Being a missionary is really sort of a heartbreak assignment. When you’re on the field you miss your loved ones at home, when you’re at home you miss folks from the field, there is always change, transition, goodbyes….
I don’t think I’ll ever forget the first time I realized this, long before I realized I would be a missionary. My husband came home from class in seminary one day with the campus newsletter in hand. “I’ve found our calling!” he said.
A church of 35 people in Hawaii wanted an intern for one year. We called them and four weeks later, we were on a plane. When we arrived, we were greeted by church members, who presented us with leis and chattered excitedly using many strange words that we didn’t understand--Likelike, Kamehameha, Liliuokalani (I later found out these were street names).
Something inside me said, “You will never be as happy again as you were a few minutes ago. While you are here, you will miss home. You will fall in love with these people and when you go home, you will miss them.”
I never got over leaving Hawaii….
2 comments:
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That's really sweet Cam...thanks for sharing...I was one of the 35 folks...still am...aloha~*
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