What's It Going To Be Like

In a simple, brown leather journal there reads a girl's somewhat scattered thoughts as she prepares for "home" again.

"I have three more weeks here,"she writes, "and so many 'what's it going to be like' moments to come. What will it be like to step off of that plane and return 'home.' What will it be like to hear children shouting in English? What will it be like to miss Japan?"

Well, past Lydia, let me tell you. Those three weeks went fast, as your blog and journal entries will show. You savored and dreaded every moment. Your hardest time, I have to say, is when you said goodbye to those kids. To this day, their faces bring a smile and a pang of sadness, but you got on that plane, and hours later you returned "home." It was everything you thought it would be with a lot of things you weren't ready for mixed in.

The sight of your Dad waiting for you at the airport, the first time you overheard a conversation at the grocery store and understood it, the expectedly joyful sound of children laughing and playing in English as you walk by; those things you expected. What you didn't expect was the way you felt being back in your childhood home, yet so different yourself. You also didn't expect the physical toll jetlag had on your body as you tried to do all the physical activities of cooking and cleaning only to realize you couldn't feel your left arm, you were so tired. You didn't expect to be content and happy being back either.

And you didn't expect to miss Japan so much. You knew you would, but not so deeply. I feel sorry for those who listened to you, past Lydia. Sometimes all they heard from you were stories of hardships when you were sick or struggling with train schedules. When you said you were coming home they were probably relieved, and rightfully so if that's all they heard from you. You forgot to tell them that those times were only blips in the radar. No, your heart doesn't flip over at the memory of Japanese hospitals, and lonely walks to the grocery store when all you want to do is lie on your futon for a month. But past Lydia, let me tell you what you will miss the most.

You will miss the way the children ran to you every morning. You will miss their voices yelling out your name on the playground to push them on the swing just one more time. You will miss the sight of sakura blossoms as they bud and begin to fall, covering the ground like pink snow flakes. You will smile at the sound of a train as you remember your daily commute (and mistaken commutes). Sometimes, you'll miss the considerate culture as you adapt to being in an apartment again. And past Lydia, you will be surprised to know you miss the loneliness too. You learned a lot in those lonely times.

I remember, past Lydia, when you would come home to a quiet apartment, turn on the CNN podcast, and listen while you made dinner (not usually very good either). I also remember the long conversations you would have out-loud as you talked with God or read His Word to yourself. Those were hard but good times, and you grew so much.

So, past Lydia, I hope that answers your questions. You will miss it all. You will want to go back while you are here, and in the beginning your heart will hurt tremendously. But you will adapt. You'll grow even more, and you'll be humbled beyond recognition. You'll grow in joy and contentment, but you'll also still miss Japan. You'll learn to balance both being present and missing the past. That's what it will be like.