In early memory, mission music was ringing around my nursery door.
I was born in Zululand. And lived my first three years there before moving inland again in South Africa. My dad was a recently graduated doctor working on a remote mission hospital. My mom was brave.
So, I grew up in a country where Christmas meant hot and sun-burned and the beach. All this even when the shopping malls were bursting with the strains of, “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas.” And no matter how many years I live away from South Africa, I always miss the hot and the acacia trees and the flaming sunsets.
As Christmas rolls around cold and crisp here in Virginia, my first born, my South African born son, asks “Do you miss Souf Africa, mama?” And my chest wells up with an ache so profound I don’t know how to translate it into decent five-year-old vocabulary.
I turn around in the car and look into his blue eyes watching me from the car seat. We both smile at each other. “Yes. Yes, Jackson, I miss it a lot.” He sighs, “me too, mama.” As I pull forward when the light turns green, I know that he and I both have heads full of sights and sounds of a home that we haven’t visited in three years now.
Forget the tree and the presents and the food. Forget the decorations, the wreaths and the candles. Forget candy advent calendars, super sales and planning the menu. Forget wrapping paper, ribbon, holly, ivy and silver bells. Forget anything you can buy in a store, off a menu, from a catalog or online. I would scrap it all like so much leftover spaghetti all moldy green at the back of my refrigerator if I could give my kids South Africa for Christmas.
This day has always been about family. About a teenage couple and their new baby. About the shepherds and the most educated of the day who felt equally at home in his presence. About fitting in when you thought you never could. About belonging in the unlikeliest of places. About everyone being welcome.
If you gave me 24 hours in South Africa I would wing my kids home and let them unwrap these people for Christmas.
But I can’t. Not this year. And I have a five-year-old to answer to for that. And he’s much more difficult an audience than my own heart has ever been. So I give him what I can.
I give him the gift of homesickness.
………Please keep reading with me over at The Christmas Change. Today I’m sharing about what this gift cost both Jackson and me.
I’m homesick for Alabama. My boys are homesick for their grammomma and their baby Michael, and their manna, and Big.
I want so badly to give that to them too. I want them to have it all- this military life, with the experience of living in Germany, and the joy of growing up as the fifth generation in our small town, Alabama.
I can’t give them that. I can’t give them Alabama. Not this year.
But I can give them Skype video chats with those we love, and I can give them a foot of snow to play in, and German Christmas markets, and trips to the post office to mail off presents to Alabama. I can give them time with their soldier-daddy this year, I can give them memories of him home for the holidays, because next year, I won’t be able to give them that…. So this year, I will give them what I can.
And next, what I can give them will be different, but I’ll give it to them then with a happy heart and tears in my eyes.
Hugs to you, as you miss South Africa this year. I pray that y’all find your way home soon. Even if it is for a visit that’s all too short.
You had me at early memory mission music.
Because you know that song sings loud in my ear.
And my prayers. Because I’ve sat in your bed and eaten popcorn and felt your missing.
In all its shades of warm and pulse of love.
Your family comes alive in your stories.
They are exactly as my mind pictured.
I love you Jo–I wish with all my heart I could send you there.
Home.
You have no idea how much I love that you recognize and love that song – from one line of lyrics alone!
Thank you for expressing so eloquently what I have been feeling my whole life. My earliest memories were also of Africa (West Africa) and my growing into adult years were in Amsterdam, a city I miss daily. At this time of year I miss frozen canals, and Sinter Klaas, trams clanging through crowded streets, and Christmas without presents. And there are always people to miss, no matter where we are.
I too am slowly learning that the continual homesick ache is a reminder of my simply passing through this life on my way to an eternal one.
And stroop wafels! I miss those from Holland. Yes, the seasons and smells and music can make a place feel just out of reach of our fingers, can’t it?
Thank you for this post. I’d love to write a comment about how perfectly it spoke to my heart just now…but the words just don’t come quite right. I’ve had the same conversation with my five-year-old daughter, and though neither of us were born in Africa, we both miss it. Thank you for the reminder that Jesus knows exactly how we feel.
This struck a cord deep within me. I don’t have kids yet, but I often wonder what it will be like to raise them so far from my home and my family (in South Africa). It is hard enough right now for me to have my heartstrings stretched over so great a distance every day, I can’t imagine what it will be like when we have kids and they are half a world away from their grandparents, uncles, cousins… especially at times like Christmas when my heart longs even more to be with them.
Thanks for writing! I love reading your blog.
Ohhh I was so understanding you in this blog…I can only imagine that I will be giving the gift of my homesickness to my kids one day… thankfully this year me and hubby are traveling back to see my family- we leave today!! Praying that you find such a beautiful gift amidst your homesick heart:)
Lisa-Jo… there aren’t words to respond to the gift of your words, your precious words. I am so glad to hear them, so glad to be with you in your heart as you speak them, so glad to take them into my heart and let them live there.
Love,
Hilary
It is so hard being away from those we love over the holidays! But yes, homesickness IS a gift. It helps us hold our loved ones, both near and far, closer than typical. And it fills us with gratitude as we remember all of the things we miss.
I’m so sorry for your homesickness! It’s amplified at Christmas, isn’t it? I remember a Christmas when I was only a few hours away from family, but so great with child, that I was not supposed to travel. I couldn’t stand it, and my husband caved to my wishes and drove me to see my grandmother. It was her last Christmas with us, so it was such a gift. But sometimes, we just can’t get home.
I now live in an almost constant state of homesickness for our old church family. Since moving here four years ago, we’ve never been able to match what we had. The heart aches . . . . but it is one of the things that gives me a longing for eternity, when separation as we know it I believe will be no more.
I feel your pain
We left home ten years ago to live in England and miss South Africa every day. I miss Joburg and all the people I love with an ache that never goes away. My children have English accents but I dress then in Bafana Bafana and Springbok t shirts. We eat pap for supper every week but it is the hot sun and the sounds of cicadas and hadedas that it miss the most!
that picture of you with your family makes me smile inside and out.
i know this time is bittersweet for you in so many ways. you are on my heart constantly. i love you, my vrienden.