The Five Stages of Packing Grief

This from Lena:

I have an undergrad in psychology, but that is not how I have learned this lesson.  I am actually not a mover by nature or choice.  I am what I would call a long-term nester--so much so that when I was dating Bill,  I was concerned that he might uproot me periodically (he moved several times a year in his childhood).  As it turns out, he actually did very little of that--only a reasonable amount--but God moved us into an international life that has shaken me loose of many nests.  I am actually really glad that it has taught me that I can be happy in lots of different places, that it can be fun to discover the joys of a new spot, and that I can generally survive.

However, it HAS wreaked havoc on my nerves.  I try to keep these lessons close, and I have been laughing at myself a lot lately (mostly because I am still in the shock phase).  These stages of grief are actually fairly accurate, and some of the images I paint are actual memories.  For anyone of you about to go through this or have experienced it, I hope that at the least it gives you a laugh!

So--here they are.  The five stages of packing grief:

Shock- In this stage, you walk around saying that you can't believe you are really leaving. Somehow you relaxed, painted, added touches--made it your own.  But now it is becoming real that you will have to bundle up your tender roots and put it into storage or haul it somewhere.  Either way, it is going to involve a LOT of packing tape and cardboard, and you have vivid memories of the chaos it has been in the past.  You shake off the nagging fear that it is going to go exactly like the last move, when you woke up every morning three weeks before the move, completely wired and rightfully concerned that you were going to drop a very big ball of packing tape.  You square your shoulders and begin to survey the territory.  You consider color coding the rooms, plan your box log system (complete with list of the contents of every box).  You can feel it.  No nerve-wracking last-minutes this time.  A little here, a little there, and we will take this bad boy out.  During the last week, you will be reminiscing with friends, having rich moments of connection over coffee.

Anger- What in the world!  You have been trying to pack all the un-necessaries in ONE bedroom for TWO WEEKS!  GET OVER IT, WOMAN! IT'S A DUPLO SET, NOT GOLD BRICKS!  GET RID OF IT!  And don't even try that, "It's for the grandchildren" business.  Not working.

Depression-Time is running short.  You wake up with packing tape in your hair, and are weeping openly now, because you can't get the bunk beds apart.  Two weeks out and you are starting to get that glazed-over look.  You consider an emergency phone call to that one friend who you know will clean your refrigerator and it will be done before you had time to worry about it.  You are in the pit, and need a hand up. Bad.

Acceptance- You call out the cavalry, and your band of faithfuls show up.  There are teenagers in your kitchen, duping all your cooking utensils into plastic bins and stacking unwrapped coffee mugs on top, then sitting on it to make it close.  You walk into another room, thankful that at least someone else is doing it.  You hug your friends, and somehow manage to get those special moments in anyway, even though you haven't showered in three days.  You pick your toddlers up from the neighbor's house as you leave (in Peru, with a taxi), who thought your kids looked like they needed a bath and cleaned them.  You cry in the taxi, unsure if it is mostly the because you are sad to leave or just relieved it is over.  You know it isn't perfect, but neither is the rest of life, so--hey, not so  bad.

Preparing to say goodbye -- for a year

Normally, I post stuff here then put it on facebook. Today, it's the other way around. Earlier this week, I was in Iquitos--the largest city in the world that you cannot get to by car. It is in the Amazon jungle and can only be accessed by plane or boat. I was there to take pictures of cute kids, so that we can find sponsors for them when we return to the states for our year of re-connecting with churches and supporters. The year back home is obviously welcomed, but it comes at a cost. We'll be leaving behind the friendships we have here, to strengthen those we left behind 3 1/2 years ago. 

The streets are made of sand and mud.

Some experiences are harder to leave behind than others. One of those is my love for the jungle and the friends that I have there. I posted one of those experiences on facebook a couple of days ago: "I had a tear in my eye as I rode through muddy streets on the back of Jose's motorcycle. This would be my last day in the jungle town of Iquitos for at least a year. Close by, half-naked kids were playing marbles in the mud. It began to rain and I looked up to see black storm clouds hanging over the Amazon river. I thank God that I get to serve Him in Peru!"

The sewer ditch in front of one of our schools.

Yesterday, I spoke with one of the pastors I work with in the northern coastal region. Like all the pastors I work with, our friendship is deepened by the need to resolve difficult problems. Trying to build an evangelistic community of transformation in a context of poverty will either make or break a friendship. For the most part, we've made some great friendships. Yesterday, as I spoke with my friend about our return to the states, he understood that our departure was necessary for the ministry to continue, while at the same time lamenting our departure. The conversation ended and I was about to hang up, when he called out, "Bill!"

"Yea?"

"Un abrazo. (A hug.)"

"Egualmente, Hermano! (Same to you, Brother!)"

A taxi-boat.

