The Change of Seasons

The Indonesian Department of Education just gave our school notice that all staff over the age of 60 have one year to prepare for transition. The government is revoking all work visas for those over 60 or under 24. For some of our teachers, this means transitioning from a decade or more of service into God knows what. Some of these teachers think they're return to the states; some to other countries for additional service; some are simply along for the ride and expect that God will show them what's next as they disembark from the plane. None of them that I've talked to are nervous. In fact, quite the opposite. One of our newest 70-something staff, Kit, got this gleeful, almost mischievous grin on her face like she was concealing a flask under her shawl before discussing her lack of anxiety or concern for the future. "You get kicked out of one country only to work toward exile from another."

I've also been thinking about change. We're planning on being at Mountainview for another two years after this one, but from time to time people ask what we're doing in Indonesia; as though they really wanted to ask, "What possessed you to move 13,000 miles from home? Are you crazy?!"

I borrowed a friend's copy of Don Miller's Through Painted Deserts. In this re-publication since he became famous in Christian circles for Blue Like Jazz and Searching For God Knows What, the author's note says the following:

I remember the sweet sensation of leaving, years ago...leaving Texas for who knows where. I could not have known about this beautiful place, the Oregon I have come to love...And I could not have known then that if I had been born here, I would have left here, gone someplace south to deal with horses, to get on some open land where you can see tomorrow's storm brewing over a high desert. I could not have known then that every body, every person, has to leave, has to change like seasons; they have to or they die. The seasons remind me that I must keep changing, and I want to change because it is God's way...Everybody has to leave, everybody has to leave their home and come back so they can love it again for all new reasons.

I reckon this is also about the most honest thing I could say to my interrogators: I had to leave so I could come back and love it again for all new reasons.

We don't know where our graduating seniors will end up in a few years: college, jobs, families. We don't know where our retiring seniors will end up next year. We don't even know for certain where we will be tomorrow. But does that really matter? No, I reckon it doesn't. I just know that I am willing to follow Jesus wherever he leads, and in so doing to be transformed, changed, made new. And then, when I return to some place I had been before, to see it, and them, and to love them again for all new reasons.