How to Walk Your Family Through the Re-entry Journey

by Shonna Ingram

My husband and I brought our four kids home from Africa at the ages of 9 to 15. They all walked straight into school in a country that was supposed to feel like home.

I remember thinking we’d survived the hard part: the original move, the goodbyes, the adjusting to a new culture, the years of figuring out how to raise kids between worlds. Coming home was supposed to be simple. We knew the language, the grocery stores, and we knew in theory how things worked.

Except we didn’t. Not really. Not anymore.

What I didn’t expect was how differently each of us would carry it. My husband and I were grieving different things, on different timelines, and neither of us really had the words for what we were feeling. So we didn’t say much of anything.

My kids were grieving too, but their losses were quieter and harder to name: a best friend, a bedroom, a favorite place to eat, the people who knew them without explanation. They were grieving a version of themselves that only existed in that other place.

Nobody handed us a way to talk about any of it. We were just supposed to be home now, and glad about it.

Here’s what I’ve learned since we walked this journey called re-entry: It doesn’t affect just one person in the family. It affects the whole family system.

A husband and wife can go through the exact same move and land in completely different emotional places. One spouse might be relieved to be home, while the other might be quietly mourning a life and identity that no longer fits anywhere.

Kids grieve losses in ways that don’t always look like grief. Instead, it can show up as a change in mood, withdrawal, anger, anxiety, or a child who suddenly seems harder to reach. And since our Third Culture Kids carry something even more layered — a sense of belonging everywhere and nowhere at once — they may have a home that isn’t quite a place anymore.

Over time we noticed that different seasons of the re-entry journey required different things from us.

For example, when we left, we tried to make sure that our kids said their goodbyes well. We also gave each of them one trunk to fill with personal things to take back. Some of what they packed surprised us. There were things we thought they might want to bring back but didn’t. There were other things they brought back from our host culture that we didn’t expect. I had to figure out what each of them needed there but not here. Then the opposite, here but not there.

When we landed in our home culture, our first stop was my parents’ house, which was fun for the kids and a safe place to land. But then we had to figure out how to buy a house with no credit, and rice and beans did not taste the same. 

We went through another phase that I was not expecting. A phase where it felt like we were wandering in the desert. Later, I learned that it was grief, and we found places we really needed to forgive each other, and we even found places we needed to forgive ourselves. This was necessary for us to thrive as we re-engaged with our new normal.

I know that this is our story, and your story is different. But there will probably be similarities to the seasons.

At Re-entry Experts, we have found that the families we serve aren’t usually lacking love or effort. They’re usually lacking a shared language. They need a structure, and they need to have an opportunity to sit down together and actually talk about what’s happening instead of everyone processing it alone in their own corner of the house.

That’s the gap we hope the Family Companion Workbook can fill. This workbook isn’t a book you read once and put on a shelf. It’s a workbook you can pick up while you’re preparing to return and walking through the first six months (Part 1). Or you can open Part 2 when, a few months or years later, something new surfaces.

The important thing is that you walk through it together as a family, either around the kitchen table, at bedtime, or wherever your family naturally gathers. You will create your re-entry story as you walk with a family in the workbook who has walked this road. You’ll also be given words, space, and activities to help your family process what you’re experiencing. You’ll find prompts for the conversations that are hardest to start on your own, with questions designed for different age ranges. For example:

  • Question for 5-8-year-olds: What was your favorite part?
  • Question for 9-12-year-olds: What did you leave behind that no one else seems to notice?
  • Question for 13-17-year-olds: What does home even mean to you right now?

We have seen that sometimes the hardest part isn’t knowing that something is wrong. It’s knowing how to talk about it. This resource was built this way because as someone who lived it, and as someone who has now spent hundreds of hours with families in the middle of it, I’ve seen what happens when families finally have words for what they’ve been carrying. 

Re-entry doesn’t heal through willpower or simply waiting it out. It heals through being known. Through someone naming the thing you didn’t have words for. Through realizing you’re not the only one in your house who feels out of place. That’s also why this workbook doesn’t stand alone. It’s the anchor for something bigger: our new monthly Family Re-entry Conversations. These small groups let you talk with others who are in the same season as you. Because sometimes what a family needs most is to realize we’re not the only ones.

If your family is in this season, come join us. We’d love to walk with you. 

And if you’re in the member care space, we have something for you too.

Our Family Debriefing Program gives you a framework to walk alongside families through a 5-day, 3-day, or 1-day debrief. You can use it with a single family or with multiple families, creating intentional space for them to process what they’ve experienced, name what they’re carrying, and begin to move forward together.

Because after ten years of walking with families through re-entry, this is what I know: Families don’t need to be told to just be grateful they’re home. They need someone to help them make sense of what home means now.

That’s what we want to offer.

Find the Family Companion here.

Sign up for Family Re-entry Conversations here.