Motorcycles are the transport of choice in jungle towns. They are shipped in boxes and assembled on-site. This is a great picture for this blog entry, since it has motorcycles in Iquitos and also contains a shot of my friend Tim Wolf (whose last name is wild, like the jungle).

These houses are next to one of our schools and display how the children live.

 

 

Transition

We're half way through the transition from language school in Costa Rica to our full-time appointment in Peru. We’re currently in the states, so we can ship our belonging to Peru. I've attached a photo of our luggage in the airport. (O.K., that's not our luggage--but it's close!) I thank God that our container shipment of furniture has gone out well and will arrive in Peru 2 or 3 weeks after we do. We've visited family in Cincinnati and Cleveland, and are currently in Gatlinburg, Tennessee (spending time with Bill's sister's family from Atlanta). Getting to see your family after a year overseas is beautiful and fills you with the knowledge that you are loved and wanted, but it is always tinged with the knowledge that your departure is imminent.

We are six days away from Peru. We land at 11:40 PM on Jan 5. We're all excited to get there, but trying not to be so excited that we miss what we're experiencing right now.

Some prayer requests:

1. Safe passage for us and our stuff.

2. Saying our goodbye's all over again.

3. God's provision and wisdom regarding where to live in Lima.

4. Favor with customs.

5. Approval of our visa applications.

¡Ya terminé!

¡Ya terminé!

That's Spanish for "I'm done!" Today, we'll go through the graduation service for our year at language school. Wow, what a year! The last two weeks, I've been in nervous breakdown mode. Preparing our final projects and taking tests, while trying to pack, has been one little nervous breakdown after another. It's good to know that, no matter how many little nervous breakdowns we have, God is still in control! We have a lot of questions yet to answer regarding where we'll live and what we'll drive when we get to Peru, but those things are all in God's hands. For now, Lena and I are rejoicing that we're graduating and that we know how to say goodbye (in Spanish) to our friends here. And when my nerves rise up within me, I keep saying (nervously, but by faith), "God has it all under his control!"

Some prayer requests that are a little urgent:

1) We haven't received our visas from Peru yet. It would be good if we received them before we leave Costa Rica on Monday, Dec 17.

2) Shipping our stuff to Peru--there are many details yet to be confirmed.

3) All the travel that will take place over the next three weeks--flying to the states, traveling in the states, flying to Peru and knowing where to go once we get there.

Those are just a few of the things for which I have to say, "Be still my soul!"

How we are

We're at an interesting place in this process, we're able to communicate (which makes life much easier), but we're also aware that another huge move is only 6 weeks away. As such, on the outside, we're happy and content; while on the inside, we're fairly anxious. I’ve observed how all of us missionaries have responded to culture shock, and I've concluded that it is a horrible experience no matter how prepared you think you are. Anger, anxiety, depression, low self esteem and negative interpretation are the daily fare here--and they're confounded by the late night hours spent doing homework. After 9 months in Costa Rica, we're beginning to feel more comfortable. But, it is a short lived comfort, since we’re moving to Peru in January. I no longer think it will be a smooth and easy transition. I suspect that we’ll have a repeat of some of the same emotional and physical responses. It's ironic to feel stress when the weather is so nice. I've learned here that being a missionary in a lovely place is still very stressful. No matter how beautiful the place, the missionaries still pay the price of being far from family and friends. You can't quickly replace friendships that were forged over 20 years. So, beautiful weather aside, being a missionary is emotionally costly. If we didn't have a personal relationship with the living God, then it wouldn't be worth it. But, since our call to Peru has been so miraculously confirmed, then we have to believe that these light and momentary troubles will produce eternal fruit!

On the bright side, I preached my first Spanish sermon for the students and staff this past week and it went so well that I was invited to preach at a church this Sunday. Just before I went up to preach this past week, I became emotionally overwhelmed. The reality of fulfilling our call felt very near. We received the call to Peru four years ago. Preaching in Spanish became a realization of the nearness of fulfilling that call. By grace, it was a great experience.

(The picture, above, was taken just after my first Spanish sermon (this week). I'm chatting with one of our professors, Rosita. Lena is behind me, chatting with our friend and fellow missionary, Sherri Mattix.)

Wake up call!

We'll be flying to language school in Costa Rica on January 3. There is more than a little anxiety regarding being prepared for that date. How close is it? Let's just say that it's a real wake up call when you see the date every time you get a cup of coffee.

