A Strange Homesickness

It all started a few months back...

I was talking to our son, Matt, and he mentioned how shocked he was at how fast time was passing, and that we had now passed our halfway mark.

And then the tears started.  Yes, I was excited to see everyone again, to meet our youngest grandson, Quinn, to see how tall all the grandchildren have grown.  But it also brought to my mind the realization of how much I would miss this.

The Place, The People, The Work.

It was going by far too quickly.

I remember well the first days: the heat, feeling overwhelmed, bugs, new people, the heat, the traffic, the food, the heat...3 years was going to be a very long time.

Isabela is so very hot.  And humid.  The adjustment for these Canadians was real.  Slammed with the heat every time you step out the door.  It took a long time for my mind to realize that even though it was gray and rainy, it would still be hot when I went outside.  But something has happened.  I like to think I have gotten used to it.  When the thermometer reads 28C, I think it is a cool day.  I love that I never need a coat, but an umbrella is a necessity, rain or shine.  We have gotten used to driving here.  (I have come a long way since that first time behind the wheel in July of 2019!) The valley is green and lush.  Rice and corn fields go on forever. Flowers everywhere, every day.  And Cauayan has come to feel like home.

The people are humble, kind, resilient.  And they are so good to us and want to help us.  From the pharmacy tech who took it upon herself to teach me how to ask for medicine in Tagalog, to the kind women who share their precious crop of dragonfruit, avocados and pomelos; our wonderful guards who keep us safe, Rosie, who keeps the mission home clean and our laundry impeccable, everyone who makes our lives here easier.  They are hard-working and God-fearing.

And the missionaries!  We love them as our own.  They amaze me in their faithfulness and commitment to their purpose. They persevere and are so creative in dealing with the restrictions of this time.  They are unstoppable.

When we arrived, we immediately got up and got started.  I have heard it said that coming to the mission is like getting on the back of a runaway train and making your way to the engine to take control.  We were immersed from day one, and it has indeed been like a high-speed train.  There is much to do to keep a mission running, whether you have 200 missionaries or only 60. Training. Organizing. Studying. Planning. Preparing. Teaching. Ministering. Administering. Welcoming. Bidding farewell.  And then do it all over again.  But it is all so good.

Hours, Days, Weeks, Months, Years.

And now we find ourselves in our final year.  Where has the time gone?  We are caught in the middle, homesick for home and family in Canada, and homesick for our new home here and all of what we have been blessed to be a part of in this great work.  We have watched the work of the Lord roll forward when we would think it impossible.  Nothing is too hard for Him.  We have been pulled and stretched and tutored.  I feel a little like Hodel in Fiddler on the Roof, torn between her home and what lay ahead with her beloved Perchik.

And there is so much joy for us to get to work together in one purpose 24/7.  We have never had the opportunity to do that before.  

But there is one thing I have learned, and that is that if we spend our days pining for what lies ahead or what lies behind, we will miss today.  And it is in the todays that we find richness, in our mission and in life.  Joy comes in the tiny details: the sweat, the smiles, the hugs, the tears, the memories. 

So we are not focussing on home, and also trying not to cry over how fast the time has flown.  We will live each day with excitement and purpose and love.  We will pray and work and build, knowing that we are laying a foundation for those who will follow us.  We love these wonderful young missionaries who are so faithful and valiant in proclaiming the gospel of Jesus Christ. 

Oh, how we love it all.