The Wildauers are en route to Belize as I write this. What joy that on pandemic day 333, the Lord of the Church is sending new workers into His harvest field. 

But wait. They were a part of the DR family…of the Cerro Alto family…and now they’re just gone? Why did they stop by my house one afternoon last week to say goodbye? Similar days have been some of my most difficult in 2 1/2 years on the field – tearful curbside hugs, airport runs I was utterly unprepared to make, and the like. 

When I signed up to be a missionary, I signed up for one heart wrenching farewell, as my family faded into the crowd at Lambert airport while I shuffled into the line at the American Airlines check-in counter. 

Or so I thought. 

Turns out, transition is part of missionary life. Sometimes, a sucky part.

I did know a few things going in, like that Santiago was the seat of LAC’s regional headquarters and constantly had people passing through for orientation. It’s fun being one of the first to meet new team members, show them some Dominican hospitality, and teach them how to maximize the asset that is short-term volunteers. 

And I wasn’t born yesterday. People switch jobs like they change their underwear, even in the Church. Research shows that across denominations, a missionary’s average length of service is three years. 

What I’ve learned is how the field unites diverse personalities in bonds of friendship that cement into something more like blood relations. We commiserate with one another, celebrate with one another, get one another. And then, sometimes, some within our ranks move on to ventures within and beyond OIM that mean they up and leave. They leave, and they leave us, the ones still here, with a whole mess of complicated feelings and emotions. It’s not a stretch to move through the five stages of grief you probably learned about in Psychology 101. Yes; no missionaries are harmed in the process, but it’s like mourning a death. While I can’t universalize my experiences, changes to the fabric of the missionary family often stir up:

1. Denial. At times, it just doesn’t compute that so and so won’t be here for [insert upcoming major event/holiday]. 
2. Anger/Frustration. Not directed at anyone or anything in particular, just generalized negativity and angst. 
3. Excitement. Yay! So and so will have a dryer and be able to drink tap water and reasonably expect that other vehicles will stay in their lane. 
4. Jealousy. So and so will have a dryer and be able to drink tap water and reasonably expect that other vehicles will stay in their lane 
5. Inadequacy. Somehow, the mission functioned before so and so, but right now, I can’t see how [insert project] is going to happen. And, with every departure, I get closer and closer to being one of the veterans. 
6. Depression/Sadness. Sometimes you can’t help dwelling on the used-tos and reminders of so and so’s presence. 

The Warrens, who redeployed to St. Louis in December, bequeathed me an addition to my wall decor. (OK, I was nominated as the one most likely to maintain it. I’ve done one round of adding/updating so far, and I have a running list going for a second.) The photos on the map represent each LAC missionary household. The photos along the bottom edge represent LAC missionaries who left the field during the Warrens’ 5 1/2 years in the DR. In line with every statistic, about half of them have been since I’ve been here.