(*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.

If I thought the last post was difficult to write, then I clearly had no idea what I would face a few weeks later. It is now Sunday evening, nearing midnight as I type, and in seven hours I will be in a vehicle driving away from the place I have called home these last two years. My family will wave good-bye, and I won’t even bother to wipe away the tears. After all, who can stem the flow of a waterfall with emotion driving its currents?

Time disappeared. The weeks flew past in a blink. I have been the greatest emotional wreck this place has ever seen as I have said good-bye after good-bye to beloved students, coworkers, and family members here on the base. The simplest mention of my leaving brings tears to my weary eyes. Even now I write through a sheen of tears, unable to believe that I am truly leaving.

These people have become my family, and I cannot imagine leaving them in the morning. I knew it would be hard to leave, but I never imagined this. God has changed and taught me so much these last two years, and these people have been instrumental in every minute of it. They have watched me grow, helped me up when I fell, encouraged me when I wanted to give up, and laughed with me in times of joy. They have seen it all and stood by me at every turn in the road.

My friend Julie, who is also leaving the base a week after me, asked earlier this evening, “How do you walk away?” How do you walk away from your family? away from a home where the Lord is tangible and present in every moment of every day? away from students who have stolen your heart? How do you walk away?

How?

I know God has called me to Russia. I have no doubt in my mind, but that does not make this parting any easier. When I leave tomorrow morning, I have no idea when I will return or when and if I will see these beloved members of my family again. In all my travels filled with greetings and partings, I have never experienced such emotional heartache as this.

I look at the four empty walls around me. The wardrobe is emptied of all contents, the shelves cleared of my books, my desk empty of its pencils and papers, and my dresser devoid of jewelry. Instead, three suitcases stand guard by the door, waiting.

Still, in the midst of the torrent of tears, I know that the Lord has already seen me through. He knows the great meetings that will occur once I land on American soil. I will see my parents again for the first time in eleven months. I will see friends who had been supportive of my work here in Africa from day one. I may be saying good-bye to my African family and my amazing life here on the base, but I am also saying many hellos as well. God is good, all the time. He knows my comings and goings, and He certainly knows my joys and my heartaches.

The Lord knows how difficult this parting will be for me (and already is), but He also knows the incredible plans that await me in the US and in Russia. I can leave with tears in my eyes knowing God is for me. He has already counted the tears that will fall, and He knows the number of smiles that will cross my face as I greet my American family and friends.

Because of Him, I can face tomorrow.

Another dirty road / Another place to go / Another race to win / Another town I have
to be leaving / Going somewhere fast / Going somewhere, I hope this lasts / … /
It’s a chance you’re given / A chance is what you’ll take / There’s a chance you won’t go through / There’s a chance you’ll break / It took all you could /
It took all you said it would / Take it away now, boys /
Run with God’s speed / The open road’s got much to offer /
The open road’s for me /
It’s for me

… “Take It Away Boys,” Keith Harkin …

A wise, beloved writer once wrote, “The road goes ever on, down from the door where it began … Now far ahead the road has gone, and I must follow it if I can.” J.R.R. Tolkien’s characters encounter adventures by the strangest of means, most certainly, and each one faces said adventure with a brave step forward, a companion or more for company, and a rucksack full of foodstuffs for breakfast, elevenses, luncheon, and so on. (For naturally, as all Tolkien enthusiasts understand, no good hobbit ever dares to leave his or her warm home without such vital necessities.) Full and hollow stomachs aside, the fact to remember about those literary adventurists is this: Even though they are fearful, uncertain, anxious, and excited all rolled into one, they do not fail to continue placing one foot in front of the other. Now I, too, must follow in their example.

This particular post is a difficult one to write. I am excited about the journey that lies ahead for me, but I am saddened by the loss that accompanies the change. Two years I have spent in South Africa teaching, learning, exploring, and most importantly of all, loving. I look at my students and see the differences in their lives from last year to now. I smile, knowing God used me to make that difference, a change that only I, a unique creation of God’s, could make. I read the hand written notes, misspelled words and awkward phrasing included, and laugh at the contents: “I love you, Ms. Mathyous.” “Thenk you for helping me.” “You are the best techer.” The highest praise for any accomplishment will never surpass such notes of love.

I now stand in my learning center most days, supervisor flags waving in the breeze in a desperate attempt to get my attention, and I look around at the small faces. There’s Tshilidzi at the scoring table using red pens as drumsticks again; Nigel and Madzhie are leaning under their office dividers arguing about a blue pen; Navin is furiously scribbling across the pages of his Word Building booklet; and then, off on the other side of the room, Yuh-Cherng is leaning back in his chair waving at Vusani. For a moment I stand in the midst of such chaos absorbed with love for those kids, a brief moment before my voice rises above the clicking of pens and scratching of pencils to discipline the delightful miscreants placed in my care. I stand and watch because, in five weeks times, I will not see them again.

