The Lasts (Again)

A little less than a year ago I posted about “The Lasts.” It was during the time when excitement about going was mingled with sadness about leaving (and a slight bit of panic about what we were getting ourselves into). Now, we're almost to the other side of it. We've survived the adventure, and there were plenty of things I worried about that never did happen . . . no scorpion or tarantula attacks, no emergency medical evacuations, no kidnappings or muggings. But in other ways this year has been harder than I ever imagined. I've learned a lot about my limitations (I'm NOT cut out to be a classroom teacher, much less a working-and-homeschooling mom!) I've struggled with discouragement, feelings of failing my students and my own husband and children, spiritual drought, lack of faith, and a host of practical day-to-day struggles that come with living somewhere besides your home country. I've been homesick, overwhelmed, and exhausted for much of our time here. I've been longing for the day when I could get back home, back to comfort and familiarity, back to a life where (at least sometimes) I feel like I know what I'm doing. I've been counting down the months, then the weeks; now I could count the days.

But now, here come the mixed emotions again. Once again I'm facing “the lasts.” And as much as I've wanted to go home, I know I'll be leaving a big piece of my heart here, and I know it's going to hurt to say goodbye. This week will be the last five days with my students at school. Some of those little rascals have driven me crazy for the entire past nine months. They've exasperated me and left me feeling completely incompetent. They've brought me anxiety and tears, anger and frustration. And now they're bringing me to tears again . . . but these tears are because I love them and I don't want to leave them. I've managed not to break down in class, but it's tough when some of my precious, exasperating second graders write me notes about how they love me and don't want me to leave, how I'm like another mom to them, how they're going to cry for 100 days when I leave; some of them have already cried in class just thinking about the goodbyes; some of my older kids worry about who will teach them music next year and ask why the teachers leave. I tell them I'll be back to visit, but I know I won't be able to keep relationships with most of them, that I'll be just a memory to them soon. 

There are several grown-ups I'll really miss too. They don't write the same little notes or tell me they're going to cry for 100 days, but we've shared a lot this year and I know there will be some empty places in our hearts when we go. It's been a real blessing to get to know people who speak a different language and have a different culture but who serve the same God. It's been another blessing to have the camaraderie of the other “missionaries” who do share our language and culture and have shared this year with us as well.

In some ways, this move is easier because we're returning to the familiar instead of entering the great unknown. But I'm pretty sure these goodbyes are going to be harder. This time I can't say, “It's only for a year.” This time, we're going home to stay and will probably only see these friends every year or two at best. We're finishing this chapter of our life story, and the characters it's filled with won't be coming along into the next chapter.

So these “lasts” are much more final: The last time I'll enter the classroom and open the window, hoping to find a good breeze that day. The last time I'll write the date on the white board, remembering to do it day-month-year. The last time I'll tell the class it's time to start and have to break up the boys' ruler-fencing tournament. The last time I'll hear the Honduran national anthem sung by 100 children's voices. The last time I'll hear them call me “Mrs. Erin” in their beautiful Spanish accent. The last time they'll try to get me to say “perro,” so they can tease me about not being able to roll my R's. The last time to say goodbye and walk out that door.

Parting really is such sweet sorrow. I hate having to say goodbye, but I love the hugs and the sharing of hearts that come with it. It's a painful yet comforting realization that the kids will miss me and I'll miss them. So sad to leave, but so sweet to think back on all the memories. Most of all, I love and long for the day when there will be no more goodbyes, no more ended relationships, no more tears, no more pain, no more lasts. Just love and joy and celebration. Forever and ever.

Even so, come Lord Jesus.