Access the digital Family Debriefing Program here.

~~~~~~~

Shonna M. Ingram, PhD, is the founder and director of Re-entry Experts, a training and resource organization dedicated to helping families and professionals navigate the complexities of re-entry. Drawing from her research, lived experience, and years of walking alongside globally mobile families, Shonna uses her writing and time to advocate for better re-entry care in an increasingly global world. You can find out more at her Substack and re-entryexperts.com, as well as Facebook and Instagram.

Don’t Lose the Lessons: Processing Travel Moments Overseas

A year ago I shared a story with you about my experience in Vietnam and the beautiful moment I had with Jesus during a drive along the South China Sea. It was a way of processing and debriefing through writing. In fact, putting that moment into words helped me uncover the way my travels through Vietnam had impacted my heart.

I’ve been life coaching for three years now—representing hundreds of hours of sitting with clients. In sessions I often hear about a trip or vacation or place or moment, whether from years ago or a more recent time, that was integral in someone’s healing or recovery. I hear stories of faraway places, unknown destinations, and hidden secrets in countries around the world. I even hear sweet, healing moments from sitting on a park bench or visiting a coffee shop or finding a cute bookstore in the town where you live.

As a coach, I’ve been able to speak at conferences and hear face-to-face about how impactful it was to learn something through people, cultures, and the history of a certain place. I’ve participated in online webinars, courses, and retreats, knowing that everyone who attends is pulling out unique insights, highlighting growth points, or even forging hopes for the future. 

But what happens when the trip ends or a term closes or a conference is over? What does everyone do to let it sink in or make a difference?

I’ve always thought there might be a gap between the work we do, the things we participate in, the places we live, and the very real, very important lessons we are learning along the way. Many of us have:

  • Piles of forgotten conference notes
  • Book never read
  • Workshops never applied
  • Journaled prayers with hopes and dreams undefined
  • Moments with Jesus that lose momentum in the pace of a busy life
  • Stories that don’t make the newsletter
  • Personal growth that lags or fades without marking the experience in some way
  • Places traveled that we can’t always share about

I’m learning that having a process for verbalizing or remembering or intentionally going back through the travels, places, and moments is extremely needed and helpful for personal growth, healing, recovery, self-awareness, and spiritual health. 

This is even more needed in global work. We get to see amazing things, visit incredible sights, and drive unbelievable roads with the most beautiful views. We also see the hardest, poorest, unsafe, and truly difficult places. As workers, we have opportunities to meet, have tea, and talk with precious, unique people.

We need to remember, to be challenged in our professional and spiritual and personal growth. We need accountability to be purposeful and intentional with the things we see and the lessons we learn so we don’t forget the impact of it all.

God speaks to us through these experiences. He’s using this global life to work in our hearts, show us more of who He is, and become real to us in powerful ways. 

Are you paying attention? Are you allowing it to grow and change you? Have you forgotten the wonder of this global life? Has it all become so normal that you’re missing what He’s showing you?

Personal growth can happen in the moment but more often, it’s after, sometimes long after the trip or the journey that we experience something that our mind, body, or nervous system remembers.

I can think of a specific moment in Honduras a couple years ago. I was talking with someone and turned to look at a garden at the same time my nose smelled the flowers. My eyes welled up with tears, and I immediately felt the impact of missing a home I’ll probably never see again. I’d moved quickly and my time in that home ended without a healthy goodbye. This moment in Honduras was grief, nostalgia, hope, and longing to explore and process. The tears were saying something important that I needed to journal and pray about.

There was another moment in Texas, seeing a store that I recognized from South Africa. I felt memories and feelings in that store that I didn’t know I still felt. I needed to mark that moment somehow and give myself permission to feel it. I stepped into the store and felt transported back to another mall in another place across the world. I could see a pencil bag that I’d had overseas. I could read phrases that meant funny things in British or South African English. My heart remembered so many things in that small store.

I’m guessing that you’re feeling some of this as you’re reading this post. There might be a trip you remember, a place that still hurts to think about, a smell that instantly reminds you of a specific moment in time. 

Purposeful coaching, centered around these things, can be a healthy part of processing. From being new to the field to re-entry back into your passport country, reviewing your travels can reveal such valuable information and personal growth points.

All of this is why I love the idea and practice of a life coaching session or season of sessions to intentionally break down the travels, go over the notes, look for the lessons, and plan for purposeful future trips. Travel coaching can be specific to things you’d like to process or trips you’d like to debrief.

Having a coaching session scheduled can help give you space to process, debrief, and give opportunity for God to meet you in this global life. There are multiple ways that this can help solidify the daily lessons of living abroad. It can be helpful for men, women, and even couples together.

Travel coaching is for those needing:

  • Recovery and Rest
  • Healing and Renewal
  • Personal Growth
  • Spiritual Growth
  • To Mark a Life Milestone
  • Sabbath Practice
  • Debrief of Travels or Journeys
  • Discernment

Now that your mind is thinking back through flights, long bus rides, broken down carts, bumpy taxi rides, and questionable hotel or hostel stays, let’s do a little practice of processing what you’re remembering.

A Few Questions for Reflection or Journaling:

Before you move on to the next trip, team meeting, language lesson, ministry responsibility, or travel plan, take a few moments to consider:

  • What place or experience comes to mind immediately as you read this?
  • What emotions surface when you think about it?
  • What did God show you there that you haven’t wanted to forget?
  • What lesson did you learn that deserves more attention, thought, or prayer?
  • Is there a conversation, prayer, grief, joy, or celebration that still feels unfinished?
  • What part of your global life are you taking for granted because it has become normal?
  • What memory keeps returning to you, and what might it be asking you to pay attention to?
  • If you were to journal about that experience today, what would you write?
  • If you could share the memories, lessons, experiences, and trials with someone, how would it feel to say it out loud?

You might even set aside fifteen minutes this week to revisit an old journal entry, scroll through photos from a trip, reread your newsletters, or simply sit quietly with the Lord and ask, “What was happening in me during that season?”

The places we’ve lived, the people we’ve loved, the roads we’ve traveled, and the experiences we’ve had are not insignificant. They are part of the story God is writing in us.

Don’t rush past them.

Pause. Remember. Reflect.

And pay attention to what He might still be saying.

Honestly, it’s one of the biggest gifts of this global life. So take the opportunity to dive deeper into what you’re learning, where you’re growing, and what feels like it might be missing.

No Idea What You’re Doing? Girl, Join the Club

When my husband and I accepted the call to India, a man walked over to us and put a “mantle” around our shoulders: a yak wool shawl with red and blue woven trim. 

“I’ve worn this every day for two years while I pray for the people,” he said. “It’s yours to carry now.” It was a fittingly cinematic moment at the end of a year of preparation that had felt divinely orchestrated, like watching our lives unfold in a film.

I hadn’t grown up hearing about Elizabeth Elliot or Mary Slessor or Amy Carmichael or Gladys Aylward.  I didn’t have a clear idea in my mind of what a female missionary does. So I asked a few furloughing women.

“What do women in missions do?” “What do you feel is your role on your project as a woman?” “Do you have any advice for me?”

These women would get a far-away look, like their lives were flashing before their eyes. They would start talking and then get flustered and stop. Maybe they weren’t sure how to put such a huge topic into words. Maybe nobody had ever asked them to. Whatever the reason, most of the women I spoke with struggled to articulate their role in or approach to ministry. 

One of them asked me how I pictured my future ministry.

“Um,” I began. “Maybe I’ll wash my clothes at the river with other women . . . and we’ll talk about Jesus by the water?” A dense fog descended upon me as the divine orchestration of the past few months was enveloped in uncertainty.

We launched to India that fall, newlyweds with backpacks disproportionately stuffed with books, to an area with no other foreigners. We were pregnant by Christmas. 

For the next seven years, I tried hard to be a good mom while wondering what a good mom looks like. I tried to engage in ministry while wondering what faithful ministry looks like. I learned to wash my laundry like locals, alone in the bathroom with a bucket and a bar of soap, and I challenged myself to put aside what I wanted, for my kids and for the mission.

I felt my way along in life with the nagging feeling I was not doing anything quite right. I felt very much like the awkward labrador retriever who has grown too fast to know where her legs go.

After India, we moved to Africa and had the privilege of serving alongside other workers. I finally got to see how other women parent and do ministry and take care of their families and themselves. 

One friend loves to paint. So she teaches painting classes, helped organize a community mural, and created some thought-provoking artwork to help her and others tell the gospel story. Another is gifted in conversation. She is socially savvy and loves to walk around meeting people and seeing if she can turn a conversation to spiritual topics.

There are women who are super organized and women who are free-spirited. There are bold, business-minded women and shy, hospitable ones. There are doctors and high school graduates and everyone in between. Each woman has a way to meet and minister to their community. 

Shortly after meeting and getting to know all these incredible people, we went on a furlough and saw what the Bride of Christ is doing in our home country.

A small church started a free food truck ministry for the homeless. Another created a beautiful park on their church property where families can picnic. We saw stop-smoking classes, depression recovery seminars, MOPS groups, car shows, and a whole host of other creative ways to reach and bless communities.

Then I started reading to my kids about mission heroes like Mary Slessor and Gladys Aylward. These experiences began to gel in my mind. And suddenly I wanted to beam myself back to younger me and have a good heart-to-heart. But since I can’t do that, I’ll share my thoughts with you here:

Listen, girlfriend, nobody else knows what they’re doing, either. So don’t get discouraged thinking that the fog is your own personal Winnie-the-Pooh cloud, following you around to keep you confused and ineffective. As philosopher and theologian Søren Kierkegaard said, “Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.”

You’ve got gifts, interests, passions. Try something. Try anything. Give yourself permission to fall flat on your face and eat a mouthful of desert sand. Wait on God, yes, but don’t wait too much on yourself. Some of us just never feel ready.

So toss your kid in the baby backpack and get out into your community. Learn things. Invite people over. You know that great idea you have, the one that really scares you? Do that! 

Here is what you need to know: You are still growing up. You will always be growing up. So don’t feel dumb when you don’t know what to do. You will always need wisdom like you need water, a fresh supply every day, every hour.

The only way to find your niche in ministry is to pay attention to the needs around you, say a prayer, try something, and honestly evaluate how it went. Do that over and over. And when you look back on your life, your motherhood, your ministry, it will finally make sense. It will look like the divinely orchestrated series of events that it really was. A life lived on purpose, with a niche only you could fill. 

A cinematic masterpiece. 

Finding Flickers of Light in the Darkness of Re-entry

One day I’ll write our looking back story — how I can see God’s hand was with me through the darkest valley and how He turned it all to good. One day, I’ll see how the prayers were answered for the best, and I’ll thank God for the ones that weren’t answered. One day.

But today is not that day. I have faith that God is faithful and will be faithful. But today I am in the midst of it, the darkest valley.

I quote the psalm to myself as a promise I’m clinging to: “Even in the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for I know that you are with me.” But it is my faith that prompts me to repeat these words each day, not my feelings.

I am in the smack-dab middle of re-entry. I am not looking ahead in planning mode or looking back triumphantly that I have finally gotten through. I am in the midst of it — the smack-dab middle.

Here is what the middle is actually like and what I would tell you if I could say how hard it’s been without being accused of being ungrateful or unfaithful (neither of which is true). In the smack-dab middle this is how it feels and how faith in what I cannot see is the only thing getting me through.

Some days and some weeks I have felt everything has gone wrong. Our whole family has been exhausted and sick. We’ve had mystery illnesses, staph infection boils, and tormenting lice caught at a summer camp. What we were really hoping would be a spiritual high ended up being a long, drawn-out physical and spiritual battle.

We are trying to enjoy the US, but it’s hard, and we miss so many things already. We miss our healthy food from our host country. We are sick of peanut butter and jelly, hotdogs, chicken strips, and French fries. But we’ve been so busy and transient for weeks that lots of days, that’s all we can manage. We miss unrushed meals together. We miss having a bed that’s ours and our favorite blankets. We miss our pets and our favorite yard tree. We miss routine and rest and family time. We miss life being familiar.

We’re over travel. We’ve driven too many hours to count and spent too much money on gas and car repairs to transport our family. Anxiety over a broken-down car is constantly lingering in my mind behind all the higher-priority anxieties — what will we do if it actually breaks down unrepairable?

It feels like we are living in our car, and it’s felt that way for weeks. We’ve packed and unpacked the car so many times, I am completely exhausted by it. I am almost paralyzed. I can barely bring myself to load and unload, to carry in another bag. But our travel isn’t over. We don’t yet have a home to call our own. And there’s nothing to do but lift the bags and do it again. 

We needed a break from the constant travel, so we planned two stationary weeks at a free retreat center. We were hoping for rejuvenation — instead, the remote mountain gravel roads caused car damage and necessitated major repairs. All my previous anxieties confirmed. We had to leave early for repairs, we missed our debrief, and my spiritual renewal gauge went down rather than up. “God, why?” I asked in frustration. 

I want to tell you some peoples’ words and encouragement and faith in our next steps have been exactly the cup of cold water we’ve needed in this barren land. But others’ hurtful comments have pierced so deep, it’s hard to imagine a time in the future when the wound could possibly fully heal.

Church member support has been the same mixed bag. Some have shown little or no interest; some have made hurtful comments; some have continued on so faithfully and generously, it brings me to tears thinking of their love and sacrifice. But I have so little to give in this season, I am not thanking them as I should.

In the darkest valley, I want to tell you that we’ve never had so much conflict or so many things go wrong. Yes, even in our life overseas. It’s been in every way a battle, fighting spiritually to hold on to all the beliefs and behaviors we’ve cultivated so many years. It’s taken just as much faith to return as it did to leave, maybe more.

I want to tell you it’s been so hard on our kids, even as they have been so eager and willing to participate in all the new experiences with such courage. They are worn out from the faster pace of life. They are sad that so many people are so busy with their own schedules they barely have time to spend with them. They miss the home they left, even as they want so badly to make a home in this new place, to fit in to this new, foreign world.

This was a planned re-entry for our family. We did plan, grieve, and say goodbye well. Yet, it’s been so hard just the same, and each of us has reacted differently, which has also added to the conflict and confusion and tension we’ve felt. Some of us pre-grieved and are jumping in to our new life with gusto; some of us are post-grieving, and every day we feel the emotional weight of loss.

Knowing all we did beforehand and how carefully we prepared to leave and yet how hard re-entry has still been is at best confusing. I am grateful for our own preparation, full of compassion for those who have no time to prepare their re-entry journeys, and trying to accept the reality that no matter how much anyone prepares, re-entry is still really hard.

We’ve seen light in this dark place, but it’s felt like the flicker of fireflies in a dark forest rather than a constant lighthouse beacon telling us clearly which direction to go. The firefly lights only appear as the sun fades and the darkness is taking over. Then a tiny light here or there appears. But just as quickly, it is gone. Darkness again.

In the darkest times, I haven’t questioned if God is real. An undeserved gift of faith makes me know He is. But I have questioned if He is good. If He will give good gifts, especially to me. If suffering is the only path. If joy will come in the morning.

If this all sounds like a big, faithless complaint, maybe you’ve never walked through your own dark valley. But this is what it feels like to be in the midst of it. My feelings aren’t getting me through; neither are my outward circumstances. I’m walking by faith, not by sight. 

My faith tells me He is with me, even in this dark valley. And I’m clinging to that promise. I can’t see my path ahead clearly. The sun is gone. But in the darkness, I’m watching for the fireflies.

Insecurity and Expat Friendship

by Breanna Rudolph

We say we want community and friendship and ministry — but not if she’s prettier, bolder, holier, cleaner, fitter, smarter, or a better wife and mom in some way. On the mission field, comparison finds new ground: We may feel insecure around the one who adapts quickly, left behind by the one who speaks the language fluently, or envious of the one whose reports are full of the results we’re still praying for. 

“Susan just isn’t a good fit because she makes me feel intimidated.” We say things like that as if Susan’s discipline and gifts are an attack on our worth. But Susan isn’t the problem. She’s just doing her best. It’s our own insecurity that turns someone else’s strengths into something we feel we have to defend ourselves against.

And so instead of learning, we label, and instead of growing, we gossip or “vent.” We need some way to justify our feelings and make them more palatable. So we make her faithfulness sound like control, or her wise strength sound like arrogance, or her clarity sound like harshness. We push her away or treat her like she’s less than because we’ve already decided she’s too much. But every time we do, we’re not really protecting ourselves — we’re only shrinking the circle of grace we get to live in and enjoy.

Then we wonder why community feels shallow, why friendships stay surface level, and why the good and stable people in our lives end up farther and farther away.

The fact is, sometimes we don’t truly want sisters. We want to be the one others look up to. In our own way, we want to be an “influencer” in an influencer-driven world. We want admiration and affirmation without accountability. And we want to keep everyone else confined within our standards so they never exceed our own. We end up missing the women who could sharpen and inspire us.

I think of my friends who are so generous and gracious in hospitality; those who are disciplined in health; the patient mom who keeps a lovely home; the many who are kingdom servants and love our kids so well; the one who tends a magnificent garden; the friend who teaches me to love beauty; the older women whose kind words and wisdom always lift me higher; and the one who knows all my faults and always tells me the truth.

My list could be far longer. Beside these women, I learn the shape of Jesus by the way He moves through these ordinary, glorious lives.

Sometimes we measure the wrong things. We only learn to see this when we stop trying to rank what we’re looking at. Some count obedience by achievements, ministry stats, or charisma; but the fruit of the Spirit is God’s proof in us, not the tallies we keep. We’re all learning from the same Teacher, and the table stays round.

God didn’t make us rivals; He made us reminders that He’s still shaping each of us, in different seasons, with different gifts. Comparison destroys this harmony. 

We need each other. Because community can’t grow where insecurity rules. And jealousy will keep you lonely, even in a crowd of people. You can’t build sisterhood while secretly wishing to be the main one standing.

