Sometimes loneliness crashes onto our souls like an enormous wave. Mostly it’s not that way. Mostly we keep it all in check. After all, we’re missionaries. The life of a missionary is a life of good-byes. Final hugs. Promises to write that may or may not be kept. Stuffing emotions as we hurry on to the next visit with people we only see once every few years. You learn how to cope. How to manage. How to not feel. And then something happens and it overwhelms us.

The better part of thirty years ago a family member asked how many really close friends I had. Said she had learned that if a person has one or two they are truly blessed. Rich in fact. I began counting my friends. There was Fran and Sharon of course. The three of us were inseparable. I thought of Miriam and Jan and Mary and Jane and Pat and Judy and Linda and on and on the names went. She was amazed that I could come up with so many, many close friends. Thought I was cheating as a matter of fact. But I wasn’t. God has blessed us beyond measure with deep relationship in many parts of the world. People whom we can pour out our dreams and fears to. People who have known us for a very long time and love us quite in spite of all our many shortcomings. But each of those friendships come at a price. The price of separation. The final hugs. The good-byes. The promise of a letter. One last wave. And then tucking the feelings away. It hurts too much to dwell on the loneliness.

Until it bursts out in ways we can no longer stuff down inside. And that’s what happened with the pint sized nine year old girl who spent the better part of a month with us. When she first came to us, she barely spoke. Mostly Sango to her house mother. A bit of French. A bit more to Doris and Francis. She mostly sat on a little stool in the kitchen and watched life pass her by. By day three she was warming up to Papa Jim. He poured all his spare time into her life. Did everything in his power to help her transition into her new life in America. Began teaching her English words. Taught her how to cut with scissors. Watched movies with her. Soon she was opening up a bit more. And then Doris brought her three year old daughter to work with her. Honorine was glued to that child. They spent the day playing with our toys and whispering and giggling. At the start of week three she decided to become my friend. She would run down the hall and throw her arms around my legs when I came out of our room. And she trailed me everywhere like a little puppy dog. The giggling intensified. And out and out laughter. She developed a full blown personality. Became a tease. And then her American parents arrived. Day by day she blossomed. She was straining to understand their English. And mimic it. She morphed into an American girlie girl, complete with pink fingernail polish. Though she adored her new parents, she remained very attached to us. And then the over-lap days came to an end. The taxi arrived and took them off to the airport. Final hugs, final good-byes, promise to come back some day. And it was over with.

The gaping hole in our hearts cannot be ignored. It’s impossible to stuff these emotions. We miss this little munchkin more than words can say. And she’s gone from our lives forever. The life of a missionary is a life of good-byes. You learn how to cope. How to manage. How to not feel. And then something happens and it overwhelms us. Something called Honorine.