These moments always surprise me when they come.  Totally randomly and triggered by the most unexpected events.

These moments when I realize that our life in Japan is over – has been over for 8 months now – and I am hit with that reality and I grieve a little bit more for missing that sweet sweet season of our lives.

I always miss Japan, especially the people there.  But in these moments I ache for it, wishing for a moment that we could be there still.

I love the life we have here and truly, we’ve experienced blessing upon blessing in this new place and stage.  I don’t want to sound discontent.  I just have these moments of remembering and missing our two years of living and growing and loving in Japan.

Tonight, my moment came as I wrapped things up in the house before I came to bed. I randomely remembered a comment from a friend earlier today about her mom (who lives here in town) dropping by.  Next thing I know I was weeping and remembering how I loved having my mom close and dropping by on a regular basis.

I remembered how fun it was to decide at the last minute to do dinner together.  She and I would pool our resources and end up with a yummy meal for the 9 of us (my parents, 3 siblings, and the 4 of us) squished around our tiny round kitchen table.  And, I’ll be honest, family devotions after dinner were a lot more fun with all those extra voices for singing and laps to sit on and thoughts to share.

I remembered how my mom would often swing by on her way to or from school to pick up her kids, and would be greeted at my door by exuberant “Baba!”s every single time.  In fact, she usually came to pick up her kids from my house as they often walked down after school for a quick visit and cuddles with their nieces.  She and I had many a talk in my genkan (foyer) or tiny yard while her car was running in the street.  Sometimes they were quick stop-ins, sometimes we’d jump in our cars – me to move mine into the tiny yard and her to move hers into our one parking space so that she could stay for a cup of tea and a longer chat.

I remember calling her anytime I had a household project to do in order to get her advice on how to do it, where to get the supplies, and, usually, an offer of her help with it.  It was always so much more fun and easy to do it alongside her.  And, lets be honest, the jobs were always done better too.

I remember how easy it was to call her whenever I wanted because we were in the same time zone and it was a local call.

I remember running into her randomely – usually at the school or church but sometime at the grocery store – and the delight it brought not only me, but my children too.

I remember coming home to a clean and quiet house after she would babysit for us.  She was always either deeply engrossed in a book or study or a nap. I always wondered how she managed to get it all done when my days with the kids felt c.r.a.z.y.

I remember getting to sit by her in worship on Sundays or concert of prayer on Wednesdays and loving coming before our heavenly Father together as sisters in Christ, partners in ministry, companions in this journey of becoming more like Jesus. If you had told my rebellious teenage self that it would be this way one day, I would have laughed. God is so good.

And as these remembrances flooded my mind, I just had to sob for a few minutes and grieve the fact that those times with my my mom are over, at least for now. (I think I still grieve because life has been a little crazy since before and after we moved, so things still hit me that I haven’t thought through.)  And in the midst of my tears I thank God for such a precious time.  With parents on the mission field, I had never dreamed I would have the opportunity to live, as an adult, close to my parents and enjoy so many aspects of life with them.  Those two years were a gift and I can’t help but thank the Giver.

And that’s really what I need to do always when I have these moments of missing, of aching, for our life there. I need to acknowledge the memories as what they are: testimonies of the Lord’s blessing and care.  These moments of grieving are opportunities to thank and praise.

So.  That’s what I’ll do next time when one of these meltdowns creeps up on me.