~~~~~~~

Breanna Rudolph is the wife of Michael and a mother of three. After serving in Haiti for over seven years, their family now lives in Tennessee, seeking to be faithful where God has them while waiting on His next steps. Her writing can be found at thinkingwithtruth.com.

Neurodiversity in the World of TCKs

You might be wondering why addressing neurodivergence in the context of ministry is an important endeavor. I get it — I’ve wondered too! The best answer I can offer is this: because neurodivergent children and adults live among us. Because they are cherished by God and worthy of our investment of time and effort. And because ignorance is not bliss — it can fracture God’s Kingdom with misunderstandings, conflict, and the withholding of empathy.

If only because it grows us into loving better and more thoughtfully, I believe that learning more about the humans around us is a spiritual practice and God-given privilege. 

NEURODIVERSITY IN THE WORLD OF TCKs

There is a particular kind of exhaustion many globally mobile families experience. The kind that feels linked—sometimes in obscure ways—to that third airport security line, that calendar-busting conference, that language-learning plateau, that brutal goodbye to friends we may not see again, that moment your child dissolves into tears because the cereal tastes different in this country, or that weather pattern that sucks the life out of everyday activities.

In the cross-cultural community, we tend to tell ourselves that it’s transition stress. Culture shock. Jet lag. Grief. And often, it is—or a combination of them all.

But there can also be something more complex happening beneath the surface. Something quieter, more deeply wired into the way a child experiences the world—or, in the case of MKs, multiple worlds.

What is neurodivergence?

In recent years, conversations around neurodiversity have become far more common. Current estimates suggest that between 15% and 20% of the population may be neurodivergent, so it’s no wonder that efforts to deepen our understanding are expanding.

At its simplest, neurodivergence means that a brain functions differently from what is considered usual or “typical.” Neurodiversity embraces the idea that everybody’s brain works uniquely and that neurodivergence is a normal variation.

ADHD, autism, OCD, dyslexia, sensory processing differences, dyscalculia, traumatic brain injury, and other neurological differences can all fall under this broad umbrella. Neurodivergence can show up in countless ways—from sensory overwhelm and learning differences to intense creativity, diminished executive function, or information processing that differs from that of brains considered more “typical.”

The Strengths of Neurodivergence

Though neurological differences were formerly viewed simply as deficits, researchers and clinicians now understand neurodivergence as part of the natural variation of human brains—producing unique strengths as well as unique challenges.

It’s important to remember that these same TCKs wrestling with layers of difference often possess extraordinary gifts.

In her article At the Intersection: Navigating Neurodivergence and Third Culture Kids, Dr. Kristen Williamson highlights the creativity, innovation, empathy, deep focus, and problem-solving abilities that frequently accompany neurodivergence. The child who notices details everyone else misses. The teenager who learns languages through patterns and rhythms. The young adult whose emotional sensitivity allows them to connect deeply across cultures.

Sometimes the very wiring that makes life more complicated also allows a child to experience beauty, excel academically, analyze complex data, and respond with empathy more naturally than the rest of us do.

The Relief of Diagnosis

Of the adult TCKs interviewed for this article and its accompanying video, most weren’t diagnosed until adulthood. Sometimes diagnosis came after burnout. After reentry. After struggles in higher education. Or after years of wondering why ordinary life seemed to require extraordinary effort.

