White Subarus and silver Toyotas back out of their respective driveways, plodding their way to respective workplace destinations. I don’t know where. Department stores, manufacturing plants, and office buildings with cubicles.
I wonder how many of these folks love what they do?
That could be me.
I sit on the borrowed front porch of a friend’s house in suburbia and cry.
My life was college students and events in a country that was not America. Open mic nights with long conversations into the evening about Jesus and music and work and life. Bible studies and food and college kids in my living room, singing songs, laughing, sometimes crying, and always eating. People who were so integrated into our lives they’d pretty much become family.
But no more. That life is now 8000 miles away.
Suburban America is my home again for the first time in nearly a decade. And it’s weird. I don’t like it.
I don’t have a job. I don’t have a place to live. I don’t have a ministry. I don’t have any local friends. Most significantly, I don’t even know who I am right now.
And now my coffee’s cold.
Sure. I know I’m a child of God. My identity is in Christ. I am accepted in the Beloved. But, honestly — that all feels like “blah, blah, blah” on this particular morning, sitting with cold coffee on a borrowed front porch.
We missionaries and ministry-types should always seek our identity in Christ and not our work. We know this. Most of us would even proclaim it from a pulpit when things are going well.
But it’s super easy for missionaries and ministry-types to cross a line. When you’re off the field or you no longer have the ministry you’ve given so much to, sometimes you don’t know who you are anymore. There’s loss. There’s a hole that used to be full of activity. Activity that was not just busy, unimportant, and impotent things. These were vital activities. World-changing, life-changing, eternal things.
But it’s gone now.
For missionary me, it’s 8000 miles away. And I am in suburbia with front porches and Subarus and Walmarts and cold coffee.
This was one of the lowest moments of my life.
When coming off the field, these are the realities many face, with any honest reflection. So much of my identity was tied to that work and to that place. It’s not easy to settle back into the homeland.
Coming home is a process that’s longer than an airplane ride. A process that takes time. Whether you realize it or not, you’re grieving. I was experiencing grief that morning on the borrowed front porch. It was my morning of mourning. I was grieving a significant loss. And grief needs time. I’m looking at that moment five years later, and it still makes me sad.
Taking on another country as your home changes you. You will not return to your passport country the same person.
Grace and time are keys. Be generous with yourself and your time. Reflect much on the generous grace of God.
Here are four ways to give yourself grace during the transition.
1. It’s okay to not be okay
This will be your reality for a while. People will ask how you’re doing, and you’ll say, “fine.” And that may very well be a lie. It’s okay to not be “fine.” You’re going to have a lot of conflicting emotions. There will be the joy of reunion and the pain of loss all mixed in the same emotional smoothie bowl. You’ll be happy to see folks you love. You’ll also miss a lot of people, places, and memories from your adopted home. You have two homes now. Most people don’t get that. You’re starting all over again, with little understanding of what’s ahead.
Know this will pass. You’re not going to stay in the state of discombobulation forever.
But for this time, it’s not only okay — it’s essential.
2. It’s okay to be the conversation dropout sometimes.
For a significant season, I felt like I needed to mention our old home in almost every conversation. I’m confident it was annoying.
But it was the only thing I knew how to talk about.
Every other conversation was about jobs and yard work and politics and cheeseburgers and all things America. I didn’t know how to enter into those conversations with any sort of knowledge or enthusiasm.
You have to look for common ground. And for a time you will find very little of that. Give it time. This will pass, as well.
In the meantime, learn to listen well. Take on the job of cultural assimilation using the same intention and the same tools you did when you landed in your field of service. It doesn’t fix your heart. But it helps.
3. It’s okay to take a transitory position.
Jobs are abundant in America right now. Jobs that are as satisfying as the one you just left? Probably not. My second language is proprietary to a single part of the world. It’s useless in America. Entering the job market, I assumed my marketable skills were minimal or maybe non-existent. I didn’t want to be a “missions pastor.” My assumption was a future in manual labor or the service industry.
Don’t listen to the lie that you “don’t have marketable skills.” Because of your unique overseas experience, there are important things that only you can do. The ability to navigate cross-culturally requires incredibly valuable soft skills that employers pay a lot of money for. But, you may have to take a transitory job to figure out what those skills are for you.
I threw my resume at the wall like so much spaghetti and took what stuck. I landed a fund-raising position with an international non-profit and learned how to function in the American workplace again. I knew it wasn’t going to be my gig from now until I retire or die. But it was a gig from God. I learned. I grew. And, eventually, I moved on.
4. It’s good to get help.
I had a third-party coach who helped me through this transition. Having another voice and another set of eyes is critical and (at least in my opinion) non-negotiable. Making this transition on your own is not healthy. Check with your organization to see if they will help pay for a development coach who will assist you through this process. This person can make all of the difference.
It did for me.
Time is key. Leaving the field is not just leaving a job. It’s leaving a life. Transition off the field is as life-altering as moving to the field. Be ready for this.
My moment with cold coffee on a borrowed front porch happened five years ago. Time has passed. I’m okay. There will always be residual scar tissue. But grace (with time) does heal all wounds.
So get ready to embrace the discomfort and swim in the beauty of the grace of God. Give yourself time and space to land.
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Bernie and Renee’ just celebrated their 30th year of marriage while residing in Greenville, SC. Their two adult children launched while the whole family resided in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia. Currently, they serve as the regional leadership couple for Southeast Asia at New International. Bernie is a leadership and non-profit coach and consultant who writes and publishes daily at bernieanderson.com/blog.
