I have been trying to move to China for half a decade. My husband and I traveled here in 2013 with two toddlers to explore work and ministry opportunities. The trip confirmed several things for me: I still loved Asian culture, and there was meaningful work happening there that I could be a part of. After we returned, we encountered several obstacles that stood between us and our goal. My longing for a baby and infertility surfaced again, as I pictured us overseas and unable to fulfill that. We began our third adoption. My cousin’s husband got cancer and passed away at 34, leaving her with five young children. I wasn’t sure if we should leave her a widow. We had to raise a large amount of monthly support, an amount that seemed humanly impossible. There were so many times that this decision was almost undone- my husband having second thoughts, our adoption taking longer than we expected, family obligations, lack of response from fundraising. But slowly, month by month, we felt momentum, circumstances nudging us steadily closer to the precipice. At last our adoption was complete, we were free of family obligations, and our support was raised. Yet more mountains loomed ahead: our son, adopted from Taiwan, was told he could not get a Chinese visa. We had a house to show and sell, with three young children living in it. We had to reduce thirteen years of accumulated possessions to a 10×10 storage unit, which is what we could afford on our new budget. Somehow our most important belongings must fit in our airplane luggage; the process of whittling down thousands of objects and making decisions on each one was exhausting.
And then there were the goodbyes. We were taught in our training that it is healthiest to allow yourself to grieve them, because then you will be able to let go. The people who had shared our lives for 9 years- the ones who felt our pain of infertility and loss, and rejoiced with us as we added 3 children to our families. Book club, cooking club, church, play dates, work colleagues. Hundreds of memories with people we will probably never share a city with again. Our friendships will not be the same, the chapter is closed, and that must be properly mourned. We said goodbye to two jobs that were very important to us. My husband left his successful practice he had worked hard to build. I left a faculty position that was my first serious job after residency- my affiliation with this organization touched a deep place in my identity. I felt a literal ache in my chest when I turned in my pager. I cried when we drove away from our house for the last time. The three tree swings had been taken down. I could still see the sign stretched across our garage welcoming our first son home. I saw our boys learning to walk, and then as toddlers running wildly down the halls. Climbing the bush in the back yard. I pictured them making Christmas cookies at our scratched up table, as Salvation army hauled it away. I touched their rocking chair one more time before it was hauled onto the truck, the chair where I rocked each baby I had been so desperately afraid I would never have. We threw away so much stuff that was full of memories, though worthless to anyone else. Shutting down a life is hard. Loss of identity, possessions and friendships was emotionally and physically painful. I grieved them strongly for a month. Sometimes after I wake up I remember that I have a new life, and miss my old one. Some days if I was given the chance to go back to the security of that life I would take it.
I don’t share all this just to complain. Many people consider a move overseas, and most of us know someone who has done this. It is exciting, a dream fulfilled. We faced many obstacles to make this move, and I believe we prevailed because we were meant to do this and we didn’t give up. I rejoice in that- it is a privilege to finally be here. But to romanticize this journey is to cheapen it- it was exponentially harder than we imagined. It was a sacrifice, a death to self, just to get to this place where we are called to serve. It was a test of faith, a painful stretching process. Perhaps that was for a reason.
We flew out from Denver 2 weeks ago. Things went pretty smoothly regarding luggage, the kids on the plane. We weren’t 500 pounds overweight and nobody threw up. We have not had our own home for 2 months. We are living on the 6th floor of a temporary apartment with no elevator. Our stuff is in storage because no one wants to carry it up the stairs. Our son starts school in 3 days, and I have no idea what he needs for uniforms or school supplies. We found out we have to pay federal taxes on our support, as well as a year’s rent and tuition in advance, bleeding our (previously) comfortable support fund to…basically zero. And we are finding this out right before I was going to start shopping for the basic stuff we need to restart our life.
But you know what? After the last several years, I have a new perspective on these problems. I feel peace that it will be ok. There were so many times that China could have fallen off our life map- but it didn’t. There were so many times I threw up my hands and said “If you want us there, you’re going to have to fix this problem”. And He did. There are so many beautiful and hard differences about the way people live here, but this post is getting long, so I will save it for the next one. This has not been a romantic journey, and at times it has felt really raw. There is no guarantee that we will see or accomplish the things we hope for. I renamed our blog “China Birds on a Wire” because I now see how fragile and full of failure we are. If we are passive and live to impress others we will miss the purpose of our lives. I am so thankful to be here, and believe that this is where we’re meant to be. I feel God’s presence and purpose here as I did in the other places. Yet a new life has begun. And I plan to live every day believing that we are here for a reason.