For many neurodivergent people and their families, diagnosis itself is not the devastating moment they feared. Often, it brings relief—because there is finally language for their strengths and challenges. There is an explanation for why transitions feel catastrophic rather than merely difficult. Why noise feels physically painful. Why social interaction requires marathon-level energy. Why someone can appear perfectly composed in public and completely unravel at home.

Neurodivergence in Cross-Cultural Spaces

For Third Culture Kids, neurodivergence can create a particularly layered experience because so much of TCK life already requires constant adaptation. New schools. New languages. New social rules. New expectations. New relationships. New losses.

Indian writer and advocate Nanyadiri, who is autistic and has ADHD (AuDHD), describes the autistic TCK life as “a difference inside a difference.” The phrase captures something globally mobile families recognize in their children with neurodivergence: some are not merely learning to adapt across cultures; they are trying to navigate a world that may already have been unpredictable, confusing, or painfully loud—and now it is exponentially more overwhelming.

Transition is one of the greatest challenges for neurodivergent TCKs. Airports. Temporary housing. Shifting routines. New foods. Unfamiliar smells. Different classroom expectations. New cultural customs. All the unpredictability that globally mobile families eventually normalize can feel deeply dysregulating.

For some children, the adventure of it all feels exhilarating. But for others, it might feel more like being forced to stand in the chaos of Times Square at rush hour—with strangers yelling questions, street vendors selling unfamiliar things, friends pushing new foods at their faces, and a thunderous storm assailing them with rain and wind—all while realizing that everything familiar (people, places, routines, their own bed) is no longer within reach.

Now imagine trying to manage that 24/7—without protective filters, escape routes, or loved ones who understand how exhausting it is.

The Tangled Strands of TCKness and Neurodivergence

The challenges don’t end with transition. For those who love TCKs with autism, OCD, ADHD, and other forms of neurodivergence, distinguishing brain differences from cross-cultural traits can be difficult.

The impact of neurodivergence, trauma, and chronic stress can sometimes look remarkably similar. Frequent moves, unresolved grief, political instability, educational disruption, repeated upheaval, and abuse can all affect a child’s nervous system. Meanwhile, globally mobile life itself already looks unconventional.

A child who struggles socially may be assumed to be adjusting to a new culture. A child overwhelmed in crowds may be labeled sensitive. Executive-functioning difficulties may be blamed on transition stress rather than recognized as part of ADHD or autism.

Jenilee Goodwin, a fellow A Life Overseas writer, notes in How to Notice Neurodiversity in Third Culture Kids that neurodivergent TCKs often slip under the radar for precisely this reason. Sometimes what we’re seeing really is TCK struggle. Sometimes it is an expression of an underlying brain difference. Quite frequently, it is a combination of both.

This is why untangling the strands of TCKness and neurodivergence is so complicated. It takes time, learning, wisdom, and often an investment of effort and funds in professional evaluation. Understanding the “why” behind a child’s behavior is essential to providing support that addresses their actual needs rather than applying strategies that may exacerbate their struggles.

Knowing more can change the entire conversation from frustration to compassion—and then to appropriate action.

The Realities of Masking

Another reason neurodivergence gets missed in cross-cultural communities is that so many children become exceptionally good at masking. Especially TCKs. Especially bright, capable, adaptable children who are praised for maturity and flexibility.

Girls, in particular, are often missed because their struggles don’t match traditional stereotypes of neurodivergence. Rather than appearing disruptive or hyperactive, many become experts at people-pleasing, perfectionism, emotional caretaking, or quiet overachievement. They may look socially successful while privately rehearsing conversations, analyzing interactions, and becoming chronically exhausted from trying to make coping appear effortless.

In missionary and ministry environments, children who mask well may be celebrated as adaptable, mature, helpful, and selfless while carrying extraordinary levels of internal stress.

And boys can mask too—especially thoughtful, sensitive boys who learn early that emotional overwhelm or social confusion feels unsafe to reveal. But because many people still picture neurodivergence primarily as a loud little boy bouncing off classroom walls, quieter presentations are frequently overlooked altogether.  

So many neurodivergent TCKs are working tirelessly behind the scenes to appear “fine.” They study social expectations. They rehearse conversations. They observe peers and imitate what seems socially acceptable. They hold themselves together all day and then collapse emotionally once they reach home.

Psychologist Laura Mannucci captures this beautifully in Belonging in Translation: Autism, ADHD, and the Hidden Labor of Adapting Across Cultures: “When you have learned to mirror others to belong, the authentic self becomes hard to locate.”

The immense mental effort required to constantly decode cultural expectations while also navigating neurodivergence becomes, as Mannucci describes it, “an ongoing negotiation between worlds.” For many TCKs, that hidden hypervigilance becomes a way of life—and an exhausting drain on their energy.

What Neurodivergent TCKs Need from All of Us

According to the TCKs I interviewed, one of the gentlest shifts parents can make is moving from disciplining difference to approaching it with curiosity. Instead of asking, “Why is my child overreacting?” ask, “What might this situation feel like inside my child’s nervous system? What could be the reason for that?” Instead of rewarding the masking that allows children to appear more “typical,” invest time, effort, and funding into the kind of research and testing that might uncover liberating answers.

And then extend love—because there are far too many neurodivergent TCKs who believe their brain difference is failure, weakness, or even sin. We as a community need to speak—and be—the antidote to those destructive lies.

So what can we actually do?

Throughout ministry life, small changes can foster stability and safety: limiting social commitments, building in respite, creating quiet spaces and predictable routines, reducing toxic stress where possible, educating siblings and community members, and supporting activities that allow for regulation and expression—art, movement, writing, creating, organizing, inventing, or analyzing.

Even adjusting family menus to accommodate intolerable textures and tastes can matter. For some autistic children, this isn’t simply a food preference; it is a visceral inability to get past the texture or taste.

Jenilee Goodwin encourages families in transition to build predictability wherever possible: visual schedules, familiar foods, comfort objects, advance warning before changes, recovery time after overstimulation, and small rituals carried from country to country.

These things may sound insignificant to people who function more typically, but to a neurodivergent child, they can feel like safety in the swirling center of threatening chaos.

Parents may also need to reevaluate expectations around pace and productivity. Many neurodivergent TCKs can technically endure crowded schedules, rapid travel, stimulating ministry environments, and constant social interaction—while paying an invisible emotional cost.

A child may be coping remarkably well on the outside while quietly unraveling internally. 

But there’s a huge difference between surviving and flourishing.

The Beauty in the Difference

Goodwin’s articles emphasize the importance of helping children understand their own brains with dignity and compassion. Neurodivergent children need language that frames their differences not as personal failures, but as part of their unique wiring. Dr. Williamson argues that when neurodivergent TCKs receive understanding and support, many develop exceptional resilience, intercultural awareness, empathy, and creativity.

When I speak with adult TCKs who received a diagnosis about what they wish someone had told them sooner, they point to the crucial importance of parents and loved ones affirming who they are—and rejecting the lies the world and their own inner voice might inflict on them.

Perhaps one of the most hopeful truths emerging from these conversations is that many neurodivergent TCK adults—with affirmation, care, support, and therapy—eventually come to see their differences not merely as obstacles, but as part of the very wiring that shaped their strengths. The sensitivity that once led to overwhelm becomes empathy. Hyper-awareness becomes emotional intelligence. The lifelong practice of observing cultures and decoding people becomes insight and wisdom.

The traits that complicated childhood can become part of what allows these adults to move through the world with unusual compassion, creativity, and depth.

Not despite their wiring—because of it.

And perhaps that is the invitation here—not to pathologize difference, nor to romanticize struggle, but to notice children more carefully. To listen more curiously. To create environments where they do not have to spend their lives pretending to be less sensitive, less intense, less observant, or less themselves in order to belong.

Because some of the children who experience the world most deeply may also be the ones most capable of helping the rest of us see it more clearly.

They are not broken.

They are not burdens.

They are unique, precious, created by God, and so very loved by Him.

 

Further learning:

— This version of the article does not include the profound and fascinating quotes collected from eleven neurodivergent adult TCKs. You can find the full article here.

— My entire three-part series on TCKs and Neurodiversity (including an interview with Jenilee Goodwin, an extended version of this article, and a videoed collection of personal stories from adult TCKs) is here.  

— Additional reading:

Belonging in Translation — Laura Mannucci
Different, Not Less — Chloé Hayden
Divergent Mind: Thriving in a World That Wasn’t Designed for You — Jenara Nerenberg
Driven to Distraction — Hallowell & Ratey
Embracing the Autism Spectrum — Dr. Stephanie Holmes
Lost in Translation: The Social Language Theory of Neurodivergence — Janae Elisabeth
Neurodiversity for Dummies — John Marble, Khushboo Chabria, and Ranga Jayaraman
Uniquely Human — Barry Prizant
Uniquely Us — Dr. Stephanie Holmes
Unmasking Autism — Devon Price

Will You Leave, Too?

