Missions on the Frontline
a ministry of WorldVenture
Nomad
Nomad
© Linnea Boese, 2009
I am only, always
just a resident alien
on a yoyo between worlds,
with a foreign address,
borrowed rooms,
and a “home”
where I never live.
At least not yet.
Someday.
Meanwhile everything
is temporary.
A modern nomad,
I have no herds,
just other moveable goods:
my books, my music,
practical clothes,
and indications
of my nesting instinct
like candles, chocolate,
the essential coffeepot,
and photos.
Not even family
stays intact:
I trail children
in my wake,
some here, some there;
siblings halfway
around the world,
parents all back
where we come from.
Friends are lost to distance
or to silence.
Memories of
discarded nests
of back and forth
and torturous goodbyes
move in succession
through my thoughts.
Airports have sanded
off my heart
until it’s raw.
Togetherness and roots
are the elusive stuff
of dreams.
Just call me Sarah,
partnered with my Abe,
inevitably
packing up
and moving on,
risking everything
on promises
and for the sake
of the Voice.
We do have resting places;
we’ve left our
markers there,
something permanent
in all the transience.
They stand as
firm reminders
of epiphanies.
Whenever we can circle back
in thought or fact,
we do.
And there,
we find that gratitude
and confidence renewed
give hope a boost,
and keep us headed
in our true direction:
a country where
we’ll turn in suitcases
for all the comforts
of Home.
© Linnea Boese, 2009
I am only, always
just a resident alien
on a yoyo between worlds,
with a foreign address,
borrowed rooms,
and a “home”
where I never live.
At least not yet.
Someday.
Meanwhile everything
is temporary.
A modern nomad,
I have no herds,
just other moveable goods:
my books, my music,
practical clothes,
and indications
of my nesting instinct
like candles, chocolate,
the essential coffeepot,
and photos.
Not even family
stays intact:
I trail children
in my wake,
some here, some there;
siblings halfway
around the world,
parents all back
where we come from.
Friends are lost to distance
or to silence.
Memories of
discarded nests
of back and forth
and torturous goodbyes
move in succession
through my thoughts.
Airports have sanded
off my heart
until it’s raw.
Togetherness and roots
are the elusive stuff
of dreams.
Just call me Sarah,
partnered with my Abe,
inevitably
packing up
and moving on,
risking everything
on promises
and for the sake
of the Voice.
We do have resting places;
we’ve left our
markers there,
something permanent
in all the transience.
They stand as
firm reminders
of epiphanies.
Whenever we can circle back
in thought or fact,
we do.
And there,
we find that gratitude
and confidence renewed
give hope a boost,
and keep us headed
in our true direction:
a country where
we’ll turn in suitcases
for all the comforts
of Home.
Comment
-
Comment by Linnea Boese on October 21, 2009 at 2:44am
-
Very insightful, Donna! Yes, this poem was prompted by an overwhelming sense of the distances we travel and (what I call the hardest part of mission life) the torturous goodbyes. It was actually written about 9 years ago, soon after our return to Ferke, having left two daughters in the U.S. And we returned to our work with some key colleagues "missing," the DeGraafs having moved to other positions in their mission. But the Lord encouraged me as I was translating Genesis, via the story of Abraham and Sarah, who left everything to follow his leading. Losses are a part of the story, but they aren't the whole story. There are the revelations of God himself. And there are the promises. As Hebrews says, we are heading to a city that doesn't move around, one with foundations. And there we will be Home. Thanks for hearing my heart. I posted the poem as a blog here because it is still relevant, and you are the proof that some hear what it says. Thanks for praying.
-
Comment by Donna Harvey on October 20, 2009 at 4:17pm -
Linn, what prompted this poem? So poignant, so apropos....missing family? Interesting, because today, before I got in here, I was thinking about you and had already decided to email and ask how your kids are doing, grandkids! Hmmm.....must be that Someone was talking to me. Even though a different date....May your soul and spirit be saturated with His love and peace.
Donna
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