 –

During my senior year of high school, I was given my first matryoshka, a nesting doll from Russia. It was small and wooden, and a snowy scene had been captured in vivid colour on the outermost layer. I loved it immediately, smiling with the knowledge that the gift had been sent across Europe and the Atlantic Ocean to be placed in my hands. That matryoshka, given as a gift from my father’s American friends in Russia, a couple I would not meet for another year, served as an invitation to Moscow. That invitation took me to Russia three years later and again the following summer after graduation from university. I fell in love with a country and its people, and when I left Moscow that second time in the summer of 2010, I knew I would return some day.

Three months ago, I was given a second matryoshka. Mr. and Mrs. Palmer had traveled to the United States for the ACE International Student Convention, and as God would have it, their advertisement table had been placed next to the table for the Russian ACE school in Moscow. Having asked the Palmers to gather any information they could on that very same school, they did exactly that. Before the convention ended, one of the ladies at the table handed Mr. Palmer one of the matryoshka’s that had adorned their table and said, “Please give this to the girl who wants to come to Russia.” When that matryoshka was placed into my hands a couple weeks later, I knew. My second invitation to Russia had been extended, and I could not deny God’s hand in it.

As difficult as leaving South Africa is, I know God’s plan is far greater than any scheme of mine. He sent me here for a purpose, and at the end of this term on December 1^st, that purpose will be fulfilled. For now. Just like when I left Russia in 2010 for the second time, I know my business here in Shayandima is not finished. I may only return for a couple weeks here or there, but I will always be involved with this place.

Mr. Palmer calls the school and base here the Lord’s Place, and indeed it is. Once you have stepped foot onto the property, there is no turning back. This place seeps into your blood before you know it. The children inscribe messages of love into your heart with permanent ink, while God changes you from the inside out. Before I left the US in January of 2011, a friend told me, “If you come back from Africa and haven’t changed, then something is seriously wrong with you.” Well, I am happy to say, I have been changed for the better, and it’s because of my adopted family and beloved students.

God knew what He was doing when He sent me to Africa, and I know He has a plan for me in Russia, too. I am excited to see what lies around the next bend in the road. As I make that journey, I carry the lessons learned, the love gained, and the memories forever remembered with me. Africa is in my blood now, and I carry it with me into the north.

Since the ACE school in Moscow does not need me until the 2013-2014 school year, I will be remaining in the United States from December to mid-July. I plan to use those seven months to rest up for the great work the Lord has for me in Russia and to also prepare for it. Here in South Africa, our missions work does not allow for a lot of relaxation. Of the three long holidays we have had this year, I have spent all three out on the mission field in Botswana, Zimbabwe, Mozambique, and in the city of Bloemfontein for the ACE All-Africa Student Convention. As such, I will most certainly be relaxing for the first month that I am home.

I plan to use the remainder of my time in saving up funds for my stay in Russia. Moscow is one of the most expensive places in the world to live, which means my expenses are going to triple (if not more) in comparison to the expenses in SA. As such, I hope to find a part-time job and/or side jobs that will allow me to set aside funds for airline tickets, rent, etc. I do not plan to waste the time God has given me, that is for certain. Knowing the journey that lies ahead, I must plan accordingly.

I know very little of what is to come in Russia. My communication with the school administrators in Russia has been infrequent, so details about next year’s journey are scarce at the moment. I do plan to keep the blog going throughout my stint in the US, so I will fill everyone in on events and details as they come in. In the meantime, I plan to enjoy my remaining time in South Africa.

With just four weeks left in the school term, I now embrace every minute as if it were a gift. I may get frustrated at times, but I know that I will miss those little frustrations in a few months. Might as well enjoy them now! Conversational English classes only have three lessons remaining, and our Prizegiving ceremony is coming up fast. All of us in the school and on the base seem to have gone into turbo mode as we move through each day, each week. Time is racing ahead of me without a second thought for my emotions, but I know it will all be okay. God’s purpose will be fulfilled regardless of Time’s impatience.

One such fulfilled purpose is Mr. Palmer’s book that I have been working on for the past two years. As of two weeks ago today, the first draft was completed! I handed it over to the Palmers with excitement and nervousness. I have since been terrified as to their thoughts, but I keep shoving that fear aside. The words in that book belong to the Lord, not me. He will see that the book is written to His specifications. Still, I find myself breathing with relief to have the first hurdle behind me. Now, I wait until it has been returned with the noted revisions. I then have one week to make the changes. The process won’t be easy, but I know the Lord will make a way. I just can’t wait to see the finished product. It won’t be published until after I have left South African soil, but I look forward to the day that I hold a copy in my hand knowing I had the incredible privilege of writing such a book with Mr. Palmer. Opportunities such as this do not come along every day.

At moments like this, when I am on the cusp of great changes, I look back at all the Lord has done and stare in amazement. I am only twenty-four years old, and yet God has accomplished so much in such a short time frame. I cannot imagine what He has planned for the rest of my story. My favourite verse comes from Psalm 139:16, which says, “Your eyes saw me when I was formless; all my days were written in Your book and planned before a single one of them began.” God has already written my story. South Africa was a glorious chapter full of adventures and self-discoveries. I am excited to see what happens in the next chapter.