We had just finished a rowdy dinner together with a lot of belly-laughing and story-swapping from our overlapping eight years in northern Japan. I remember sitting on the floor with our youngest, still a baby, while our older kids played upstairs together, content and full. Then these dear friends looked at each other, subtly nodded, and said something along the lines of, “We don’t know how to tell you this, but we sense that God is telling us that it is time to move back to the US.”

I felt like the top of my head was being squeezed by a too-tight swimming cap, like everything around me was slowly being drained of color and going grayscale. I was caught off guard and felt devastated, lost, deflated. In the following weeks and months, I felt as if someone had died. Perhaps this is dramatic and I shouldn’t have felt this loss so strongly. But this goodbye hurt with an intensity that previous and subsequent ones didn’t. 

Perhaps this is because this departure was coming after so many other goodbyes, perhaps because this friendship required work and repair and was therefore all the more precious to me, perhaps because I ached for a family with whom we could live our missionary lives together — knowing one another’s stories, living in close proximity, bearing with one another through good and hard and all the in between. We’d weathered miscarriages, births of our babies, language study, disappointments, transitions, growth, major culture mishaps, and celebrations — together.

Their decision to leave didn’t make sense to me. They had a great relationship with their Japanese partner church, they were doing good ministry in their community, their kids were thriving, and they modeled many things I hoped to be one day: easy to laugh, ready to serve, willing to work hard yet valuing play, strong in their faith. Yet shortly after this conversation sitting together on the floor of our house, they left — and I swirled through the stages of grief poorly for, I am embarrassed to admit, a couple of years.

Writing this now, there is still a part of me whispering quietly, “But why did they leave?”

I could understand other dear friends, teammates, and fellow missionaries’ reasons for leaving: aging parents, adult children needing help launching, younger children with disabilities or mental health needs. I understand those who leave for resources, systems, support, and treatments that are not available where they live. I still grieve these departures, but I understand them.

What are more difficult to process are the departures I don’t understand. Those who excelled in language study — surpassing most people I know in a few years with humility and hard work and humor. Those who served on an easier-to-adjust-to team. (We partner primarily with local churches. I sometimes envy those who work with international churches or on mostly international teams, perceiving them as having fewer barriers to cross and having to do less cultural bending.) Those who basically got to do the ministries they wanted in the location they wanted with the teammates they wanted . . . and now they, too, have left. 

I am not an expert in missionary attrition, nor am I involved in member care in a formal capacity. Yet what I have read recently has mostly been from the perspective of those who have left their countries of service to go “home” and how difficult of an adjustment that is for many. I am thankful for people writing and sharing their experiences with reverse culture shock, rebuilding their lives, and coming to a new understanding of their identity and calling.

Yet what about the experiences of those of us who stay, who are left behind? These losses add up and break our hearts, too. I confess that I have not always responded gracefully or as well as I would have liked. When meeting people new to missions, I occasionally find myself suspicious, guarded. “Will she leave, too?” “If I get too close to them and they also decide to leave, can my heart handle being broken yet again?” 

Sometimes I want to be someone who can say, somewhat perkily, “Oh, that’s too bad. We will miss you, and God bless you in this next chapter.” And then move on, looking toward the future with my heart and the top of my squeezed head intact.

Yet the truth is that ministry (anywhere!) is hard. Missions is hard. Feeling foolish and making thousands of mistakes — hard. Misunderstanding and being misunderstood — hard. Going to and living in spiritually dark places — in our case, where maybe 0.1% of our city is Christian and 1% seems like a dream — is hard. Partnering alongside and under the vision of national leaders is (often) hard. Dying to my preferences, not being funny or finding local humor funny for a long time, missing people/places/things from my home culture, culture stress that lessens but never goes away completely — all of this is hard. But the goodbyes, for me, are a different level of hard.

Yes, missions involves adventure, new experiences, and countless ways we and our perspectives shift and grow and expand. We get to notice and enjoy the beauty of where God has placed us: the people, places, things, and even pieces of culture that reflect the kingdom of God. It is a privilege and a blessing to be entrusted with this calling, this life, these relationships.

But this life involves so many (may I say too many?) goodbyes: to our extended families and dear friends in our home countries and to fellow missionaries who become like surrogate family in the countries we serve in. How I ache to be able to control outcomes. “This person is well-trained, well-supported, mature, on a good team, and has great member care. They will thrive and stay.” But it doesn’t seem to work like that. 

We have known many people who have left. People who have excelled at language learning and those who have struggled. People who were well-trained in missions and those with minimal training. People who partner with national churches and those who work independently. People who are underfunded and those with incredible funding. People with remarkable member care structures around them and those without. People who are single and people who are married. People still in the throes of culture shock and those who have ridden the wave and come out the other side. 

Many years ago, a TCK friend who grew up here told me, “My mom eventually stopped making friends. She held people at arms length to protect herself from the inevitable revolving door of missionaries coming and going and the heartbreak of goodbyes.” While I don’t want to follow this woman’s path, I understand it. 

Although my heart may look like a patched up, scrappy quilt with a few places in need of mending, I am thankful my life has intersected with these remarkable, hilarious, sensitive, curious, faith-filled, and faithful people. I learned about celebration and finding humor in mistakes from one, that hanging laundry can be a meditation rather than drudgery from another, about gratitude and rhythms of work and rest from another. 

My life is richer from moments shared and memories made together, from watching them parent and lead and live beautiful, imperfect lives, from praying for and encouraging one another, and from walking, arms linked, in the same direction together for a season. I wouldn’t trade all of this to protect myself from the pain of goodbyes.

And so I pray:

God, give me courage to love. To welcome new people. To not fear their futures nor my own. God, help me be like my mom, who said to me when I was preparing to go on a short-term trip in my early 20s, “I want you in the center of God’s will for your life, whether He chooses to keep you safe or not.” And may I add, “Whether He chooses to keep you in my life here or not. Whether He chooses the path I want for you or not.” 

God, help me to release dearly loved friends, teammates, mentors, and mentees who have, who might, and who will move on. I don’t want to live guarded or hold people at arm’s length, so help me to trust that You will guard and uphold me. Help me to receive from You comfort, Your presence, and the reminder that someday there will be no more goodbyes. 

Reality TV and the Newly Arrived Missionary

by Brandon Jones

Here in Brazil, our family subscribes to Brazilian cable television, which features both Brazilian shows and foreign shows that are dubbed in Portuguese. Among our favorite dubbed shows is 90 Day Fiancé: The Other Way.

90 Day Fiancé is a produced, “reality” television series that follows the stories of several couples from different countries. But one half of each couple is always someone from the United States. These couples apply for marriage visas and often have 90 days to get married upon entering the country of the other person. The first versions of this show all featured people from other countries coming to the United States, but 90 Day Fiancé: The Other Way only includes stories in which the American citizen goes to the other person’s country.

While the Americans on the show are of different ages and backgrounds, their shared experience of culture shock in another country is familiar to me as an American missionary. Of course, moving with a family to another country is different from trying to create a new family with someone from a different culture while also moving to their culture. But nonetheless, here are some similarities I have found as a viewer between 90 Day Fiancé and being a new missionary.

Visiting and Moving Are Galaxies Apart

Multiple Americans noted in the show how they had previously visited their fiancé’s country in the past while on vacation for days or even weeks. But nothing can prepare you for buying a one-way plane ticket to another country. 

Quickly, even in their first days in their new homes, a lot of Americans found unease at the hassle of daily life somewhere else. Using the toilet is different, restaurants are different, and then there’s the biggest barrier of them all: language. 

Not one person on this show was fluent in their new host language, which did not bother them much on vacation. But all of a sudden moving and living became that much harder. Their capacity to get things done all by themselves dwindled while their reliance on their fiancé skyrocketed.  

One person even admitted that he thought that he could “skate by” using his English in a Spanish-speaking country. He figured out within days that would never be the case.

Be Our Guest

As much as it feels different to move to a new country versus visiting one, moving there doesn’t magically give you the rights of a citizen. So many Americans on this show did not bother using the internet to figure out if they could legally work in another country. When the time came to look for work, they quickly found out they had no legal standing to get a job, and oftentimes, even if they could get one through marriage, few jobs could accommodate them when they only spoke English.

One young man was shocked when he heard he’d need something other than a tourist visa to work legally in Colombia. He said out loud that he figured as an American it would be easy for him to work there.

