Missing family

The other day when I dropped Zarya off at another missionary's home for the afternoon, she started crying a little bit.  The other mama, the one whose house we were at, said, "Are you missing your mama, Zarya?  It's okay to cry.  I miss my mama, too.  Sometimes I'm sad to be far away from my mama, just like you are."

The next day, a different missionary woman I encountered was having a rough day, because it was her father's 70th birthday, and she was missing the big family party.  She had a good attitude about it, and said, "You know, it's only a few days each year that I feel that the whole living here to do missions just might not be worth giving up being near my family, but this sure is one of them.  Tomorrow I'll probably be fine again, but today I really wish that I wasn't here in Tanzania, unable to be with my dad."

Sometimes Andrew and I talk about being far away from our families and how it's difficult that we can't just pop over for a visit.  We don't need to live two blocks away, but a little visit now and then would sure be nice.  In the picture of my dad and Zarya, you can see how little she is - that's how old she was when he last saw her.  She's grown up a lot since then, and gone through some super-cute stages that our families have totally missed.

It makes me sad that we can't do things with our families like put a puzzle together, like we did last Christmas.  We video chat on Skype once a week, we upload short video clips of Zarya onto YouTube for them to watch, and we e-mail regularly, but it's just not the same.  You can't snuggle a baby over Skype, and you can't spend the afternoon in the kitchen talking and baking together via e-mail.  Between the two of us, Andrew and I have five sisters, and if any one of them walked in our front door right now, Zarya would have no idea who she was.

Missionaries have to "count the cost".  We know we're called to be here, and we've chosen to obey and live in East Africa.  We don't regret or resent it, but that doesn't mean we're not sad about it sometimes.  Zarya is sad when I leave for two and a half hours (and, mind you, she's asleep for two of those), and likewise, we're sad when we leave our families for two and a half years or so.

Dad, Mom, Papa, Nammie, and all of our sisters and brothers-in-law and the plethora of nieces and nephews, this one is for you: we love you and we miss you!