(*Written hours prior to actual posting*)

Three continents in two days: Africa, Europe, North America.

London Heathrow bustles about me as I sit on a hard red plastic chair attached to ten duplicates all in a row. The air is cool, and goose bumps have appeared on my bare arms. My jacket waits in a carry-on bag at my feet, but to put it on means hiding my South African Springbok jersey. I cannot hide this jersey with its colours of dark green and gold with the SA flag on the left sleeve. Not yet.

I find myself juggling three time zones. My wristwatch now reflects English time, but my mind considers the African time zone of my friends at home in Shayandima and also the zone of my family in the United States. In Shayandima, most of them are currently helping with the ACE training course that lasts throughout this week, while family in Virginia sleep in their beds. I am lost in the middle, sitting in an airport with a laptop, magazine, and Dr. Pepper for company.

My heart continues to struggle with the reality of my surroundings. This routine of travel between the US and South Africa has become normal, the flights and escalators and security checkpoints familiar and expected. I barely check the signs directing travelers to their respective destinations. I already know my course, and I respond as if programmed.

My eyes see the Starbucks and English signposts; I feel the crisp cold of London; I hear the British accents; and yet I cannot process it. I’m still back in Africa with the sun pounding the red dirt and tin roofs. I’m in the girl’s kitchen sitting at the round table beneath a creaking ceiling fan with Julie, laughing over our cups of tea and coffee. I’m walking the pathway that leads past the Palmers’ offices to the school, lifting the latch on the gate and passing through, firmly closing it behind me. I’m chopping tomatoes, cucumbers, and peppers in the main kitchen for tonight’s salad platter. I’m checking the alarm clock on my bedside table in my small, beloved room marked with the number 9 on its door, awaiting 7:30 so I can hurry down to the Schalekamp’s for home cell. In my heart and mind, I am in all those warm, friendly environments that I call home, but physically, I sit in a cold airport surrounded by expensive stores where a Cadbury chocolate could feed a Mozambican family for a week.

Last Thursday evening, during the base’s Thanksgiving dinner, I told my African family what I was thankful for. I said I was thankful for change, both the interior and exterior kind. The woman who left the property early yesterday morning was not the same girl who entered it for the first time two years ago. Inwardly, I have changed. Outwardly, my surroundings have changed. God called me to Africa three years, a drastic change for a city girl like me. Now, God has changed my life again in sending me to Russia.

As hard as change is, I am thankful for it. I am not one for staying in the same place or routine for long. Between Australia and California, my family lived in six+ different homes, all before I turned thirteen years old. This suited me. Small changes are good, as are the bigger changes too. I have moved often and visited many places where new friendships are made and then continued via email and Facebook. Good-byes are a natural part of my life. I have always said I would live overseas, ever since I was small, and God has prepared me for such a life. I knew I would one day leave South Africa, and I knew it would be hard to say good-bye when that time came. I just never expected it to be so devastating.

Now that I am away and the good-byes have all been spoken, I am trying to look to the future. Excitement for the adventure that lies ahead in the US and Russia is growing deep in my heart, a rosebud yet to see the light, and I know the blooming process will begin when I see that sign in the Washington Dulles Airport that reads, “Welcome home to the United States of America.” When I see my parents, I will smile and, most likely, tear up a bit, because with every sorrowful good-bye, there is a joyful hello to accompany it. Curious how we react to both with tears.

My flight for Washington leaves in a little over two hours, and then I will be back on American soil. I look forward to the happy reunions that lie in wait, just as I look forward to the many reunions that will occur years from now when I again return to South Africa for a visit. I am ready for what is coming, along with all the varying emotions that come with it. The Lord has given me a glimpse of what is coming. He has left it up to me to take that first step forward.