count it all JOY.

Late last night I found myself unexpectedly weeping in Steven’s arms.

We were having one of those “right before you fall asleep” discussions that started out quite normal. We were talking for the thousandth time about whether we should buy a motorcycle or car when we get to Thailand. (Steven has been advocating for a motorcycle since day one and I have been just as stubborn in making my appeal for a car. Who wants to go get groceries on a motorcycle? Not me.)

Here was the scene:
Me: “I really want a car. I don’t want to run errands on a motorcycle. That is scary and really intimidating, Steven. And what if we have a baby? Then what am I going to do? Strap our newborn on my back, hop on the bike and ride to the store? I don’t think so.”

Steven: “Babe, we’ll just have to wait and see. I just think a motorcycle is a good first step for us.”

Me: “Motorcycles are dangerous! You really need to think about my safety. You don’t care about it the way my dad does.”

Steven: “Yes, I do.” (I think he started to sense what I was feeling because at this point he pulled me closer)

Me: “ What am I going to do when my daddy is so far away? (insert tears here).”

Steven: (hugs me even tighter)

Me: “Oh, Steven... I AM GOING TO MISS MY DAD SO MUCH.”

And so, the weeping began. A gut-wrenching, let-it-all-out, deep, painful sob. One that admitted how much I was hurting. The type of sob that gives yourself freedom to express the pain.

And you know what? It felt so good.

One of the things that Steven and I have started to do recently is grieve. It may seem weird to some, but it has begun a really healthy process for us both. We are beginning to understand that "preparing to go" and "preparing to leave" are completely different things. "Preparing to go" gets us excited and pumped. "Preparing to leave" makes my heart heavy and my stomach upset. We realized that we have been so focused on getting to Thailand that we haven't allowed ourselves the freedom to be sad about all we are leaving behind. It's like we kept telling ourselves things like...
"Suck it up."
"There's no time to be sad."
"Just don't think about it."
"Deal with it later."

And maybe the worst one yet,

"This shouldn't be hard. We have no right to be sad. This was our choice."

But the reality is, this is hard. And even though we are excited about what lies ahead, that doesn't mean we don't feel this deep ache in our hearts about leaving. And as "unmissionary" as it may be to confess our struggle in our decision to serve God overseas, the truth of the matter is we do.

People always tell us what fun we'll have or how jealous they are of what we are doing. We always politely agree, but never tell them how we really feel...or how they would really feel if they were in our position. Because the truth of the matter is, it's not fun selling your things. It's not fun trying to pack your life into 2 suitcases. It's not fun missing out on holidays, birthdays, and family gatherings.
And it's definitely not fun thinking about saying goodbye to everyone we've ever loved and cared about.

Why would anyone be jealous of that?

The process of really admitting all these things to ourselves came a couple of weeks ago. We were doing a session about grief and loss during our training in Colorado. Our leader encouraged us to think about the specific losses in our lives that will inevitably happen with moving overseas. Our loss of identity, our homes, our support systems, our safety, our dreams. He had us write them all down, admit them before the Lord and grieve them together. As a community. Normally, we grieve alone. In our rooms. Behind closed doors. This time, he wanted us to experience the gift of grieving together as a community. With people who were going through the exact same emotions that we were. People who understood the paradox of being extremely excited and sad all at the same time.

And wow, what a breakthrough. For all of us.

We, all 50 of us--going to over 20 different countries all over the world, sat in a circle and shared our pains, fears, losses and confessions out loud with one another.

"I'm leaving behind my dream of a life. I'm no longer able to do what is "normal" for me. I'm leaving my hope of family behind. I'm accepting a life alone. It hurts."

"I am going from being my mom's favorite person in the world to her deepest pain."

"I dont want to watch my kids grow through pain. You are asking me to release my goals and pick up yours."

"God, it really hurts that I have to leave my family. I feel like I'm not myself when I'm not with them and they don't seem complete without me. Help me to know, feel and believe that you are my strength, my parents' strength, my sister's strength, my grandparents strength, my friends' strength."

"What if we leave as a family of 5 and come back less?"

"God, it's too hard watching my family suffer as we separate. I don't want to miss anything. I don't want to give up my mom, my dad, my brother, my sisters, my best friends. This is too hard."

"I'm going to miss seeing my nieces and nephews grow up."

"Jesus, I forgive you for letting me go through this alone, but knowing you're at my side truly makes me complete. Knowing you have other plans for me is daunting but I'm letting go and letting you."

Pretty soon the room was full of tears. Because as you saw different people stand up and share their personal losses, you deeply empathized with them because you were feeling the same loss. And in that moment, I began to feel normal. Understood. Not alone. It was there that Steven and I found such strength in our weakness.

"I trust that home will be where You are. I trust that there is more blessing in the unknown than the yellow house with a white picket fence."

"We feel like my goodbye to our grandparents is like saying 'see you in heaven'. And we selfishly want You to take them before we go, so we don't have to grieve their loss alone in Thailand."

"Why did You give us such great families that make it so hard to say goodbye to?"

"I give up my dream of the farm, the security of a job, the desire to live close to family. Your will, not mine."

So this is where we're at. Steven and I are learning to grieve. We are learning that when the sad moments come to not push them away. We are learning to be unashamed of our grieving and to welcome its sanctification. We are learning that in order to say "hello" well in Thailand, we have to say "goodbye" well here. And we are learning to cling to James 1:2-4...

"Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds,
for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness.
And let steadfastness have its full effect,
that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing."

My dear SPLICE community, may we count it ALL JOY. The goodbyes, the tears, the pain, the fears. May we grow in our faith through our grief and know the love and sacrifice of our Lord Jesus more deeply because of it.

Psalm 30:5b Weeping may last through the night,
but joy comes with the morning.