In a Facebook group recently, a fellow wife and mother asked a really, really good question: Is a husband traveling away from home frequently “worth it”? Most of the answers were ones that make absolute, total sense. Should the man of the house constantly be away? Probably not. His presence is required in his home, just as surely as is his wife’s.
And I agree, wholeheartedly… even as my husband prepares to leave, again, for Asia.
When he’s gone, he misses all kinds of things. Normal, every day, ordinary things like haircuts and loose teeth and math tests and music lessons. But also bigger milestones, hallmark achievements like symphony recitals and mid-term results and sports banquets and ER visits. Life here, in this hemisphere goes on even as he’s on the other side of the globe. That’s the downside.
And you know, there really isn’t an upside for us. If the cost/benefit analysis relied solely on the data from our end, I’d have to say that no, this line of work really isn’t “worth” the sacrifice. I’ve put too many kids to bed soothing tears for an absent Daddy, called on too many friends to fill in transportation gaps, racked up too many sleepless hours in an empty bed to enthusiastically endorse anyone else adopting this lifestyle without serious prayer and a firm calling.
But then news leaks out of the most recent location my husband trained pastors, the place he left us to go and work. The place he went when I had to miss the mom’s Bible study that I enjoy so much, and I had to drag eight kids to a park clear across town in 99 degree heat, and I had to be the sole parent dealing with a kid’s heart issue that couldn’t wait to be addressed. The news is not good. The news reminds us that no, we get nothing in exchange for our sadness at his absence. But just five weeks after he returned home to us, pastors were arrested by armed soldiers. Women were detained and had their heads shaved as an insult. A dozen churches were destroyed.
While he was home, taking Jude to Occupational Therapy, ushering us out the door for co-op, preparing for another Thursday night at Civil Air Patrol, our brothers and sisters, who he has labored alongside for over a decade, were suffering for their profession of faith in Christ. All indications are that the persecution will increase.
And suddenly, the inconvenience, the lonely nights, the interruption of routine feels “worth it.” Suddenly it’s not a sacrifice but a privilege, something that I thank God for the ability to play a small part in. Suddenly I wouldn’t trade this blessing of encouraging and equipping these persecuted believers for the comfort of knowing that all of the appointments were covered and that my husband was there in person to hear a child nail the key solo in a recital.
I don’t love it that my husband travels away from home. Truth is, I wish he didn’t have to. I wish that every knee bowed to the name of Christ, that the Gospel was available to all, and that there was no need to leave us here to ensure that the ends of the earth were reached. But what I’m wishing for… that’s heaven. That’s not here and now. So until Jesus returns, some one has to go. And for now, that’s him.
It’s worth it.