To the History Book

Is there such thing as joy and grief? I would say so, as I experience both loss and elation at my move to the USA in August. It still feels so surreal, though I have been here for months now. I feel as if I could return to Australia, and it would just feel like I have been on a really long trip. Everything has flown by just that quickly, that I do not feel I could completely reconcile it to memory.

But memory has been able to set a reminder of loss to my mind and heart.

The delight and the struggle

I would assume that many of you have watched Inside Out, that incredible Disney-Pixar film that describes the emotions of a developing child who has moved away from what she considers home: Minnesota. I never truly thought about how much I had in common with Riley, the protagonist, until I wrote the poem entitled "To the History Book".

Many of you probably already know that this move has been a delight and a struggle. I have expressed emotions of missing home, and that much is the same for everyone. But I never expected the phenomenon so overwhelmingly of being both joy-filled and grief-burdened until I moved thousands of miles away, without the certainty of returning anytime soon. It hit me suddenly in the airport as I sobbed saying goodbye to friends and family, and I realized, I never truly said goodbye.

And I think, in reflection, this is becoming ever-more apparent, as I have had all to often the phenomenon of a happy memory, tinged with sadness in a state of grief or loss. I'm sure there is some psychological term for it. It is all the emotions associated with nostalgia. It is remembering a happy memory of a loved one who has passed away.

Similarly, this distance feels almost like death.

I hate having all my memories reducible to a kind of history book collecting dust. I hate that I feel more connected to the dust, than the stories of my past. I hate that the closest I may ever get to my friends and family back home are the particles of my dead self that float across the ocean. The "Feeler" part of this ENFJ sees this as part of the tragedy.

But the memories continue to taunt me, the dust continues to cloud the joy of memories. I feel gut-wrenching pain when I consider what I have lost. I have to remind myself daily of all I have gained, and thank my Father in Heaven for answering my request. He has given me the most blessed time, and I cannot thank him enough.

So on that note...

"To the History Book" is a poem about the hard part of this whole journey I have undertaken. The phrase in the second stanza "Hold dear the past before half mast" is a stark reminder that we have been given so many memories, things that will shape us, just as history shapes us. Might we instead take all that we have been given, and all we have now and hold it dear before we die?

More importantly, might we see how God has blessed us now?

From a secular perspective, I might see my situation as overwhelmingly difficult. I will admit, sometimes this grief seems incongruent with how I imagined I would feel upon arrival. The past and the present, from a non-Christian's point of view, is all we will ever have and all we can ever have. We are then to live for now.

But the Bible talks about something greater, something beyond the past, and beyond the present and beyond any feelings I might have about either. My feelings are reality, but they don't dictate my reality. And they certainly don't dictate my future reality: one that is set to be with God in Heaven for all eternity.

I was once again reminded by a friend of mine in a text message that as a TCK/International, I may never feel I fit in my present culture. I was reminded that I am an alien and stranger in this world. That I have no home on this earth. When I was in Australia, I didn't always feel at home. I don't always feel at home in the USA. But I know I will be at home in Heaven with my God with whom I will experience perfect peace.

Let me tell you, every memory I have ever had with my God has been one of joy. Perhaps I was experiencing tragedy, and God has supremely blessed me with joy and contentment. Perhaps I was struggling, but God was the one who brought hope.

So to the history book, collecting dust (the dust the remind and taunts those left behind with the memory of it all), you cannot change my greatest hope. You cannot destroy or create grief at the future I have with my Lord in Heaven. One day, the dust of all mankind will part, the pain will disappear for the believers on earth who see the light of Heaven. The clouds of grief and the clouds of Heaven will separate to make way for our Lord and Savior, and the judge of all the world.

To the History Book, you can never take away that joy.