Goodbyes and Hellos

Graduation Grief Might Feel Like Death, But New Life Is Coming

/ Elizabeth Trotter / Leave a comment

Nine years ago this August my family slept in tubes. Huge culvert pipes, to be precise. We drove two hours from our row house in Phnom Penh to the top of Kirirom Mountain for a mini vacation before school started. A resort there had created separate sections with tent camping, the tube “cabins” we stayed in, and actual hotel rooms.

We only stayed one night, but it was a delight. There was a playground and a zipline/low ropes course for little ones. That night I read Ballet Shoes to the girls in our pipe. The pipe rooms were just large enough to hold a single 1.8-meter (king) mattress, so the guys slept in another pipe (which probably had less culture than ours).

The next morning we ate a combination Asian/Western breakfast under a canopy with plenty of breeze flowing, and I had the distinct realization that this was the good stuff. We were in the sweet spot of parenting. Everyone was potty trained, and they still lived at home, still liked us, and still liked each other. 

After breakfast I sat drinking tea under the canopy while Jonathan played American football with our kids on a Cambodian mountain and soaked in the moment. I knew the moment wouldn’t last forever. I knew I needed to treasure it. My oldest was about to start 8th grade, and he wouldn’t be around forever.

Sure enough, fast forward to four Augusts ago, and I was taking our firstborn to college. Jonathan couldn’t come with us because he’d just tested positive for COVID-19. Thankfully both boys and I tested negative, because I don’t know what I would have done on that drive home without my other son nearby to contain the edges of my grief.

But family life moves relentlessly forward. Two years later, we took our second to college, and this August we took our third, our first girl — four years to the day after we took our oldest. Many of my friends were taking their oldest to college. I remember the grief well. Four years ago the farewell felt like a death. 

I sobbed outside the dorm before we parted. I sobbed in the car before driving away. And when we had to stop for gas, the act of walking into a restroom and seeing my reflection in the mirror was enough of a pause to get me started sobbing all over again. We had to wait in the car for another round of tears to pass before I could safely pull back onto the highway. Just keep talking to me, I remember saying to my younger son. I couldn’t risk any stray thoughts, or I’d burst into uncontrollable tears again.

After we got home, I cried for weeks. Where was he? He was supposed to be here in the school room, studying calculus and physics. He was supposed to be here in the living room, playing Billy Joel’s “Piano Man” and Aeon’s “River Flows in You” on our upright. He was supposed to be here in the kitchen, washing the dishes. He was supposed to be outside on the trampoline, practicing flips. He was supposed to be near, and he wasn’t.

I knew the transition was going to be hard, and I didn’t plan on doing any work or school the first week after he was gone. I walked around the house in a daze, organizing things here and there but not fully present.

I couldn’t bring myself to throw away his old math and science notebooks, so I tossed them onto the top shelf of the closet instead. He would never look at those notebooks again, but in that moment I just couldn’t part with the reminders of him. I couldn’t pitch the evidence that he really had gone through my homeschool.

The truth is, it feels like a death the first time you launch a kid. And it is the end of something — it’s the end of family life as you’ve always known it. It’s the end of all of you being together automatically. It’s a real loss, and you should honor it and grieve it. 

But death isn’t the end. Because somehow, there’s a rebirth. Family gets reborn, it’s just different from before. And it can still be good. It can still be precious. Family togetherness doesn’t have to disappear, but it does have to change.

They come back for the weekend, and you have a campfire or a movie night. They come back for Thanksgiving, and you reminisce about all those Thanksgivings together growing up. They come back for Christmas, and you still do all your old traditions. 

Then another kid goes to college, and the schedule gets more complicated. But they still come back together sometimes, and of course there are the summers. But then one day your oldest graduates and won’t be coming back as frequently. Or someone brings home a significant other, and you start sharing your house with more people — and sharing your people with other families.

But by this time you’ve learned to roll with the changing schedules. You’ve learned to adapt to fewer people in the house, most of the time anyway. You’re watching all of your kids grow up and make big decisions. And you miss them, and you’re so proud of them for navigating these waters, and you still try to support their process. 

You know that family will never look like it did when you had a bunch of littles underfoot and were stepping on Legos all the time and picking up sippy cups. But it doesn’t have to, because those memories are safe inside your heart, ready to be visited whenever the need arises.