Being a citizen is something that’s easily taken for granted when you never move away from your homeland. But when you live overseas, there is always a reminder that you are a guest in your new location. Things will be harder for you. There will be a process for everything. There will be limits. The sooner you can make peace with all of this, the better.

When Values Collide

Our cultures ingrain in us what we feel is normal, natural, right and good. We are rarely taught these things. Rather, they are caught. That is, we grow up within our cultures, so it is the very air we breathe. And we rarely, if ever, stop to think about what we’ve been breathing in all these years.

This can become a problem when we move to another culture, especially hoping to marry someone else from there.* We suddenly encounter or even collide against all the different values they hold. It is one thing when they visit the United States on “our turf” so to speak. But many Americans in the show flailed as everything began to feel abnormal, unnatural, wrong, and bad. 

These moments were the hardest for me to watch because cultures aren’t necessarily better or worse than others; they are simply different. One American woman had a baby in Ethiopia, and her fiancé was excited to bring her home to surprise her with a ceremony to honor her and their new son. The ceremony involved family members lighting candles and butchering an animal to eat and celebrate. 

The American mother was horrified, not feeling honored one bit. Her Ethiopian fiancé was shocked at this. It did not even register to him that he should have warned her before she arrived home to an instant animal sacrifice in her front yard. To him, it was not just normal, but good.

Even after several years in Brazil, I can encounter or collide with differing values, and I have to remind myself that what I am feeling in my annoyance is not right vs. wrong, but simply different vs. different. One time at a dinner I complained about “Brazilians doing the Brazil thing where they [insert cultural value/behavior that is just different, not necessarily bad].” 

Afterwards, my wife remarked, “Why did you say that to a Brazilian?” I had no excuse. It was a mistake. What else are Brazilians supposed to do other than act like Brazilians? 

Suppressing the Language of the Heart

Some of the Americans on the show could speak a little bit of their new country’s language, but none of them were fluent speakers. And even with fluency there remains the challenge of communicating emotions and feelings in a second language. The challenge is that it does not work very well, and that goes both ways. The fiancé on the other side of things also wants to share their heart in their own native language, not English. 

It’s no surprise, then, that when conflict occurs on the show, the person who knows English as a second language often switches naturally to their native tongue. It’s just easier that way because to speak another language fluently is to suppress our native language constantly, and it is hard to suppress anything in the heat of the moment.

Here, I lament the situations on the show and in my own life as well. As I continue to progress in acculturation and Portuguese, I want to share my deepest heart’s cry with Brazilians, but it just isn’t the same in Portuguese. I don’t speak it well enough to express such things elegantly or passionately. Perhaps one day that will change, but that day is not coming any time soon.

And this is where I marvel at the beauty of the Incarnation in which God was willing to send His Son to take on our human nature, to dwell among us, and to speak our language, even to the point of suffering and death. And His communication is universal to all of us: every tribe, tongue and nation. And so I share with Brazilians the Christ who shares with us all. 

No One Wants to Hear about Your Sacrifices

There is at least one moment for each American on the show when they express how upset they are that their significant other is not sufficiently appreciating all the sacrifices they have made to move away from America to be together as a couple. And without fail the other person doesn’t care. 

That sounds mean, and at some level I am sure they feel sorry for the discomfort of their fiancé. But in general the response goes like this: “Well, you decided to move here; this is what life’s like here. It’s my home. And besides, it’s not exactly a cakewalk for me either, trying to marry someone who doesn’t even speak my language or share my cultural values.”

My wife grew up in Kenya as a missionaries’ kid, and she has a different response to this than I do. She says it’s an American thing to talk so much about sacrifices. Maybe she’s right. Perhaps that’s part of the American cultural values we all breathe. But, American or not, as a missionary I need to realize that the people I minister to do not want to hear me bellyache about all the sacrifices I made to live among them. 

Once again, thinking of Jesus, He may have complained about others’ unbelief, lamented in the face of a loved one’s death, and cried out in his own pain and suffering, but the Gospels don’t include Him listing all the sacrifices He made to take on our flesh and dwell among us. Rather, Hebrews tells us that it was for the joy set before Him that Jesus endured the cross, setting aside its shame.

And that is the key. We have to think of the joys set before us when we move cross-culturally. Yes, there are sacrifices, but there are not only sacrifices, which leads me to my last point.

Consider the Cost

Considering all the challenges, especially if someone cannot work and is running out of money in their new country, many couples on this show don’t last longer than their 90-day or six-month visas. 

And to that I can relate because every cross-cultural journey is arduous. But where there is a team to work with, a support group to send, and a calling to answer, then there is also God’s grace, flowing deeply to all those difficult nooks and crannies that even fatuous love, and especially reality television, shudder to enter. 

And to that I give thanks to God!

