The beginning of the end

In three weeks I’ll be boarding a plane to begin the journey back to the States. The tiny seats, terrible food, and limited entertainment will be just like the numerous other times I’ve hopped the pond the past six years. One thing will be different this time, though. This time there’s no return ticket. This time my visa expires shortly thereafter. This time I don’t know if or when or in what capacity I might return to China. And that is an emotion filled fact that is hard to wrap my mind around.

When I first started blogging, I chose a Brennan Manning quote as inspiration to describe my journey to China. Many of you have likely stumbled on these words on the “about me” page:

The way of trust is a movement into obscurity, into the undefined, into ambiguity, not into some predetermined, clearly delineated plan for the future.  The next step discloses itself only out of a discernment of the Father acting in the desert of the present moment.  The reality of naked trust is the life of a pilgrim who leaves what is nailed down, obvious, and secure, and walks into the unknown without any rational explanation to justify the decision or guarantee the future.  Why?  Because the Father has signaled the movement and offered it his presence and his promise.

Little did I imagine at the start of this journey that China would become for me what is nailed down, obvious and secure. That the ambiguities and strains of being a stranger in a foreign land would become a tension that I could not only survive in, but also thrive in. Despite living here six years, the word “outsider” (the literal translation of foreigner in Chinese) still echoes in my wake just as frequently as it did my first year, and just as frequently as it would if I lived here twenty more years. And yet I feel entirely at home being an outsider and a stranger here. In America, no one will point or stare or label me as an outsider, and yet I’m not quite sure I’ll ever “fit” in America like I did prior to living here. And I think I’m ok with that.

Contemplating leaving this land that has shaped, and molded, and broken, and healed, and challenged, and frustrated, and blessed, and nourished, and stretched me is something that quite frankly overwhelms me. I know a season of my life is coming to a close, but I’m not quite sure how, or even that it’s possible, to tie it up with a neat little bow. Ready or not, though, the end and the goodbyes are rushing upon me and “the lasts” have already begun to take place.

Yesterday was my last set of office hours in the foreign teacher’s library.

Fittingly, Stella was right by my side.

And afterward, she took me to my favorite hot pot restaurant to celebrate. I’m determined that that will not be my last hot pot dinner. This is one food I know I’ll crave in the months to come, and something I know I won’t find in the States.

Something tells me I also won’t be feeding any ligers in the coming year.

Something I do know, and this without a doubt, is that goodbyes stink. That’s not elegant or poetic or poignant, but it’s a simple fact. I firmly believe that we were not created for goodbyes. However, I also know that goodbyes till the soil for new growth and new fruit and new promises. And I know that’s a truth I’ll be clinging to in what is sure to be a difficult three weeks.