And here’s another truth: Those years were good. Those years were worth it. But young motherhood always came with an expiration date, even if we didn’t know it at the time. Babies are supposed to grow. Children are supposed to grow. And teenagers are supposed to fly away in the end. 

So first-time college mom, take heart. Remember the wisdom of Cindy Rollins, mother of nine grown children, who taught us that home isn’t a place to stay; it’s a place to leave. Our job as parents is to build a home that is safe enough and strong enough for them to launch from. And then to believe in them as they fly away (and sometimes come back to visit).

That picture of us outside the tubes hangs on the wall next to my prayer chair. Every day I can look over and see a family frozen in time — a family old enough to enjoy each other and young enough to still live together, a family old enough to sit still for read alouds and young enough to still appreciate them. 

While those particular details of family life might not be true any longer, the family is still going. We’re still holding onto each other, still spending time together when life allows. More photos will be added to walls and phones and albums as the six of us keep tackling new adventures, but that one at the top of a tropical mountain will stay in my heart forever.

All of us around a campfire two years ago, after having launched half our kids.

For more of my reflections on marriage, motherhood, and all things Christian womanhood, read my book, The Hats We Wear.

Losing God and Country {Velvet Ashes}

/ Elizabeth Trotter / Leave a comment

I’m over at Velvet Ashes this week, talking about the pain of re-entry and how it affected my relationship with God.

My re-entry story began with an unplanned return in the midst of COVID-19. I wasn’t the only one—it turned out to be such a common experience. But at the time it seemed like just about the worst thing that could happen to me.

I loved my life overseas. I felt called to it. I found God there, amongst the power cuts, heat waves, dirty streets, and endless needs. Amongst the palm trees, rain clouds, frangipani, and deep sense of purpose.

We had scheduled a regular furlough that year but ended up leaving early, convinced we would be able to fly back to our Cambodian home in a few short months. Paperwork and the pandemic had other plans. And when our overseas life fell apart, I did too.

Pain permeated everything. It was in my heart as I bid farewell to a country and a beloved community without actually saying goodbye, without hugging people and crying in person. But it was in the hearts of others, too, as their lives were similarly uprooted, whether by relocations, pandemic restrictions, or tragic deaths. Why was an all-powerful God allowing such pain?

This God seemed responsible for the anguish and upheaval in my life. I was angry with Him, and in my anger, I refused to speak to Him. At different points during the next couple years, I even considered the idea of not believing in God anymore. If I no longer believed in the Person who caused my pain, the pain would go away, right?

Read the rest at Velvet Ashes.

And Then Our Cat Died

/ trotters41 / 12 Comments

by Elizabeth

I’m not even sure how to write about this. Four months ago we bought a cat for our children. He was a beautiful stray who had been rescued by the Humane Society, and we fell in love with him. He was our little Lion King. He filled our yard with life and light. And we thought he’d be a part of our family for a long time.

But it wasn’t to be.

Gryff was a wanderer. He was constantly trying to get into other people’s houses. Sometimes he succeeded. He left us often, and most of the time he came back on his own. But nearly as frequently, we received calls from people as far as 3 streets away to come pick him up at their house.

Still, we were ridiculously in love with this cat. The kids liked to study outside with him. They liked to draw pictures of him. They liked to snuggle him. People often commented on how sweet of a cat he was.

He had started staying out at night and not coming back till the next morning. We were expecting this; he was supposed to be an outside cat. But then he didn’t come back, and we also didn’t receive a call from anyone. Eventually a neighbor stopped by to tell us what had happened — another neighbor had seen the accident and told her.

A car hit him on the road near our house. We weren’t at home when it happened. But when we found out, Jonathan went looking for the body and helped us bury him. We cried and even wailed over Gryff’s death. It was a deep pain and a deep loss. He was our first pet. We didn’t know how sad it would be to lose a pet.

Now we know.

A mom doesn’t want her kids to suffer, but she can’t stop the suffering. I wish my kids didn’t have to lose Cambodia. I wish they didn’t have to lose their cat. But as much as I wish to prevent them from experiencing pain, I have no power to do so. It’s one of the most difficult parts of being a parent. All I can do is walk through the pain with them.

So we held a funeral for him. We talked about the silly things he did. We talked about the annoying things he did. We talked about how much we loved him. We honored his place in our lives for just a short time. He helped us settle our hearts in America, and for that I will be forever grateful.