*In this article I’m referring only to those on the show, not workers throughout the world who are married to nationals or who are in a cross-cultural marriage.

~~~~~~~

Brandon Jones grew up in Kansas City, married a missionaries’ kid from Kenya, and with her has raised three children both off and on the mission field. He served as a professor and pastor in the States for several years before becoming an international missionary in Brazil in 2018.

Holy Disorientation: Partnering with God as He Transforms Us through Cross-Cultural Transitions

Reflecting on over two decades of cross-cultural transitions as a mission worker has shown me that whilst my family and I can endure complex moves across cultures, we thrive most in the settled season that follows them. We are well-versed in the all-consuming planning and packing for a cross-cultural move, the stress and anxiety of leaving behind the familiar, the uprooting from established relationships and rhythms, the upheaval to our house and hearts, and the complex logistics of flights and arrivals — in addition to various other cross-cultural changes and events that are equally disruptive and disorienting.

Cross-cultural transitions mean living in the ambivalence of both grieving and celebrating, endings and beginnings, living in hope in the midst of chaos, and rebuilding whilst in a state of holy disorientation. We endure transitions as a necessary evil, longing for the routines and stability that come months, or even years, later as we finally make the new life and culture our home. 

Writing with another cross-cultural transition on the horizon, I acknowledge that it is often only on the other end of the upheaval and disorientation of transition seasons that I notice that the Lord has been at work in me. It is in the chaos and disorientation of transition that I have drawn closest to him. 

Reframing Transition as God’s Instrument for Christlikeness

Rather than viewing cross-cultural transitions merely as a burden or a tiring journey to navigate as quickly and smoothly as possible, let’s also recognise their potential as sanctifying seasons. The Lord often uses cross-cultural transitions to grow us and shape our character to be more like Jesus in our everyday lives. Through transitions we are ‘being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory’ (2 Corinthians 3:18). Instead of willing the transition to end as quickly and painlessly as possible, let us name and accept the season we are in and seek to encounter Christ in it.

This grating iron-sharpening-iron of transitions can be God’s instrument in forging us into Christ-shaped new creations. Like other suffering or difficulties, transition friction can serve to refine our characters. In stripping away our self-sufficiency, transitions give opportunity for us to grow in dependence on Christ and others. In seasons of transition we are often required to surrender our preferences, desires, and knowledge as we integrate into a new culture. They require an emptying of ourselves, humility, and a teachable heart, making us open to His work. In the vulnerability of our transition grief, as with other times of suffering, we can be drawn into dependency and closer intimacy with Christ. 

Just as the Israelites grumbled against God in the desert—romanticising their time in Egypt and rejecting His daily provision—we often look back at the familiarity and stability of non-transition seasons through rose-tinted glasses. In our desperation to escape the upheaval and heat of times of transition, we miss the blessings of our current season. The forty-year wilderness journey was God’s instrument in preparing the community to trust in Him as they entered the Promised Land. As you navigate your current transition, what old habits, mindsets, or securities is God stripping away from you, and how are you learning to depend on His daily provision? 

The Spirit is at work, moulding us throughout the transition journey; our role is to posture ourselves with a receptive heart, ready to collaborate with Him.

Posturing Ourselves to be Shaped by God during Transitions

Spiritual practices for cross-cultural transition are the intentional holy habits, or spiritual disciplines we adopt, as rhythms that orient us towards Christ. When we think about spiritual practices for cross-cultural workers, what often comes to mind are Bible reading, prayer, and church attendance. Some might include fasting, hospitality, evangelism, serving, lament and fellowship, although there are many more. 

We can seek to co-operate with the Spirit’s work in us by practising these spiritual habits—and new ones. These habits have the added benefit of anchoring us in times of transition, offering routine and structure to a disorienting time of chaos. Their impact on our transition season, and beyond, as well as in sculpting our faith, depends on the spiritual exercises being practised regularly (daily, weekly, every time that…), intentionally, and consistently. Sometimes the encouragement and accountability of a church group, or a family member, can help us persevere.

I also want to suggest a few lesser-known spiritual practices for cross-cultural transition:

Examen: A daily prayer of reflection to look back, review the good and difficult of the day, and give thanks. In his book How to Pray: A Simple Guide for Normal People, Pete Greig suggests four steps to this prayer (with my clarifications added in brackets): Replay [review your day]; Rejoice [give thanks for its blessings]; Repent [confess sins and failings]; Reboot [learn from it as you step into tomorrow]. Writing these down in a journal, processing and looking for patterns over the transition season can reveal a lot about ourselves and help us to see God at work in the midst of the chaos of transition. Families and couples can also share the Examen together. 

Another way to practise Examen is to ask the same questions of ourselves each day over the transition period, such as: Where was God at work today? What brought me closer to God today? Where or when did God seem distant? What can I thank God for today? Asking these questions of our todays helps us to know how and where to re-orient ourselves towards Christ in our tomorrows, whatever phase we are at in the transition.

Simplicity: When making decisions about what to pack, what to leave behind or gift to others, and the way we want to live, we can choose to live simply, perhaps below our means. This is not only as a way of identifying with local believers, reducing our environmental footprint, resisting consumerism, or for incarnational living—although these are all very important to consider—but also as a spiritual practice of limiting ourselves. This could mean living simply and travelling lightly, buying local rather than filling up more suitcases, being content with an uncluttered house and lifestyle, and limiting ourselves as a practice in abstinence and self-control.

Celebration: It is a choice to recognise, remember, and rejoice in the fullness of all that God has done. Throughout the Old Testament the Israelites were commanded to celebrate as an expression of their faith and a way of keeping community (Leviticus 23:4). Thanksgiving services, celebrating milestones, and leaving parties are all important throughout missionary life and especially in ending well. We might feel embarrassed to draw attention to ourselves or our own achievements publicly. However, the spiritual practice of celebration is about magnifying the God who sustained us and His work through us. Teams can even help keep track of important dates and arrange celebrations.

Finding a Spiritual Accompanier (Director): Meeting through a time of discernment ahead of a cross-cultural transition with a Christian trained to listen and help us pay attention to God’s presence, discern the Holy Spirit’s leading, and grow in intimacy with Christ. Cross-cultural transition can stir a ‘holy disorientation’ in us by dismantling long-held understandings of our faith and challenging cultural assumptions about ourselves and God, as well as our role in what He is doing in the world. 

A Spiritual accompanier can help us reflect on a transition season by drawing out our responses to the following: When job titles, ministry successes, and cultural familiarity are stripped away, have I/am I truly placing my identity in Christ? Do I find my home and satisfaction in Christ, even when I am not in transition? Is my theology of suffering robust enough to sustain me when the initial excitement fades and grief, disorientation, and deep loneliness set in? While deeply disorienting, asking questions like these when reflecting on transition seasons forges Christlikeness in us by exposing our desire for self-reliance, revealing hidden weakness and sin, and leading us to see our need for absolute dependence on Christ. 

By practicing holy habits, we choose to look for God amidst the chaos of transition, posturing our hearts to receive from Him. When we intentionally seek his presence in the disorientation, we are drawn closer to His heart and likeness — and transition transforms from a dreaded cross-cultural shift into a sanctifying season to sit with and grow from.

Suitcases, Sacrifices, and Sending Well (reflections from the author of the new book, For Those Who Send)

by Heather Fallis

For Christmas during my senior year of high school, my parents bought me a set of luggage. I hadn’t asked for luggage, and honestly, I wasn’t quite sure what to make of the gift. My parents were probably thinking I’d take the suitcases on vacations and trips that always included a return ticket back home. And for many years that was the case — until 2015 when I boarded a plane with my husband and three children that would take us to our new home abroad.

Although we didn’t understand then how appropriate their gift to me on December 25, 2001, was, I look back at that moment and think how grateful I am that, even then, my parents were preparing to send me well. We just had no idea how far.

The Christmas of my oldest daughter’s senior year of high school, we followed in my parents’ footsteps and gifted her a luggage set. This time, however, we knew exactly how far we would have to send her. The gift was given with tears and a somber understanding that we would soon be living oceans apart. A few months later she packed those bags, and the day after her high school graduation, with a one-way ticket in hand, flew solo across the globe.

Having experienced both being sent and being the sender, I can honestly say the latter was harder.

I knew it wasn’t easy for our families to watch us pack up our lives in our passport country and move to the other side of the world, but until I had to do it myself, I had no idea how painfully difficult it really is. Becoming a sender gave me a new realization of what our loved ones had experienced.

When my family first left home to move abroad, we had attended training, studied, and prepared for this new career and step of faith. When we landed in our host country for the first time, we had teammates waiting to welcome us and help us navigate the new country and culture. When we had hard moments, we had a prayer team that was faithfully lifting us up and bearing our burdens with us. While it was just the five of us who got on that plane with passports in hand, we never felt alone.

I can’t say the same for our loved ones who sent us.

There was no training course to prepare them for sending their loved ones overseas. There was no team or community to come alongside them with understanding and experience, ready to help them navigate this new way of being. When they had hard moments, there was no group of supporters waiting for prayer requests and updates in order to bear their burdens with them. And though they did have friends and family who cared and knew it was difficult for them, as senders they did not have the same support and resources as we did, the ones being sent.

My parents’ gift of a suitcase was a tangible expression of their permission for me to spread my wings and soar. When I bought the suitcase for my daughter, I was giving her the same thing. It’s a noble and beautiful and right thing to gift to our children. And yet, I’ve learned that giving them that permission will cost you dearly.

I’m grateful for what my experience of sending is teaching me, and how it’s given me a deeper understanding of what those who have sent us all these years have sacrificed. As I’ve learned about the cost of sending, I’ve recognized that there are very few resources for those who send that validate their grief, affirm their sacrifice, and celebrate their role that is vital to global kingdom work. Since I couldn’t find the book that I wanted to be able to gift to the senders in my life, I decided to write it.

I know that one book is not enough to encompass the many facets of being a sender, and it won’t dull the ache of the airport goodbyes and the miles between loved ones. What I do hope is that it will be a companion in the grief and a guide in the vital role of sending and praying for those we send. Whether the reader is a parent, child, family member, friend, supporter, pastor, or acquaintance of the one they are sending, I believe they will find comfort and confidence that sending matters — and that they matter.

My Christmas suitcase showed me the joy of going and the sacrifice of being sent. My daughter’s Christmas suitcase showed me the grief of sending and the sacrifice of being a sender. What I’ve learned through it all is that we cannot be sent without a sender, both roles are essential to the Great Commission, both are infinitely harder than we think, and both are worthy of compassion and care as we live out our callings — sent and sender — for the glory of God.

