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Longing for a Better Country

Living as a foreigner taught me how to live as a Christian

Imagine you read this in a newsletter from a cross-cultural missionary: 

We didn’t expect Hindu beliefs to be so strange. We were expecting the people to think more like us, and their differences are making us very uncomfortable, even angry.   

We are especially worried about how Hindu beliefs are influencing us and our children. We don’t want to expose ourselves to these lies. We only let a few safe people, usually other missionaries, into our home. We want our children to have only good Christian influences in their lives.

Would you question whether these missionaries understood what they signed up for? Would you wonder if they are having any impact at all? This is not a true story, but there’s something to notice here: all Christians have been given the same Great Commission, yet sometimes we hold missionaries to a different standard than we hold ourselves. Can the missionary life illustrate God’s intention for all believers?

When a foreign country felt like home 

I was a missionary kid in Africa for half of my childhood, and then my husband and I lived in Tanzania, East Africa, for 16 years. We adapted to driving on the left side of the road. We figured out how to combat millipedes and centipedes. We learned to snorkel; we knew where to buy the best roadside barbequed chicken; we hailed three-wheeled rickshaw taxis in Swahili. We formed tight bonds in the community. Life in Tanzania was not always easy, but we felt we belonged there. Visiting the States felt stressful; Tanzania felt like home. 

Yet, no matter how much I wanted Tanzania to be my home, it never really could be. Tangible reminders of my status as a foreigner followed me everywhere. Every two years, I had to reapply for a residence permit. I was not permitted to own a home. I could not vote. No matter how hard I tried, I would never look the same, sound the same, think the same as the people around me. I was always an outsider.

Scripture often refers to Christians as strangers (Heb 11:13), foreigners (1 Pet 1:17) and exiles (1 Pet 2:11). Making my home in a foreign land gave me this perspective. It granted me a picture of what my life as a Christian should look like in my own home country. 

Now that I’m living back in America, I discovered that living as a foreigner taught me much about living as a Christian.  

Go here to read the rest at the EFCA blog.

Metamorphosis

I’m standing in a dusty marketplace in Dar es Salaam, surrounded by shanties selling piles of mangos, bicycle parts, and bright plastic tubs, buses interweaving. The sky turns dark, ominous. Foreboding hangs in the air, yet I am thrilled by the storm. Then, a crushing, permeating sense of loss. The rain falls and mixes with my tears. I wake up, and my face is wet. Loss lingers, dredged up from my subconscious.

Memories fall on me at the oddest times. I hear the phrase That’s why come out of my mouth and my mind flicks to Lucy. Ndiyo maana, she says, followed by That’s why in her thickly accented English. We’re studying Swahili at my beautiful mninga wood kitchen table, which Gil and I commissioned from the Lebanese guy downtown, the one who copies his furniture from Ikea catalogs. Behind me on the wall is the large world map, and on the opposite wall is the little cabinet holding the dishes gifted to me by the 6th-grade class I taught in 2006. I can hear the buzzing of the saws from the carpenter shop next door and the occasional crowing of a rooster. Lucy laughs her big laugh (Lucy is always laughing) and asks me to repeat after her: Ndiyo maana.

Lucy writes to me occasionally on WhatsApp, and I feel my Swahili slipping out of my brain. Sometimes I think I should start learning Spanish since it would be useful in Southern California, but I fear it would take up the spaces that Swahili fills. What if I forget Ndiyo maana

Homesick

I volunteer weekly at an after-school program for disadvantaged kids, and I went to the banquet that celebrated this ministry’s 20 year anniversary. 

We watched a video montage of how the ministry has expanded over the years. We listened to young people, now grown up, whose lives were changed because of the investment in them. 

It was a lovely evening. But when I got to my car afterwards, I wept. I enjoy being a part of this ministry, but the banquet reminded me that I am a newcomer; I know nothing of the history of two decades. And all I could think about was how I had left behind 20 years of history in Tanzania.

I did not anticipate the lostness that comes with starting life over again.

On Getting the American Dream

We bought a house. We moved in last week.

I chose not to tell you the details as they were emerging, mostly because we had already had our hopes dashed before and because there were many times in the process when we weren’t sure it would go through. But it did, and here we are.

It feels kind of like a small miracle. The housing market is crazy right now, at least it is in our area. Our realtor told us that houses were selling in a day, usually for over the asking price. So when we got our loan pre-approved in January, we started looking right away, figuring it would take awhile before we found something that worked for our budget. This was the first house we looked at. We saw it a day after it went on the market, and we put in an offer the day after that. Since we had several months to think about where we wanted to live and what kind of house we were looking for, we knew that this one checked all the boxes. 

We didn’t think we would get it, but we did. There were multiple offers, and we weren’t the highest offer, but for some reason the seller decided to invite us to meet the higher offer anyway. I have no idea why, other than God’s kindness.

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