Heavens tears

I was looking forward to going home. I actually couldn’t wait to get there. To leave this place. It’s hard. I don’t know the language as well as I would like. It’s hard work. I didn’t get as close to people as I thought… we’re leaving anyways… People probably like us, but not as much because we haven’t been as active as some in friendship… but it’s been busy. The clinic is hard work….

But in my knowledge, I knew emotions were going to be all over the place. But I thought that the “excited to go home” emotions would be a much higher percentage that the “I’m so sad to leave” ones. I thought the “I’ll miss some things, but mostly this was just good experience” emotions would be far heavier than “I will miss this. I will miss these people. I will miss…” ones.

Sabbath, our last one here: The people’s hearts took me by surprise. I knew there would be crying, but I didn’t think that the crying would be that genuine. I didn’t think I would cry…



Then the tears came from the people; in huge waves of sniffles and then weeping, or in teary eyes… Then the words came, and situations were mentioned and thanked for that I could never forget, but I didn’t realize the thankfulness… people clung to me, or ran out, needing to weep more loudly not in front of people. Then all the sudden it hit me too. Not only emotion, but also awe, a realization… And I realized how much I do love these people, this place, and these struggles… And I will miss them. They clung to their chests and cried, “It hurts!” “It’s bitter!”



Sunday, the next day, my last day in the clinic: “So what are we going to tie her with?” Lebin said to Joha. They too think of the idea of tying people up so they can’t leave. Hilin came in and gave me a HUGE hug. She was a little teary eyed, but was smiling. I grabbed her and tickled her. “No crying right now!” We played a little more. Arlin came and hung out at the clinic all day too. I had made coconut macaroons and kalamansi (like key limes) juice for them and for our day in the clinic. We stood around and looked at each other nibble and savor the bites, they’ve probably never had a macaroon before. We joked and took goofy pictures, and we had to wrestle them to look at the camera and smile… They gave gifts of local rice, the first harvests of it… It’s a huge part of their lives… Lebin didn’t cry though. She didn’t want to.





Then the scurrying around for Kev and me; clean this, pack this, get these pictures… get a carrier for the stuff… Thank God Sunday was exceptionally quiet. Oh, no bakid (basket like backpack) to carry the box in… Ask Lebin and Sublitu, they have one we can borrow, so down we went to visit.

The girls came to our laps and looked as us with their deep brown eyes. Maypir stared me down; her little face didn’t get uncomfortable by looking into my eyes like mine did looking into hers. Her face… It was searching. I grabbed her and turned her around to sit on my lap so I wouldn’t have to look at her like that. I wasn’t expecting to cry again… I had already gotten it out I thought.

Then the final goodbyes. Then the unexpected cry from Lebin. She just put her hands in her face and her face in her lap and wept. It took me by surprise and I cried too. I wanted to stay and hug her… but goodbyes are tough and making them longer sounded horrible.

Originally we were going to hike out very early, like 5-6am. We’d meet some people on the trail, but we would miss the masses. That’s what we originally wanted. The school kids would be getting washed up for school and eating around 6:30…. But the final goodbye is important. And it always takes longer to pack up and do final touches than I think.

My opinion had changed as well. I want to see these people one more time. The kids were finishing up their roll call and prayer on the basketball court when we came by. We took some final pictures, and then they came running. Some handed us notes. Then tears again… Oh those tears. Especially from Hilin and Arlin. “I love you!” we told each other for the hundredth time in the last weekend.




Then the trail up to Niyug, we ran into Meyni and her husband Dyun. Meyni can be quite dramatic, but I shared a special experience with her when she was very sick and there were possibly some intense spiritual things involved… I was up all night with her. She had been out of her mind. The experience gave me a new perspective on Christ and was a very spiritually growing experience for me.

Then even up in Niyug, this tough village with tough people… We saw some kids bathing, I went and poked their bellies and said goodbye. They just smiled. They were too little to understand that this goodbye was for good. Then we walked over and saw Ubri at his house making tops (wooden toys). We hadn’t been that close to him. His real pain was probably the realization that Josh would be leaving a few days later. Too many missionaries leaving at once really tore hearts up. It seemed like it was such a big bite. His tears really surprised me. The emotions again flooded me. He handed us a couple of freshly carved tops. He asked us to continue to pray for him… Oh heart pains…



Then a few of the mothers that I know very well from the clinic and their babes came out. Their eyes were teary. I love them. I love their children. Oh heart pain…

Then we’re off, up above the villages that we know well. We hike along that trail, steep and slippery, looking at good vantage points to these mountains. This year, this tough, wonderful year is over. We’re going through our mourning process. I am excited to go home. But I’m actually really thankful that I’m not overwhelmingly excited to go home. I’d felt that way numerous times this year. “I just want to go home…” But this is not how I am feeling. I am happy and excited to go home, but this place I have loved and it will be missed. Home is not on the pedestal that I thought it would be. And I’m thankful for that.