For Those Who Send: Prayers for Those With Loved Ones Serving Abroad provides senders with a practical and applicable tool for expressing the challenges, losses, and sacrifices that come with supporting those we love as they settle in far-away places. Parents, siblings, friends, supporters, and all those who love and send global workers will find these liturgies to be a source of encouragement, as well as a way to cultivate communion with Christ in the joy and sorrow of sending.

With prayers for topics such as saying goodbye, missing their presence, reading a newsletter, making a video call, giving sacrificially, and spending holidays apart, every sender will be reminded that their role matters and that their sacrifices are seen and cherished by the Father. Now available on Amazon in paperback and ebook.

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Heather is the creator of Liturgies for a Life Abroad, where she writes and publishes prayers for global sojourners. She and her family have made their home in the remote mountains of Southeast Asia since 2015. Heather co-authored Liturgies and Laments for the Sojourner, Volumes 1 & 2 and authored Crafting Liturgies for Life Abroad: A Guide to Processing Cross-Cultural Life Through Written Prayer. Her full author bio and other resources she has written can be found at www.liturgiesforalifeabroad.com

In Pursuit of Meaningful Memories During Home Assignment

As our family prepares to “cross the pond” for our next Home Ministry Assignment (HMA), we are experiencing all the familiar stress of transition: packing the house, packing the bags, saying goodbyes here, anticipating hellos there, and managing all the expectations on both sides of the world.

It’s a lot for a heart to hold, and a lot for the brain to process!

Amidst the necessary components of every HMA (such as speaking engagements, fundraising, attending meetings, etc.), we are also committed to prioritizing the pursuit of what is fun and memorable as a family, especially things that will help our children enjoy their passport culture as well as acclimate to a home country that is still somewhat foreign to them.

Our goal is to create meaningful memories during HMA: memories that are meaningful because they carry moments we treasure and/or because they help us navigate life in our passport culture.

During past HMAs, when our kids were younger, we pursued this goal in a variety of ways and discovered some amazing resources along the way which we plan to take advantage of again. This time around, as our kids are getting older, we’re also considering other priorities in addition to the familiar opportunities we’ve enjoyed in the past.

Here are five types of memory-making activities we’ll be pursuing—perhaps they’ll be helpful to you also as you plan your next home assignment.

1. Museums and Zoos

In the past we’ve made an effort to visit museums—art museums, science museums, natural history museums—for the sake of enjoying ourselves and learning at places we have little access to in our country of service. We learned that some museums are free while others have free days here and there, which requires some scheduling on our part but which makes it easier on the pocketbook for taking advantage of such offers.

During past HMAs we’ve also discovered that many museums and zoos are part of consortiums that offer free entrance or discounts at other institutions if you have a membership at one. It’s always worth asking what they offer. One year we bought a membership at a local children’s museum and discovered we had free access to several other institutions across the country because of it, which made for extra fun as we took advantage of the free access while traveling in between visits to churches and supporters. We fully intend to see what options are available to us this time around, too.

2. Public Libraries

Another vital resource has been the public library. Not only do we make regular visits to the library for the masses of free books at our disposal, but we also take note of what else they make available. Most libraries organize and offer free events on location, but they also occasionally partner with other institutions to offer even more. For example, we have sometimes gotten free tickets to museums (not only on the aforementioned free days) because the library loaned tickets to local museums, similar to checking out a book. Every location will have different offerings, but it’s good to ask what’s available!

3. Nature Centers and National Parks

Nature centers are another perennial favorite for our family. As we are home basing in a different location for this HMA, we are prioritizing the exploration of new nature centers and reserves that can provide the outdoor escape we all need.

Perhaps my favorite discovery which has created impressionable family memories when we’re in America is the National Park System’s 4th grader pass. Every Kid Outdoors offers families with a 4th grader (or homeschool equivalent) free access to national parks. As the National Park Service website says, “Every Kid Outdoors allows U.S. fourth graders and family members free access to over 2,000 federal lands and waters so you can discover our wildlife, resources, and history.” It’s so simple. Our family has already taken advantage of this opportunity twice during previous HMAs and has saved money while enjoying national parks as we traveled in between ministry responsibilities.

4. Sports Games and Concerts

This HMA we plan to take our kids to a football game—an American football game, not soccer, which is the sport they know and understand best growing up in Africa. As Americans, however, we come from a culture that highly values football and we feel like our kids would not only enjoy but also benefit from knowing more about the sport. At the very least we want them to understand the basics of the game and be able to participate in watching football with family and friends in a meaningful way. And so, in addition to gathering around the television to watch some games during NFL season, this HMA we’ll take them to a football game or two.

We’re also planning to take our kids to their first concert, which will not only be a fun experience for them but will also foster an ability for them to connect with peers about such things. Our kids have phased out of the children’s museum stage of life and are fully into a season of sports, music, and movies. We’re aiming to create experiences that will help them track with peers in our passport culture so that, someday, they’ll be better equipped to live and socialize in our passport culture if God leads them there.

Some of these examples are specific to our American context, but I recommend researching what resources are available to you in whatever your passport country is.

5. Establishing Regular Rhythms

It’s worth considering what’s worth investing in for the sake of taking care of your children (and yourselves) during a home assignment. Regular rhythms are of equal, if not greater, importance to establishing lasting memories. Things as simple as taking my son out for hot chocolate at a favorite coffee shop can go a long way in deepening our family ties in the midst of everything else demanding our time and attention. Investing time in catching up on particular movies and music will allow all of us to have socially intelligent conversations with people on that side of the world.

We will face the expectations and responsibilities of HMA no matter what, but we can choose how to spend our time in between ministry engagements and hopefully create meaningful memories along the way.

Instead of viewing it as a project—because maintaining a foothold in our passport country admittedly requires some work—we are focusing on the fun that awaits and the increased family time during a season when our kids have fewer friends on this side of the world.

There is time to walk around a nature center. There is space to visit an art museum. There is room to watch a football game and experience the hype of being in a cheering crowd.

There are meaningful memories within grasp. Our priority is to seize them.

Photo by Jessica Rockowitz on Unsplash

Embracing New Chapters, Trusting the Same Author

Hidden under a canopy of outstretched branches, I pause for a moment to take in the view before me. Layers of green intermingle as they nestle the banks of a gurgling creek. The rhythm is steady and reassuring as the cool water rushes over smooth stones on its way downstream. This is the first moment I have felt a sense of calm flood my thoughts and body in a while.

This week, my husband is the missions speaker at a summer camp he attended as a child and worked at as a teenager. He’s taken us for a walk to see the wooden bridge he helped his grandfather build when he was a boy and has shared many memories of his time growing up here. Our own boys are attending as junior high campers, and it’s been a stark reminder that a lot has changed in our lives.

It’s been over five years since I’ve been able to travel back to Pennsylvania and the first time our family has traveled back together. Spending the majority of the past decade ministering in Northern Uganda and journeying through a lengthy adoption process is where most of our story has been lived. And now that we are back “home” on our first furlough, embracing this space of unsettledness has been very overwhelming at times.

I have known the Lord and experienced His faithfulness in the wilderness of waiting, but in this season of transition I’m learning to trust Him in new ways. So, while enjoying an unexpected moment of quiet, a quote by Aljean Anthony dances around my mind as the water ripples along its merry way: “He’s carried you this far, hasn’t He? Don’t you think He could carry you even further? Trust in Him.”

It’s as if it has been bookmarked in my thoughts, a reminder for moments when I feel the unsteadiness of this land in between. I wasn’t expecting such a chaotic re-entry after spending so many challenging years abroad. My bucket list did not include three unexpected trips to the emergency room or a mad search for medication to treat a tropical parasite that’s not available in the USA. Then there were two weeks of sickness that hit our whole family, travel plans derailed, and the celebration of homecoming delayed.

After all I’ve experienced living a life overseas, I should be more accustomed to life not going according to my plan, but here I am again, wondering why.

I can list every time the Lord faithfully provided and carried us in our waiting season just as the Lord provided for the Israelites in theirs. He led them through the wilderness with manna, quail, sandals that didn’t wear out, water spilling from rocks, a pillar of fire, and the covering of a cloud. Yet, the story of the Israelites crossing the Jordan River in Joshua 3:15-17 offers encouragement to me right now.

The crossing of the Jordan River represented the transition from wilderness into the Promised Land. I’ve watched the Lord dry up the rising floodwaters in our life and allow us to walk through to the other side. But that doesn’t mean the next season will be perfect to make up for the former one.

For the Israelites there would be more battles to overcome, with plenty of challenges awaiting and numerous adjustments made for a new lifestyle — for their dependence on the Lord still needed to deepen. Yet even though the manna stopped falling as the Israelites entered a new land, the Lord’s presence, guidance, comfort, provision, and love never did. It just looked different.

The Lord promises to continue the journey with us, just as He declared to the Israelites in Isaiah 43:2, “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze” (ESV).

Maybe you are walking through your own Jordan River or standing at the edge of your “Promised Land” — whether it’s preparing move to a new country, transitioning back “home,” experiencing a big life change, celebrating ministry goals met, overcoming obstacles, or straddling a new wilderness of uncertainty. God’s presence is steadfast even when we waver in the challenges that come our way.

On the fourth morning of summer camp, we awake to a thick layer of smoke hiding everything, the blue skies overcome with heavy haze from fires burning elsewhere. It’s another reminder that while we may not know what’s coming or can’t see through the unknown, the Lord remains the unchanged, and the story He is writing is a good one. I can have peace as I enter this new chapter because I know the author.

Recently, I’ve been leafing through the stack of journals I’ve lugged back across the ocean. These journals hold the struggle, the worries, the laments, the prayers, the joys, and the praises over the past number of years. But mostly they declare the Lord’s faithfulness in my life. They serve as a reminder of how the Lord has provided in seasons of hardship and struggle.

How He restores what has been lost.

How He revives what is hopeless.

How He redeems what is broken.

How He rewrites our pain into His promise of an abundant life.

God’s glory is in the gold lettering of our story, chapter by chapter. And oh, how He has written and woven such a testimony of His goodness and grace into our lives. His purpose was penned long before I was born, and when I don’t understand or when all seems lost, still I believe that the Author of Life is at work redeeming my story and yours.

In each and every delay.

In each and every disappointment.

In each and every heartache.

The battle may be great, but God is far greater. All these years of wild words planted, hopes deferred, dreams surrendered, and in the promises restored, the Lord is faithful. I’m slowly beginning to make peace with the understanding that I may not feel as rooted during the next few months as I had hoped.

But in acknowledging that, I know that I am rooting deeper in the One who steadies my heart when everything seems unsteady. I am tethered to an anchor far more secure than any house, or person, or thing that brings comfort. He has indeed carried me this far, and He will surely carry me further.