It’s been a week since we buried him, and there’s still an empty spot in our hearts. In the beginning we couldn’t bring ourselves to spend time in the yard without him. It was too sad and lonely. The first few days without him were especially rough. We watched with our own eyes as my husband shoveled dirt onto his body. Still, we kept expecting him to show up at the back door, begging for food. Other times we thought we could hear him meowing.

For days we couldn’t bring ourselves to clean up his water bowl and food bowl. I still haven’t put away the blanket he slept on. And at first I didn’t think I could ever buy my family another cat. I could not give my heart to another creature, only to lose it again so soon after. But after visiting some friends whose cats are just as loveable as ours was and learning how many cats they’ve lost over the years, I’m beginning to think I could possibly welcome another cat some day. But not yet.

So we are slowly adjusting to life without our beloved kitty. After all, there are still birds to feed and plants to water. God’s good, green earth still grows even in the midst of death. Through the pain — and maybe because of the pain — our hearts and souls grow along with it.

A Book is Born: Serving Well is now available!

/ trotters41 / 2 Comments

It’s here!Screenshot (4)

Elizabeth and I are thrilled to introduce you to our new book, Serving Well. It is our deepest hope that this 400+ page book will encourage and equip cross-cultural folks through the various seasons of life and ministry.

It’s available in print and Kindle version here. Our publisher is also selling the book with a 20% discount here.

You can read the Serving Well press release (with book excerpt) here.

 

From the Back Cover
Are you dreaming of working abroad? Imagining serving God in another land? Or are you already on the field, unsure about what to do next or how to manage the stresses of cross-cultural life? Or perhaps you’ve been on the field a while now, and you’re weary, maybe so weary that you wonder how much longer you can keep going.

If any of these situations describes you, there is hope inside this book. You’ll find steps you can take to prepare for the field, as well as ways to find strength and renewal if you’re already there. From the beginning to the end of the cross-cultural journey, Serving Well has something for you.

 

Early Reviews for Serving Well
“Serving Well is an important voice in the search for honest, experienced conversation on living and working cross-culturally in a healthy and sustainable way. Dig in!”
– Michael Pollock, Executive Director, Interaction International and co-author of Third Culture Kids

“Serving Well is more than a book to sit down and read once. It is a tool box to return to over and over, a companion for dark and confusing days, and a guide for effective and long-lasting service. Elizabeth and Jonathan are the real deal and Serving Well, like the Trotters, is wise, compassionate, vulnerable, and honest. This needs to be on the shelves of everyone involved in international, faith-based ministry.”
– Rachel Pieh Jones, author of Finding Home: Third Culture Kids in the World, and Stronger Than Death: How Annalena Tonelli Defied Terror and Tuberculosis in the Horn of Africa

“Serving Well is a must-read book for missionaries and for those who love them. This is a book you really need if you are ‘called to go, or called to let go.’ In Serving Well we read both the spiritual and practical, simple and profound, funny and compelling in chapters written by Elizabeth and then Jonathan Trotter; hearing from each their voices and their hearts, the struggles and the victories, ‘the bad days and the good days’ of preparing to go and serving well overseas. Their down-to-earth yet godly insights were born from living overseas and from authentically wrestling with the ‘yays and yucks’ of missionary life. They draw wisdom from both Scripture and sci-fi authors, Psalms and funny YouTube videos, encounters with Jesus and encounters with cops looking for a bribe. Take two books with you to the mission field: the Bible, and Serving Well.”
– Mark R. Avers, Barnabas International

“Serving Well is deep and rich, covering all aspects of an international life of service from multiple angles. It is full of comfort, challenge, and good advice for anyone who serves abroad, or has ever thought about it, no matter where they find themselves in their journeys. It is also really helpful reading for anyone who has loved ones, friends or family, serving abroad–or returning, to visit or repatriate. Jonathan and Elizabeth Trotter are both insightful and empathetic writers, full of humility and quick to extend grace–both to themselves and to others. Their writing covers sorrow and joy, hope and crisis, weariness and determination. Best of all, from my perspective as someone who has worked with TCKs for over 13 years, it contains an excellent collection of important advice on the topic of raising missionary kids. Choose particular topics, or slowly meander through the entire volume piece by piece, but whatever you do–read this book!”
– Tanya Crossman, cross cultural consultant and author of Misunderstood: The Impact of Growing Up Overseas in the 21st Century

