I remember when I was in about third grade and missionaries came and spoke at the Sunday evening service at our church about their experiences with Bible translation in the jungles of Papua New Guinea. I wanted to go on wild pig hunts like them and live in the jungles and tell people about God! That sounded like fun. You didn't know that I would actually go and live overseas someday.
I remember when I told you, my parents and my future in-laws that I wanted to marry Denise - whom I had only been dating for about a month at the time. You were all a little shocked and surprised but you gave me your blessing and your permission.
And then at our wedding we had Indonesian flowers and food, not the normal kind of wedding - because we wanted to share with our family and friends a little glimpse of the life we were planning to live in Indonesia. You helped and encouraged us.
And then just when we told you that we were pregnant with Hannah, we also told you that we were moving to Indonesia and that if you wanted to be there for the birth of your grandchildren you would have to come visit us on the other side of the world.
I remember emailing you scans of our ultrasounds so you could join us in the sneak preview of what was coming.
I don’t really remember the exact moment we told you we were moving to Indonesia, but I also don’t remember you ever saying, “Don’t go.” You had expected this for years, and God had been preparing you. I don’t remember telling you we were taking your grandchildren to the ends of the earth where there lots of diseases, floods, volcanoes, and tsunamis, a place none of us could picture in our minds. But I don’t remember you saying, “Don’t go,” because you never said it.
We boxed our belongings and stored them in your closets and in the homes of your friends. We wrenched up our family and our roots. And we left.
I don’t know what that was like for you.
I can imagine. I imagine it felt like ripping and shattering. I can imagine it felt cold and black, unreal and yet too real. It seems so long ago, the actual leaving, but it also seems so near. I think because the leaving wasn’t truly that one day, it is every day since the first in November 2004.
I want to apologize to you, for causing this pain. Sometimes I want to apologize for not sending enough updates on the kids or Skyping often enough, for having stand-in relatives.
But, though I wish there wasn’t pain involved, I don’t feel right apologizing. Because I don’t have regrets, not ultimately, not when all things are taken into consideration. If I could live two lives, one of me would stay put and one would be on this wild adventure I am on. But since I can’t, I won’t apologize for not being able to accomplish the impossible.
So instead, I will simply say thank you.
Thank you for not saying “Don’t go.”
Thank you for raising Denise and I with a vision for the world outside our immediate circles. Thank you for teaching us to work hard, to trust like crazy, to dream big, to love deep. Thank you for helping us pass these qualities on to your grandchildren.
Thank you for sliding down McDonald’s Playland slides, for gathering up snow pants when we show up for a month and the temperature is below freezing, for washing extra dishes, for putting up with the fact that sometimes we have a hard time remembering some words in English.
Thank you for finding special things for us and sending them to us, and for all the turkeys you cook for me when we are back in the US.
Thank you for crying when we left but for never making us feel guilty. Thank you for making space in your homes for our boxes, space for our bodies when we are back. Thank you for giving your grandchildren a safe place to talk about their experiences, for being interested in their lives, for seeing that they are content and for not overturning that.
Thank you for all the trips to the airport, for bags of stylish clothes to wear while in the US and for all the times you have loaned us your cars to use for months at a time while we are in the US.
Thank you for picnics and parties and fresh raspberries and strawberries. Thank you for keeping family traditions and for slipping us in seamlessly when we are there to join. Thank you for sending some of those traditions in packages across the sea.
Thank you for visiting, for stamping your passport with a country few of your friends have even heard of. Thank you for learning about a region of the world you previously hadn’t paid attention to. Thank you for seeing our lives here, not just the black hole left in your heart, but the life we have built of work and friendships and home. Thank you for possessing the courage and humility it takes to acknowledge and appreciate that and to not insist that the only good place for us to live is near you (though that would be good too).
Sometimes people say to me, “Oh, your poor parents. So far from their children and grandchildren.” And sometimes I want to respond (tongue in cheek), “Its their own fault. They raised us to care about the world, to work for justice, to explore, to depend on God more than on ourselves.” Thank you for living this way and for passing it on the next and next generations.
Thank you for making it abundantly clear that no matter where we live, we are loved. I could never have asked for a better set of grandparents than you four. We love you and we miss you dearly.
Praying you have a wonderful Christmas... without us again.
David Moore
