The Truth About a Traveler's Life

The life of a vagabond is one of whimsical wandering. A life that many sit in stuffy cubicles and dream to partake in. Rich colors drape their bedrooms and twinkle lights hang from the ceilings. Flowing skirts and leather bracelets array their arms and flow about their tanned skin. A dreamy look is always in their eyes that sparkle with dreams of adventure and far-off places. Pins are posted on Pinterest with the caption of, "Some day, Monte Carlo, some day".  Everyone knows their passion for travel, and everyone supports it (Well, except maybe Mom, who always wants her baby safe at home). And when they finally save up that last penny and post a picture of the tarmac saying, "Hasta lavista, 'merica, Hello Paris!" hundreds of cheers go up and no fewer than 106 likes clicked out of excitement for dreams come true.

But that's not always what the life of a traveler is, is it…
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No. The life of a traveler is far different from this picturesque concept of "gypsy living". As most other areas of life pictures, sayings, social media, and commercials have given only half of the story when it comes to living overseas- or even short term trips overseas.

A swirl of faces, some stained with dirt and tears, some stained with ruby red lips and purple or blue on their eyes, faces bleached white as a sign of high status. Students hair, a sea of black mingled with white, yet so young. Other children, hair jet black, has been mingled with soot and garbage. This woman is hard-working, tired, age lines her face and her eyes are tired, but the next woman to step onto the bus, clicking 5 inch heels and tight pencil skirt and shirt freshly pressed and accessories only the finest.

Your memories swirl and you see the elderly in a home, gathered around to enjoy the fine arts event you're putting on. Dresses glitter in the evening light and smiles are on all faces.  Puccini floats through the air and fades into O Solo Mio, the evening ends with wrinkled hands embracing soft, young ones. Sad eyes, full of memory glisten as they tell of a memory that went along with the aria you've just sang.

Yet again, you feel as if your head is in a vortex and there you are, sitting on a soccer field in South America, sweaty children all around you, you're wearing a wordless book bracelet and you're eagerly sharing about how Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me." Their eyes are full of anticipation, they listen attentively.

But no, you're not finished yet. The memory of a soccer field reminds you of a park, in your own "home country" This is the land were you came into existence. A park not far from the university you attended and the many homeless you brought food to. Not always food for their stomachs, but always something to chew on. The man who turned away a chance at new life only to be taken away on a stretcher the very next day. The woman who said she desperately wanted out of the life of sleeping with a knife, but couldn't last more than a couple weeks in a halfway house with a job.

You see girls taking you to a field in the middle of nowhere to open a Bible, concealed between textbooks, because if they were to be seen with the treasured pages in public, they could be kicked out of university- or worse. Children with disabilities in orphanages, with fewer hands and hearts to love on them than they should have- but at least it's something, right?

You see, the life of a traveler is full of new adventures, friends and experiences, but it is so full of hurt, fear, and agony.

Sure, we have our whimsical "gypsy" days, but that's not our reality. Our reality is a lot of hard work and a lot of goodbyes. And goodbyes never get easier. Sometimes, you don't even want to say, "Hello" to a new person, because it just means that one day, you'll have to say just one more, "Goodbye".

God has given me a life that I could never have imagined. Sure, I've always known that I would live somewhere overseas, but I never knew what it would take- or where He would move me!

There's something so exciting about going new places and trying new things, there's no denying that. Stepping off the plane or train or boat and taking your first breath of that new city, state, country, or even continent is exhilarating! Your eyes, full of curiosity and wonder as you observe the new cultural differences, colors, customs, foods, and architecture, sparkle. Your heart races as every new experience takes you further out of your comfort zone. You find yourself doing things you never thought someone could pay you to do. You find yourself speaking in languages you never dreamed you'd actually speak (or understand for that matter)! You find that it IS possible to retrain your palate to not reject squishy or unknown textures, you can stomach just about anything! (Well, except stinky tofu…)

But with ever step, a new memory, a new heart string, a new struggle, a new goodbye.

So here I am, sitting on the floor listening to piano ballads, getting ready for another goodbye. (Or whole slew of them, should I say?) I see more than 2,000 students faces all at once. I see a sidewalk, prayed over and committed to kingdom work, on my walk to work. I see a developing city, smog descending and the air thick with damp, musty air. I see more than 40 teachers that I have gotten to work with over the course of 3 1/2 years. I remember tears so many they would take bottles and bottles to contain. I remember words spoken out of frustration and anger that never should have been born. I remember the kind old man who offered me a seat when he saw I was exhausted. I remember the woman, a tooth missing and skin all wrinkled and leathery, that smiled at me that day. I remember the lady at the street food stand who remembers me and tells me she's missed seeing me when I started taking a different route home, or came home late. I remember the man at the little store downstairs who always tried to talk to me (when my Chinese was REALLY bad) and persevered through my confusion and frustration until we could have a conversation. I see young adults and teens with tears in their eyes as they shared their struggles and hurts with me. I remember the hugs I've given and the hugs I have received. I remember so much. Again.

There is so much. So much joy, so much laughter, so many tears, so many lessons, so many people, so much God. So much goodbye. Now is the time of goodbye. I'm so thankful for the time I have been given here in this enchanted land. Not once, or even twice. But three times, He's given me time here. Each time was so different from the former, and special in and of itself.
In the words of John Legend, to my China,

"Cause all of me loves all of you,. I love your curves and your edges, all your perfect imperfections…"

And how true is that. Never a straight line here. Always a curveball, something new, something different. Normal is different. And as hard as days have been here at times, I will always love it. I will always cherish these memories, as many as there are, I can't forget.

And this. This is the life of a traveller. The truth.

But isn't the truth really that we are all travelers? Sure, some of us get cozy where we are and call it, "home", but we're never really home. And that is something that traveling has taught me. This world is not my home, I'm just passing through, and oh how I can't WAIT to be HOME. So I pray will be the case for you. That you will comprehend the fullness of this statement, you are not at home, nor should you feel at home. We are all travelers and we will all spend this life saying, "Goodbye", but one day (and I feel it drawing closer), we will never have to say goodbye- ever again.

"Cause I gave you all of me, and you gave me all of you."

Thank you, Jesus.