“Overseas workers face a barrage of junk when they arrive on their field location: identity issues, fear/anxiety issues, and faith issues. I have worked with missionaries for well over a decade now and see how these common themes cry out for a grace-filled approach to truth and authenticity. The Trotters live this out loud, intentionally seeking a way to minister out of their own pain, striving, humor, and failure. Keep this reference close at hand!”
– Jeannie Hartsfield, Clinical Counselor, Global Member Care Coordinator, World Team

“This book is the definitive guide to thriving in cross-cultural ministry. The Trotters have distilled years of experience into pithy chapters filled with helpful tips and wise insights. Put it on your must-read list.”
– Craig Greenfield, Founder, Alongsiders International, author of Subversive Jesus

“In this must-read missions book, Jonathan and Elizabeth unearth the underlying motivations of the cross-cultural call. Penned with copious compassion and startling transparency, Serving Well is sure to make you laugh, cry, and, in the end, rejoice as you partner with God in His global missions mandate.”
– David Joannes, author of The Mind of a Missionary

 

 

The Day I Left

/ trotters41 / Leave a comment

I’m linking up with Velvet Ashes for their theme on Parents. ~Elizabeth

map

Seven years ago I left Kansas City for Phnom Penh. In the early hours of a frigid January morning my husband and I boarded a plane with our four small children, leaving behind two devoted grandparents and a very full life.

I threw myself into life in Asia and began to identify Cambodia as home. It was where my life was. It was where my husband and children were. I embraced my inner Third Culture Kid, threw off the shackles of American culture, and flattered myself that I was becoming a more global citizen. But roots grow down deep, don’t they?

This past summer when I visited Kansas City, I had strong feelings of “this is home.” That this was my city. Although I have always felt at home at my parents’ house, on my two previous U.S. visits I had not felt that attachment for the metropolitan area as a whole. But being in KC in the summer is different from being there in the winter. It’s friendlier. Happier. This past summer was the most magical summer of my life. It stirred up a host of good memories and reminded me of a former life — a life that I don’t want to forget.

I recently found my journal entry from that day and was surprised by the intensity of my feelings of “home” towards Kansas City and by the sheer volume of memories. I find that in the span of seven years, I have come full circle, back to the feelings of this original journal entry:

Kansas City is my home. After moving a lot as a military kid, I’ve been in KC 18 years. It is home.

Driving through the Grandview Triangle to church hundreds of times. Going to the dentist. Going to LSHS. Running, biking, swimming in Bridgehampton in the summer. Babysitting the Craddocks.

Falling in love with God at Red Bridge. Falling in love with Jonathan at Red Bridge. Youth ministry and four babies. Burying Mark and seeing a counselor at Christian Family Services. Living in the Parsonage for five and a half years. Some of my favorite memories in life.

Closing the garage door that last time to drive away was harder than I anticipated. Even when I come back, I can’t go back there. So many good memories of family life. So much life.

During the farewells at KCI I cried and shook telling Mom goodbye. We’ve had a wonderful friendship, and I love her dearly. I worry about her being alone. I wish she could keep kissing the grandkids twice a week. I want them all to know her as well as I do.

I’m thankful that after seven years, my children do know my parents well. My parents Skype or FaceTime my kids once a week. They’ve visited us here. And of course we live at their house — my home — while on furlough. The girls cook and garden with Mom, and the boys help Dad with car, fence, and yard work. We all watch movies and eat popcorn together. We sit around the back yard fire late into the night and talk and sing and stargaze.

After a childhood of military moves where we never stayed in a house more than four years, the 18 years my parents have lived in their current home seems a lifetime, and I love both the house and the stability it’s given me and my family.

My kids don’t remember as well, but when we lived in KC before, we often saw my mom more than twice a week at church (which was a given). Since I was pregnant so frequently, I often had to go to prenatal or postnatal appointments. Mom would watch the kids while I went. Then we would eat lunch together and, many times, spend the rest of the day together. Some days I would just sit in her kitchen nursing a baby and talking for hours on end.

Jonathan was on staff at church and left early on Sunday mornings. Mom showed up at the Parsonage and helped me get the kids dressed and across the parking lot in time for Bible class. She brought books and toys, and we sat together in church while Jonathan sat up front leading worship. After Wednesday night service my parents often came to our house for a few minutes to hang out.

Our relationship has been cemented by all those times together. I can’t think what I would do without parents like these. Thank you, God, for good parents — all across the globe.