Marrying into a missionary family is hard. It’s the most wonderful thing in almost every way, but it is so hard to always have to say goodbye. For third culture kids, who grew up in another culture and lived a life of transition and change, goodbyes have always been a part of life. Ben and his family are all third culture kids, with the exception of myself and two other in-laws. They’re so used to this goodbye thing, and they’re so good at it. They know how to leave with grace and meet up again and start right where they left off. I’m not good at good byes. They are the hardest thing in the world for me.
This last Johnson family reunion has been particularly hard, because each family left one-by-one, and I was the last to go. Every time someone left, I’d say my goodbyes and then find somewhere to be alone and cry.
The hardest people to say goodbye to are the kids, especially the littlest ones. We adults are okay at all staying in touch, despite lack of good internet. We video chat with them, and we write to them, and everybody’s on Facebook and email, but none of the nieces and nephews are old enough for that yet. We only get to see them when we actually see them. Since the Johnson family lives in six different countries, we see them only every couple of years. There’s a lot of growing up that happens during those years, and I’m missing it. I’ll meet a baby who’s crawling around on the floor, and the next time I see her, she’s running around the house and telling me all about her favorite princesses. I’m missing the little tea parties, I’m missing the end-of-school-year ice creams, I’m missing lazy Saturdays at the beach and dinners together. With every turn of the calendar is another two or three birthdays come and gone, and I wasn’t there.
It stinks that I have to spend the first day or so of every family reunion getting to know the kids all over again. I have to gently let them warm up to me, and I have to re-introduce myself to the littlest ones for the second or third time. They have no idea that I think about them and miss them every day of their lives. And then when I finally get to see them, it’s for just a few days and then we’re all off to our own corners of the world again. How am I supposed to form close relationships like this? How am I supposed to be a significant part of their lives in I can’t even see them but once every two or three years? Even when we do move to Africa, we’ll only live near one or two families at a time. And by the time we get there, the oldest ones will be in high school. Sometimes I wonder, will that be too late? Will I have missed out entirely by then? It’s not fair to love someone so much and to be so far away. I have to let my heart break over them again and again.
In my perfect world, Ben’s whole family and my whole family would all live in the same place as us. We’re so lucky that everyone on both sides gets along and genuinely likes each other, and I just wish we could take advantage of that all the time! We’d have big family dinners every week. We’d share all the holidays. I’d get one-on-one time with every kid. I’d get to hang out all the time with our parents, my sister and Ben’s siblings. And nobody would have to say goodbye.
I’ve learned something important about goodbyes from my TCK family: goodbyes are never forever. Even if my dream of being close geographically will never come true while we’re alive, Jesus’ death and resurrection has made it possible for us all to live that way forever in Heaven. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop crying about goodbyes, but focusing on eternity rather than this temporary situation will help me to cope with this ever-transient lifestyle we live. Furthermore, it will keep my eyes on Jesus and on the end goal of glorifying the Lord and enjoying him forever. When that day comes, I’ll spend all eternity worshipping the Lord with my family—and never have to say goodbye again. What a beautiful hope.
