A pensive goodbye

I always find saying goodbye bittersweet. Bitter because of the sense of loss of saying goodbye to people I have come to know and love- a place I’ve become familiar with and that has become home- a way of life that I’ve settled into and am comfortable with, all those things.
And sweet because I know there’s more adventure waiting for me and more people to meet and know and love, and more places to call home. But it seems to take so much bravery, and as I stand on my tiptoes to peer over the horizon and desperately hope for something to set my eyes on and throw my heart towards, I feel so small and alone and afraid.
I’m hoping that we all feel like that sometimes, that I’m not alone in this. Coming home hurts when I’m not really sure where home is anymore- when part of my heart is with my family in Vancouver or in the Okanagan and part of it is here in Antigua (or in France or in Africa or any of the other places I’ve been……)
Coming home hurts when I have in my heart all the amazing things I’ve seen and done and I know that when all the pictures have been seen and the stories told, I’ll still miss it, but no one will want to talk about it anymore. Unfortunately I went on this adventure alone. Who is there to understand?
Nostalgia sucks sometimes. I haven’t even gotten home and I’m already feeling nostalgic. Of the lazy mornings spent sitting on the verandah watching the Carribean sun rise with a cup of coffee in my hand…….. Of the long hours in class pretending to pay attention but actually texting my other classmates on our laptops………Of the hot evenings cooking over a hot plate and a microwave and being pleased when something actually turned out without being burnt or curdled……….Of the sunny Sundays on the beach with sand between my toes and in my swimsuit and wherever else it managed to get, and a sunburn spreading over my shoulders…….Watching the sun set over the craggy mountain peaks and hearing the night insects begin their nightly symphony………Of the long talks and walks and early morning runs and laughing together and praying together and comparing test results and chasing goats and hanging laundry on the line and studying furiously for exams…..
But I suppose if I am honest there are the bad memories, too. Nostalgia is a rose-colored pair of glasses and it only tells part of the story. There were also the nights I went on my solitary walk and found myself at the top of the grassy hill, on my knees, crying my eyes out and asking God if he could please make things work out……..The times I watched some of my classmates whispering and then stop when I came near, and felt like I’d been hit in the gut cause I knew they were talking about me……..There were the nights I was so tired I would fall asleep over my notes, 2 or 3 times before I finally got it done, and tumbled into bed desperately hoping for enough sleep…….. There was the rain that came just as I hung out my laundry to dry……..The harsh words and accusations and lies leaving me wondering what I had done to deserve such cruelty……The disappointment of getting a bad exam result back……
We can’t just take the good and ignore the bad. The reality is that there is both, fitting together like the pieces of a puzzle, each accentuating the other. And I want it to be that way. I want to live in a world of colors, not a world of shades of grays.
I’m coming back home to lots of uncertainty, bills to pay, work, studying, many things up in the air. And I’m coming home to the familiar comforts and my friends and family and a hot shower and a soft bed and good food.
Adventure.
I’m setting my eyes bravely on the road before me. Inside I still feel like a little girl; I still feel like the same Heather I was when I was 8 years old and went for adventures in the woods with my brothers. The only difference is that now I’m almost 24 (and yes, I am accepting presents on February 18^th!) and my adventures are on a little bigger scale than they were before. Antigua, not the back yard. Medical school, not the corner store. Airplane rides, not bicycle rides.
It’s going to be good, I was told before I came here. Take courage, Heather, it’s going to be good. And my testimony of the last month is that it hasn’t just been good, it’s been great. I’ve seen God work in miraculous and exciting ways. There has been tragedy, there has been comedy. Coming home, in a sense, nothing has changed then. It isn’t just going to be good; it’s going to be great. I can already feel it in my bones. From where I stand the horizon may seem too big and scary and far away, but as I set my eyes on the One who went before me, and run towards him with all my strength, I feel as if I could catch the wind under my wings, and I could fly