
Missed the first part? Grab it here.
Scrolling through Facebook that day brought a bit of sadness, glimpsing all those photos of a white Christmas in Little Rock, of all places. I’d prayed for that so many times for my kids. Well, and myself.
But a few minutes later, I was playing Christmas music while I spread mayo for sandwiches. Some old lyrics belted out:Haul out the holly/ Put up the tree before my spirit falls again… And I realized, that was why I wanted to be there, enjoying the snow (not to mention the family!). I longed for the emotion of that holiday sparkle; the cozy magic that, with all the right elements, seems to frost everything with light and togetherness and fun, muting the rough edges.
Your first year overseas has a way of rearranging your life, your brain, your family, your body. So it makes sense your holidays would follow. 
I confess I was finishing up my Christmas list in a perfect fashion for a busy mom in a little mountain town: online only on Black Friday, while my kids shouted around the house. But when I went to check my email account, it was a headline that caused my heart to fall: A 26-year-old missionary from Vancouver, Washington, John Allen Chau, killed by bow and arrow on India’s Andaman islands in the Bay of Bengal.
It’s like a weird party trick. What’s the world’s largest ethnic group, 18% of the global population, and contains the second-largest unreached people group in the world?

I grew up overseas. In fact, I attended 15 different schools by the time I graduated high school. So you could say I’ve experienced my share of saying goodbye. (Usually I was the one leaving.)
