The Wrong Wedding Dress

There is a phrase that Todd and I have used over the last 8 years: "I/You bought the wrong wedding dress."  See, most little girls dream of their wedding day, but I apparently missed the whole decision-making part of that course.  I loved to play dress-up, don't get me wrong.  I loved to make believe that my sister's ballet costumes were my wedding dress and all that and marry a friend's little brother, or my brother, or the dog.  But I missed the part where you dream of the actual dress.  I got to the part where you shop for said wedding dress and just froze.  I had friends and my mother and we ended up buying a lovely, simple white satin number.  Everyone else agreed it was stunning.  They loved it.  Problem was, talking to Todd about it that evening on the phone, he realized that it wasn't my "dream dress."  Not that I had any idea what I did want but that I knew what I did not want- the one I picked.

Since that time, we've come to realize that I process things differently.  Slowly.  Sometimes at a snail's pace.  I cannot make quick decisions.  If it's about someone else, no problem.  If it's organizing something, I can do that.  But if something comes down to me making a final call, it will freeze me exactly where I'm standing.  Do you want this dress or that one?  I honestly don't know, ask me in a week and I might have an answer.

Many people have been asking our plan.  It's pretty basic.  Find jobs.  Move somewhere near said job.  Buy a car.  Sort out everything else, like beds and schools and church.  In that order, actually.  Tomorrow, we take the first step in that plan.  We leave our home at 4am EST to go to Joburg's O.R. Tambo airport.  We fly from there to Doha, Qatar, on to Chicago O'Hare and then finish up in Philly.  Our dear friends, Peter and Cynthia live in the Nazareth, PA area and have been gracious enough to open their home to all of us, in the middle of the holiday chaos.  At the moment, I have nothing planned except getting all six of us through the 42 hours of travel it will take to get from our home here in Johannesburg to their home in Pennsylvania and praying for no delays... cause 42 hours seems long enough to me.

This whole thing has taken five weeks.  We've known for five weeks that we were leaving Africa.  Tomorrow, we leave our home of the last 4 years 332 days for good.  That might not seem like much  but we've had three babies here.  My children have learned to walk, to talk, to swim and to play here.  Em has learned to read.  I've learned how to mother, and, I've learned how to be a friend.  We've found deep, heart-embracing friendships.  The kinds of friendships that lighten your soul, remind you how much our Creator loves and cares for me, just me.  We've learned new cultures and how to navigate those cultures and our own, in our everyday lives.  I'm desperately sad and I feel like, once again, I've bought the wrong wedding dress.  There are so, so many things I know I need to say but I literally cannot process quickly enough with how fast everything is moving.  I can't process the friendships I'm stepping away from and I can't process the life-changes that are happening.  Part of me is glad that it's so fast.  Sometime maybe in March or April, I'll start getting a handle on the last five weeks.  But part of me is really, really angry that my brain takes so long, because by then, I won't get to hug the kids' teacher one more time and tell her what I really want to say.  I won't get to run up to the car pulling away and give one more kiss on a dear, dear cheek.  My heart knows that God is taking care of my family- He's been so real, so incredibly big through this whole thing.  But that doesn't mean it's easy, that doesn't mean I'm not shattered by this, and it doesn't mean I'm not going to mourn what was, what is, and what could have been.  Sitting here, after five weeks of tearful and heartfelt goodbyes, my arms ache... Not to hold my babies close and shut the world out, but to hold my friends close and remind them how much they mean to me.  The dusty soil of this beautiful land will be long gone from underneath my fingernails before I can put words to my feelings.

Today, though, I at least bought a dress.  It's not the right dress.  It's not the best fit, or the most suited, because I'm not there yet.  But I've said what I could, let my tears fill in where I couldn't, and I did my best.  Some footprints are deeper than others in life, but the footprints of South Africa- the people, the lessons, the story of our family here and how that story is woven so beautifully into the lives of others we leave behind, I know, will be deep... lasting... and at times even, gaping.  I weep for the friends I know I'm losing to the awful and horrendous realm of "Facebook friend."  I weep for the times when I cannot bring over brownies, or food, or pick a child up when a friend needs it.  I weep out of my own selfishness for wanting to be important to my friends, my people, because they are so dearly important to me.  I weep because I'm a triangle going back to a land of circles.  I weep because my heart wants to... because words fail... because I have lived and loved so fiercely here and now I will have to live and love fiercely from afar, and I'm not sure how to do that.  And yet, in the midst of pain... And yet in the midst of not understanding... And yet in the midst of goodbyes that threaten to overwhelm my soul, I hope.  I love that poem by Emily Dickinson about hope because she gives words where I have none.

"Hope" is the thing with feathers—

That perches in the soul—

And sings the tune without the words—

And never stops—at all—