Missing Home and Processing Goodbyes

This past weekend I had the pleasure of going with the eighth graders to their end of the year retreat. It was fun to hangout with my students outside the context of the classroom. On the bus ride home, I sat reflecting on the weekend and realized that I missed home. Not my American home, but my first home – Guatemala.

I’ve discover that I miss Guate more often in the Philippines than when I’m in the US. I’m sure it’s because of the similarities in culture and overall look of the two countries, but most of all I am taken aback by the differences, romanticizing the past as we all tend to do.

This particular weekend, I was reminded of the past because of two things. First, as a ministry component to the retreat, the class and teachers went to a community, recently affected by flood and fire in order to share songs, stories, treats and games with the children. As we walked around asking kids to join the fun, I was struck by my barrier of language, which made me feel uncomfortable and useless. I reverted in my mind to Spanish, which won’t work but feels like it should, and wished for the days of my youth where I interacted with kids without awkward conversations and gestures. Learning more Tagalog is something I want to do next year but in everyday life it’s not needed to communicate, making the need to learn it small. The ache in my heart was not only for these children but

also I realized I missed Spanish and ministering to kids at home.

The second blast from the past was during the campfire that night. The campfire was a time to say goodbye to the students leaving next year. My family left Guatemala when I was in 8^th grade, like several students in my class. I was probably a little too excited to leave then place of my youth, having a tough time with relationships, particularly with my classmates. I left without proper closure or goodbyes, leaving broken relationships and taking along the baggage of resentment. I’ve since dealt with these issues and said goodbye to classmates and Guate later in life, but I wish for the tears and closure shed at 8^th grade retreat this weekend. It was amazing to see my students pray for each other, cry for each other, comfort each other and process that grief every MK deals with throughout their lives. Without knowing it, they were saying proper goodbyes that will give closure to those who stay and those who leave. I wanted to tell them it’s hard to leave or stay, but facing the tears and farewells is so much better than separating with hurt and sorrow in your heart. I felt for my students yet I was envious of them, they grieved with friends because the community around them gave them the venue to do so and the adults led them through the healthy process of farewells – not everyone has that gift.

After this weekend, I missed home. I wished for what could have been. I ached for my students. And yet, I was also proud to be a part of something that was healing and the step in the right direction for these kids, who will have to go through this process again and again. I hope all of them, whether they are staying or leaving, appreciate the time spent together.

(Photos by Don MacKay)