Leaving everything

I drive hundreds of miles every weekend, which provides a lot of time to daydream. My daydreams are very predictable, depending on the season. Since this is Spring, I’ve been dreaming about camping. I love camping. We have a pop-up camper that is the focal point of many dreams. There’s nothing as wonderful as laying in the pop-up’s bed, feeling the night breeze and listening to crickets. We knew when we got the call to Peru that we’d have to give up many of the things we cherish. Obviously, the daily relationships with friends and family are the most costly. The good news is that using an internet phone service, we’ll be able to have a phone number in Ohio that will ring directly in Peru. So, we’ll only be a phone call away…more or less. Emotionally the thought of leaving close relationships behind is overwhelming, so we don’t dwell on it by choice. Nonetheless, our subconscious emotions have a way of breaking through our defenses. For me, this happens when I’m driving and see somebody’s new camper or a great place to camp. Then it gets me—we won’t be camping anymore. Aaaahhhhh! My subconscious goes into overload and I see myself trying to fit our camper in the overhead baggage compartment of the plane. The flight attendant says, “I’m sorry, Sir, but you’ll have to leave that behind.”

I say, “Of course I’ll have to leave it behind, anybody can see that. I just brought it on so I could say goodbye.”

The scene ends with some brutish baggage handlers ripping the camper from my steely grip, while the captain and flight attendant hold me back. With my arms stretched out, reaching for the camper, I say, “Goodbye sweet breezes…Goodbye pitter-patter of the rain of the aluminum roof…goodbye…”

In Luke, chapter 5, Jesus calls out to Peter, Andrew, James and John and says, “follow me and I will make you fishers of men.” Luke 5:11 says, “When they had brought their boats to land, they left everything and followed Him.” (NASB)

He’s worth it.

Above is a picture of the camper from a XA trip back in September, 2004. Lena is holding Abi, who was one month old. The other people are XA alumni from Wilmington College (Shannon Treadway and Katrina Frazee). Tara Lydy (XA staffer at Wilmington) is preparing the teaching skit for that smoky Sunday morning.

This is a picture of Hannah, reading in the camper at Table Rock Lake. We'll be selling the camper this summer. If you're interested, send me an email at billshrader@earthlink.net.

Longing for Narnia, Heaven & Lima

The Chronicles of Narnia have a permanent spot on my list of favorite books and they've won over my kids as well. On our recent trip to Texas and Georgia, we listened to the Focus on the Family audio CD's of Voyage of the Dawn Treader. In the book, the characters are admiring a painting of a sailing ship that looks like the ships of Narnia. Suddenly, waves on the painting begin to swell, the kids get sucked into the painting and back into Narnia. The audio CD has great sound effects and listening to the story again sent shivers through my body. I paused the CD and asked the kids, "Where do you want to be right now?"

They answered, "Narnia!"

I agreed. Having read the books countless times, it only takes a few sentences before I'm wishing I was back in Narnia--having a great adventure. Lewis was trying to communicate with our emotions, to help us yearn for heaven by touching that place in our hearts that yearns for beauty, adventure, camaraderie and justice. I often pray that the Lord will help me to yearn for heaven more than I yearn for the things of this world. It's so easy to feel like this world is two dimensional, when compared to the way I envision Narnia. Heaven has got to be 100 times better, but I don't often imagine it that way. Sometimes our imaginations need a little help. With this in mind, I sometimes take my yearning for Narnia and intentionally dream about Heaven. It helps to keep things in perspective. For example, driving an old mini-van (which Lena calls our “Kleenex box on springs,” doesn’t seem so bad, when I know that my final destination is heaven. Of course, Narnia is fantasy, so it wouldn’t be healthy to spend a lot of time yearning for it. But heaven is real, and it is healthy to yearn for it with that same kind of exhilaration I felt when the kids got sucked into the picture. When we exhibit excitement and anticipation about going to heaven, it shows that we're living out our faith with the right kind of priorities. The Apostle Paul wrote in Colossians 3:1-4 (NIV), "Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with him in glory."

Glory is good. I can't wait.

I do another version of this regarding Peru. I often dream about what our lives will be like there. Sometimes my dreams are realistic, sometimes they're ridiculous fantasy. An example of the latter is when I'm riding my scooter. I have a Honda Scooter that I ride when the weather is great--usually to the grocery store with Hannah’s or Colton's arms wrapped around me. Now, a 45 year old man, riding a scooter to buy milk and cereal is not the picture of adventure. But it's all about adventure in my imagination. When I'm riding and the air is fresh, I dream about living in Lima and my heart connects with the great adventure that awaits us. I'm filled with faith building anticipation. Ironically, the air in Lima is not fresh. Lima is infamous for choking smog and high humidity. That doesn't matter, I still like to dream about it. The Lord who called us to Peru is good. In spite of Lima’s smog, I know that God has good things in store for us. So I nurture the expectation of positive adventure. I don't feed this expectation without an understanding of the difficulties that lie ahead--that would be to set myself up for a huge disappointment. But I'm also not going to spend my time worrying about the difficulties that lie ahead. The move over-seas is so costly in terms of the separation we’ll experience from family and friends, if I focus on the hardships all the time, it would be overwhelming. So I nurture the spirit of adventure and combine it with the gift of faith--believing that God has good things in store for us. One of the best ways for me to do this is by riding my scooter to the grocery store.

Jere 29:11 (NIV) "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.