When I was preparing to move overseas, I would often recall the stories of the great missionaries who had gone before, bringing with them their caskets, knowing it may very well be the last time they see their home country. I said my goodbyes and packed my bags with the same commitment in my heart towards planting my life somewhere new. But then, at the end of my Journeyman term, doors closed, windows opened, and it became apparent that God was leading me back to America to complete a few years of seminary. Here on the cusp of graduation, I find myself preparing to go back to the nations. But this time, it feels almost entirely different.
Packing my bags feels different. They’re the same three suitcases I packed my life into four years ago, but they’ve lost their shiny new quality. Scuff marks on the side tell the story of airport workers in dozens of countries who loaded them in and out of planes, accompanying me on adventures. There are stubborn grains of sand in the bottom from Europe, Africa, and even Asia. A two Euro coin might be wedged in somewhere. No longer will I pack a year’s worth of toiletries in my suitcase, scared of what I might need; I know how quickly another place, even its toiletry products can become normal to me. But you better bet that I’ll take popcorn salt, because you just can’t replace some of the flavors of America, no matter how hard you try.
I’ll bring less clothes making room for more sentimental items. This time around I know that I need less “stuff.” But this time around I also know that I need encouragement and support more.
