The After-Vacation Exhalation.

It was really hard to come back here.

Physically, not so much. After all, how hard is it to go to an airport, wait around, get a on a plane, lather, rinse, repeat and poof: home again. That part was not hard; it was just really boring.

The hard part was leaving my family. I don’t want to disillusion anyone, but I really actually kind of like my family. A lot. If I tried to put into words what I feel about my family, I would completely and totally fail, because it’s not something I can describe with words. Every time I leave them it’s like a little stab-not anywhere fatal, just somewhere that hurts.

Usually when I leave I play the tough guy. You know, I’m-going-but-this-doesn’t-really-affect-me type of attitude. And usually it really doesn’t affect me. Much. I’m here, they’re there, but there’s internet, facebook, facetime-I can lie to myself and say, it’s not really any different. I wouldn’t spend any time with them even if I was home.

And that’s probably true. If I lived in MN, I would probably have my own place to live and my own life, and I just wouldn’t concern myself unduly with the proceedings of my family. It’s sad, but it’s true.

So you people who get to see your families, you people who live near your parents, you unspeakably blessed people who get to spend time with your sisters and nephews and best friends-please do so. For me. Because you’ve never sobbed your heart out as you wonder when the next time you see your father will be. You’ve never watched your parent’s house get smaller and smaller in the distance and known that you don’t really have a home anymore, not right now, anyways. You’ve never left your life behind, and then tortured yourself by going back and visiting it every once and a while.

So, this was about the state of my mind when I was heading home from visiting MN.

Cue: Alisha, sitting on a plane, crying so hard the flight attendant asked me if I wanted an entire box of Kleenex. While I was sobbing, and trying to decide exactly how embarrassed I was, I happened to remember a story that I heard in college while studying the life a Count Ludwig von Zinzendorf:

“Two young Moravians heard of an island in the West Indies where an atheist British owner had 2000 to 3000 slaves. And the owner had said, ‘No preacher, no clergyman, will ever stay on this island. If he’s ship wrecked we’ll keep him in a separate house until he has to leave, but he’s never going to talk to any of us about God. I’m through with all that nonsense.’

Three thousand slaves from the jungles of Africa brought to an island in the Atlantic, there to live and die without hearing of Christ.

Two young Moravians heard about it. They sold themselves to the British planter and used the money they received from their sale, for he paid no more than he would for any slave, to pay their passage out to his island for he wouldn’t even transport them.

As the ship left its pier in the river at Hamburg and was going out into the North Sea carried with the tide, the Moravians had come from Herrenhut to see these two lads, in their early twenties, off. Never to return again, for this wasn’t a four year term, they sold themselves into lifetime slavery.

The families were there weeping, for they knew they would never see them again. And they wondered why they were going and questioned the wisdom of it. As the gap widened and the housings had been cast off and were being curled up there on the pier, and the young boys saw the widening gap, one lad with his arm linked through the arm of his fellow, raised his hand and shouted across the gap the last words that were heard from them, they were these,

‘MAY THE LAMB THAT WAS SLAIN RECEIVE THE REWARD OF HIS SUFFERING!’”

-Paris Reidhead

Let’s face it, missions work is a tough job. Working with these kids is even harder. I’m really far away from home and I miss my family. I get tested every day in ways that I never imagined. But these two men-they sold themselves into slavery. Forever. They were never heard from again. No one ever heard what happened to them. They were gone, cut off from their families forever.

I’m not belittling my own suffering; I’m pretty sure I’ve cried myself to sleep every night this week. However, if those men could make that kind of sacrifice, and launch an entire missions movement, one of which the effect can still be felt today, then how can I compare? (Not to mention, I actually really love what I do-I just wish I didn't have to be so far away from my family. Like, they should move here). So, really, what is my suffering compared to what theirs must have been? And I’m not even going to bring up Paul, or I’m going to be here writing for the next three hours.

However, it was the apostle Paul who said it best:

What is more, I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them garbage, that I may gain Christ.

Phil. 3:8

So, my family, here you have it: I really do miss you.

I would love to hear from you! If you have any questions or comments, or would like to get a hold of me, please email me at alishatomsen@lovehopemercy.org. If you would like to support me monthly or give a one-time donation, please contact accounting@lovehopemercy.org to get started today!