The plane was slowly turning north towards the coast, circling around Ukarumpa giving all the old familiar roads looking up at me the appearance of a colorful map. I could see everything so clearly. The houses that have been mine for this moment or that. The hills that challenged me every time I went for a run. The places where I’ve unceremoniously fallen flat on my rear (which happened more than I care to remember). And most recently the spots where I coaxed Ray to keep walking. Keep going. Not much farther. Just up there, so pllleeeeaaassseeee keep walking. Oh, okay… we’ll grab that weed. And that bug. And we’ll just stop and monologue about the slippery rocks. KEEP GOING.

Ray and I were blessed with an unexpected mother/daughter weekend trip to Ukarumpa, the mission station where I grew from a single, insecure post-undergrad to a content wife and mother. It was my first opportunity to share a huge piece of my past life with Ray, and to share some of the people of that life with her. We saw her PNG grandparents, Brian and Helen. We had chips at the store and soaked in the cool days walking around and playing on the playground. We saw my partner-in-crime for many a year, Joe, who now has two of her own girls . And we enjoyed a “coffee shop” with even more friends. Ray has been to Ukarumpa several times now, but this was her first trip as a talking, reasoning(ish) human being. She’s processing life, understanding some complexities, and remembering. So it’s like this was her first trip.

Flying over Ukarumpa on our way back to Madang broke my heart. I’ve come and gone so many times, and yet this time I felt deeply sad to leave. I’ve realized over the years of being a missionary that the moments of transitional darkness can hit suddenly. This trip was fairly benign with little emotional agenda. Lorie, a fellow mom here in Madang, called me last Wednesday asking if I would pop up to Ukarumpa for the weekend with her so she could visit the clinic. She knew I needed to do the same thing and thought it would be a great opportunity to spend time together. Obviously, it was a no. There’s no way I could make plans so suddenly, even though I did really want to see the doctor. But then Brian and I thought about it and decided that if I went with Ray, it would be doable. Lorie ended up taking her daughter turning it into a delightful mother-daughter weekend getaway. And everything about it was wonderful!! Her company, her daughter’s friendship with Ray, seeing Ukarumpa friends, all of it. We just had one little hiccup when Ray woke up at 5AM screaming because there was a “scary choochoo” in her room. I finally figured out it was a handheld vacuum cleaner, but there was no salvaging that. My bed was destined for a night full of a kicking, punching, head-butting Ray. But even that was a sweet memory.

The trip itself didn’t make me sad. The time with Lorie and her daughter was exactly what I think both Ray and I needed. It was the flying away. In that moment I was hit with the stark realization that it would be the last time I would see Joe for a very long time. She was the single girl who got me through village living and was now the married woman propping me up as we both parent through the toddler years. We’re not living in the same town now, but the thought of her leaving PNG for a couple of years and being so very far away and inaccessible was crashing in on me. As I watched Ukarumpa spinning beneath me, my eyes fixated on her house and I couldn’t stop the transitional darkness. I’ve said goodbye to her many, many times. I’ve also said hello as many. But just like that the sadness came up behind me saying, “Your turn!”

I don’t think I’ll ever stop doing that. Randomly getting sad about events I thought I learned to accept. Normally it rolls right over me. “Another goodbye? Well, then, see you later!” But no matter how superhuman I want to be about losing people, I’m not. My human psyche catches up with me, and with it the hidden sadness. I’m so thrilled to go back to Virginia for a few weeks in June while Brian works. The hellos will be so refreshing! To see my sister and her girls, whom I haven’t seen for well over two years, will be such a joy. But I know behind that hello is lurking another goodbye. Then hello, then goodbye, hello, goodbye… it’s exhausting! I’m only refreshed again remembering the Lord never does that. His hellos and goodbyes are just one mashed up Presence. He is what sustains when the sadness of earthly goodbyes overwhelm the joy of earthly hellos.

The following are some pictures of our Mother/Daughter trip!

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