BYE-O AFRICA MERCY

This is how I saw the Africa Mercy this morning: blurry through my tear-soaked, tired eyes, yet it still looked as beautiful as ever. It’s hard to believe that this day has arrived. This is my last view of one of my favourite places in the world. After living here for four and a half years I have become very accustomed to the goodbye routine. The people wishing to say farewell line up on the dock as the person leaving makes the rounds by hugging the snot out of all those waiting (unfortunately quite literally..). It’s a dreaded time for both the person leaving and the person staying. It is emotionally more exhausting than one might anticipate, however (as my mum has taught me) it is a sign of respect to go to the dock and wave the person off, so I have continued to visit the dock no matter how tiring it has become. Because of this, I have had plenty of experience with being the person staying, however being the person leaving is a whole different ballgame. Overwhelmed is an understatement. Yet it doesn't seem to be a bad overwhelmed… but perhaps a good overwhelmed, if there ever were such a thing. Overwhelmed by the love of those who woke up at 4:45am to send us off. Overwhelmed by the care of those who have helped us in our last few days to get organized to get out the door. Overwhelmed by the realization of the depth to which I have been loved and have learned to love.

It is commonly asked in Mercy Ships by new crew if saying goodbye gets easier, rather it’s a misconception they construe because of the way that long term crew handle goodbyes. My answer to their question is that they definitely do not, but I suppose after four years you find coping mechanisms that soften the blow a little. I want to say that we don’t become ever so slightly hard-hearted, but unfortunately I think most of us do. It’s not good, but it is physically draining to constantly be saying goodbye to people who you have invested so deeply in. After time, we avoid waving people off on the dock and we try to forget that we are loosing anyone at all, even though there seems to be that empty place on the ship where they should be. However, there is nothing (emphasis on the ‘nothing’) that can prepare you for your own goodbye. I thought I could mentally prepare after watching so many goodbyes. I knew the routine, it should be easy right? wrong! That last walk down the gangway is a sad moment when reality sits in. All that you can think is, “this is my last time of walking down the gangway” (at least for some time). It’s a hard reality to have to grasp before you reach the embrace of the many who have congregated to send you off in love. It’s almost as though as soon as your feet hit the firm terra nova you enter a time warp where time slips through your fingers just as sand does. You wipe away your tear-stained red face, already having accepted that you’re a wreck, but who wouldn’t be?! The sky is still dark so all you can see are the faces of those gathered lit by the sleepy port light. Before you know it the car is loaded up. You hug your loved ones once more and you take the next precious ten seconds to calm your heart before driving away through a row of smiling, waving loved ones. 

I will never forget that last glimpse of the ship, how she shines in the port. Could I just never leave, please?

Being a third culture kid (missionary kid, global nomad—take your pick in name), most people don’t understand what it means to not know where “home” is or simply even which country you are “from”. But this place. This place has become home. After four years of living and growing, this place is where I truly feel at home. I suppose that’s why we’re called on our next adventure. God usually calls us to step out of our comfort zones for his glory, and for us that means leaving the place I love so dearly. For many it is a challenge to live on the ship in such a tight-knit community, but for me this is perfectly comfortable. Whereas some struggle, this is my place of peace. However, we are not called to become complacent with where we are. I am being constantly reminded that his world is not our home, no matter how hard we cling to what it has to offer. Perhaps living on our toes keeps our eyes focused on the Kingdom rather than the temporary world around us. During this crazy period of moving, Jesus has shown me that my true home rests in him. That no matter how painful this separation is, there will be a day where there will be no more separation.

On the ship I know I will be surrounded by people who will love and encourage me unconditionally. This next step will mean leaving that comfort and being a witness in a new area, even if it means not receiving the same love and encouragement. This adventure will stretch me in ways I can’t even begin to imagine, but I know that by the strength of Jesus he will carry me through. I am ready to go head first with courage in my heart and joy in my spirit.

Still, there is no hiding how much this goodbye hurts. I miss the ship and it’s inhabitants so much that my heart is aching. I suppose in some respects knowing that this hurts shows just how much I have invested my heart into this place and these people. I guess despite my attempts to keep these bricks walls around my heart, Jesus decided to come in and tear them down. I just couldn’t remain completely hard-hearted forever. This pain shows that I allowed myself to open up to others despite the hurt I may suffer as a result. Perhaps it was that openness that made the ship become my earthly “home”. In some ways my hardened heart has always remained soft to building relationships even if it meant saying ‘hello’ and saying ‘goodbye’ shortly afterwards. Seeing the amount of people on the dock who said goodbye shows that even until the end I remained vulnerable.

Does it hurt? absolutely.

Was it worth it? without a doubt.