Musings of a Returned Missionary:

There are pieces of us that we leave behind. Like the odd sock never found are the fragments that are never quite whole again. Life interrupted, uprooted, the pieces o f which can never quite be put back together the way they once were.

There is a part of my heart that belongs to another land. These pieces of me not lost but given, those that live on in my absence, lives we’ve touched, peoples and places that will never again be the same after the footprints of our influence has left its mark.

More are the pieces not lost but gained; the collage of faces and memories, the people and places that in touching, we have been touched, in changing, we have been changed. And neither will ever forget.

Many fragmented pieces scattered over time and space, of a heart that is both here and there.

This is our prerogative. For we are of those that belong not to a country, but to a race, the race of the Traveling Ones. Only those who that have lived this life will every truly understand. Yet, we are not seeking to be understood, but to understand, who we are and how we are to fit-in in a homeland that is so far from home, a place where we are neither foreigner nor citizen.

Such is the deep loss and the rich gains of a life well scattered. Pieces here and pieces there; pieces lost and pieces gained.

Each land, each culture, each tradition, has left its mark; people and places that will ever be a part of my conscience. Each is a precious piece put into place upon my heart as the mosaic of my life comes into focus. These are the broken fragments that make up a beautiful whole.

No, we will never be the same. Not the same as our old selves, not the same as the people around us. Broken, yet perfect. Fragmented, yet whole. This is the mosaic of the missionary’s heart.

By Marie Morrow



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