It's like ripping off a band-aid...

I was four going on five... then eleven going on twelve... then sixteen going on seventeen... then eighteen and starting college... then a newlywed of 22... then 25, a young career gal... and then a first time mommy being called to the mission field. They were all years of transition, years of moving from one place to another, years of saying good-bye to homes, friends, church families, favorite places and a life made... and here it is upon me again.

Most of the moves in my life have been because work took our family from one place to another, college and new chapters of life were starting, or God was calling to us different ministries abroad... either way, the moves all seemed (remember this is the hind-sight of a sleep deprived mommy of toddlers remembering moves now many years in the past :) fairly fast... like ripping off a band-aid. You grab a hold of one end... take a deep breath, hold it for a second and RIP... it hurts and it stings, but in the end, it's quick (definitely not painless, but quick).

I always thought that was the best way to handle moving from one place to the next... keep ties as loose as possible... making the heartache as minimal as possible. But I'm learning through the process of this move that's looming in the not so distant future, that the heartache remains and resurfaces no matter how far you sweep it under the rug.

When Gary and I shared our departure date with the church here in Cochabamba many people thought we were sharing that information way too early. It was January and we would be here until the first week in November... that was almost 10 months of good-byes. This past Sunday as I sat and cried through worship service, grieving all the things that we will be leaving behind, I realized that 10 months is just what we needed. Okay, I'll speak for myself, just what I needed.

I needed to know that the events of this year are the "lasts" for our family in Cochabamba... and I needed to process that through that with our church family and my dear friends here. Does it mean that it won't still hurt, still sting when we board that plane in November? Heavens no... but what I'm hoping and praying, is that it means I'll be a little more emotionally ready for that departure. That I will have spent time in thought and prayer coming to terms with the changes that are on the horizon for our family... as opposed to avoiding them (which is my usual M.O.)

I'm praying that this year of transition will afford me the opportunities to make sure I've said all that I need to say to those that I've grown to love and care for here, that I won't walk away feeling as if there wasn't true closure... because the truth is that for all its craziness, this place has become our home. It still annoys the peewaddle out of us at times, and the culture is still something that proves to us daily that we are foreigners here, not in our home culture... but for better or worse we became a family here. Two of my sons are Cochabambinos, and a part of my "family" will always be here in this country I've grown to appreciate and cherish for what it has given us and taught us.

The good-byes are so hard, they leave my heart aching, but with the time that we've allowed ourselves, I'm processing through it much better than I ever have. I'm leaving one home for another, each place has its beauties and its uglies, and I, Laurita, will be a better woman for having lived in, loved in, and given a part of myself to both places!