying to communicate that when you say goodbye, it's not really the parting that brings the tears, it's the parting that will follow, the time that will pass until you see each other again.  She comforted my heart by saying that it wouldn't be too long until we saw them again.  She's right; it won't.  But then I tried to explain that when your parents are older, you never know what can happen in the "in between time":  sickness, aging, even death.  I explained that when you live close to someone, you don't notice the aging process so much ... it's gradual.  However, by living so far away, and having visits so far apart, when you see your parent, the aging process happens right before your eyes ... all at once.  The things a parent used to be able to do with little to no effort that now requires time and patience is ... well ... hard.  It's a reminder that life goes on and waits for nothing or no one.

In the middle of my words to Libby, I had unwritten messages I was hearing in my heart at the same time.  I was thinking about my own aging process.  I just celebrated my 44th birthday.  Are you kidding me?  Where did 17 go ... when I was planning a life that was yet unlived?  Where did 23 go ... when I was a young bride and worried about how big I could make my bangs?  Where did  30 go ... when I was dressing my first-born daughter up in frilly dresses?  Or 34 ... or 40?  I was projecting way into the future ... a future that had me visiting my girls and them worrying about weather or not I can make a train connection ... or an overseas flight.  My tears were for those moments that haven't happened, but most likely will ... someday.

My 8 year old looks up at me and says plainly, "Momma, you know that to God,  your parents are just like little kids ... His kids ... and then someday we will all be heaven.  Don't worry."

Of course hearing such wisdom out of the mouth of a dark-haired look alike of myself made me cry ... again.  And then, made my heart light ... and I carried a beautiful picture in  my head and heart the rest of the day.  She's right.  My parents ... me ... all are God's kids.

When train station goodbyes feel too hard to bear, heaven finds a home in my heart ... and makes me feel like skipping like a little kid.

Goodbye's are always difficult, at least for me.  Since my Dad was in the Air Force, my life as a child was always sprinkled with goodbyes.  When we would visit my Grandmother, I always wondered why my Mom would cry when she said goodbye.  I knew she would miss her Mom, the daily life kinds of stuff, but I didn't understand the weight of a goodbye ... until now.  Now I know that when my Mom hugged my Grandmother, she wasn't shedding tears for the moment.  The tears that trickled down her face where full of emotion.  These tears contained message like ...

... when will be the next time we see each other?
... you've changed and I wasn't here to notice.
... this hurts and I can't do anything to change it.
... I don't want to forget how you smell.
... I loved eating your home made friend chicken.
... I've changed and you don't understand me.
... is this our last goodbye.

I know, because I've been in her shoes.

Today comes another goodbye.  Today, my family will gather in Texas to say goodbye to my cousin, Casey, who died this week.  The details aren't important; the goodbye is.

I remember Casey as my punky kid cousin who imitated Steve Irkle and took seriously the call to chop anything and anyone in an effort to call himself a Karate expert.  He had a round face and a smile that made his eyes invisible when he flashed those pearly whites.  He gave good foot rubs, until he became a teenager and that became too "uncool" for him.  He wanted to be a chef.

One memory that sticks out is a car ride from Arkansas City, Kansas back to our home in Oklahoma City.  My Grandmother had passed away.  Chris and I were newly married.  Casey rode home with us (we were probably the "cool" older cousins then) and we listened to an oldies rock -n- roll station and sang every song we knew at the top of our lungs.  A song called, "Momma said there'd be Days like this" came on and Casey took over the role of lead singer.  We laughed and laughed and laughed until we thought we would pee our pants.

I don't know how I feel about this goodbye.  This is an unexpected one - it's taken me by surprise. I know this goodbye brings a lot of pain for my Aunt and Uncle, two people that mean a great deal to me ... two people that have helped shape my view of God, life, and family.  Alongside this journey walk my two cousins, Cory and Cameron.  These guys have been like brothers.  They've seen me during my "ugly" years and still love me.  They still think they can tease me like a 7th grader ... and I like that.  Cameron conducted the ceremony for Casey's wedding.  Shannon, Casey's wife has 3 kiddo's to raise alone.  I can only imagine the pain she's carrying around right now ... real or imagined.  I know they are all hurting and it feels like there is nothing I can do about it.

These are the moments when I think God is surprised ... or kept something from me ... or dare I say is off in the distance?  I think these things ... if we are honest, who doesn't?  However, I know (even if it doesn't "feel" like it) these things aren't true.  God is not surprised.  God knew what this day would bring.  God is near.  It doesn't have to "feel" good, but I can believe it.

Today, in my own way, I say goodbye to Casey.  My tears hold messages, too.  My tears carry questions and bear pain and hold memories and bring laughter and desire closeness to my family.  It's funny how physical death can make you feel alive ... and brings every experience into HD.

To my family, Aunt Kelly, Uncle David, Cory and Cameron ... and Shannon ... you are loved.  In this pain I pray you see God, see yourself, and see Casey in the light of truth.