Category: Guest Contributors

Looking for a Place to Call Home

by Val Robb

As our plane descended into Auckland, I stared at the arrival card: “Answer this section if you live in New Zealand. Otherwise go to 2B.” I glanced further down the card to section 2B: “Answer this section if you DO NOT live in New Zealand.”

The form blurred as my eyes filled with tears. At the moment, I didn’t live anywhere. Our family was returning to New Zealand after over five years in Beijing, leaving a home and life we loved. Moving out of our apartment just days earlier already felt like a lifetime ago. 

Leaving hurt. My husband had thrived in his job at the university. We enjoyed deep friendships with both locals and expats. Ministry opportunities had grown. We loved our international church. However, for education and health reasons, we felt God was closing this chapter of our lives. 

As the plane landed, I felt rootless and displaced. Originally from Canada, I had embraced New Zealand as home in the past, but five years away made it feel foreign to both me and my Kiwi husband. Coming ‘home’ to no physical home also felt strange. My husband’s parents were kindly hosting us for a few days, and then we’d be house-sitting while looking for a place to live. 

Having sold our house before moving to China, we now faced the reality of Auckland’s sky-rocketing house prices. We considered buying but soon deemed the market out of our reach. Friends warned us that rentals were hard to find, especially large homes like we needed for our six children. My stomach tightened when I heard that multiple people vied to rent each house and sometimes even bid each other up.  

Before searching for a rental, we took a brief break at a rural holiday home called Emmanuel House. The name reminded me that God was with us. As we strolled the nearby beach, the salty air and rhythmic, rolling waves soothed my restless spirit.

The Creator brought to mind the verse He had impressed on my heart in Beijing: “Oh, how abundant is your goodness, which you have stored up for those  who fear you and worked for those who take refuge in You” (Psalm 31:19 ESV). 

“Hey, Mom, here’s a gift for you.” My oldest daughter presented me with a bumpy purple and white shell. On it she had written, “Remember–if God so houses molluscs, will He not house you? Do not worry. Matthew 6.” 

Smiling, I gazed at the shell. Its simple beauty encouraged me to trust the Shell Maker, and I thanked Him for His abundant goodness in the gift of a faith-filled daughter. 

I reflected on God’s faithfulness to our family throughout our many international moves. Each one had involved enormous changes and emotional turmoil. Each confirmed that my “citizenship is in heaven” and that my true home is in the never-changing, ever-loving heart of God. Cupping the shell, I imagined the insignificant little mollusc safely housed inside amidst wild ocean breakers. Surely I could trust such a compassionate Creator with our family’s needs. 

Back from our holiday, we scrolled online for five-bedroom houses for rent. Only three options came up. One looked dilapidated. The next exceeded our budget. After repeated failed attempts, we finally connected with the agent to see the last possibility. While waiting to view the house, we discovered several Asian supermarkets in the nearby shopping area. Chinese signs, the familiar sing-song sounds of Mandarin, and the aroma of Asian spices made us feel at home. 

My heart filled with hope as we viewed the house. Despite a quirky lay-out and dated decor, it boasted an ocean view and convenient location. The kids were enthused about the spacious deck. We immediately filled out the forms. The next day, as we completed the paperwork to make this house our home, we heard another client had applied. We had signed just in time. 

The transition still took time, and my emotions often lurched like a roller coaster, but we now had a place to call home. God’s kindness in details like the view from the kitchen window, nature walks nearby, and a heat pump for cold winter days moved me to tears.

After settling in, I put the treasured shell in a prominent spot on my dresser as a reminder of God’s faithfulness. Many years have gone by since then, including multiple moves. Still the shell reminds me of my kind and faithful Father whose heart is my ultimate home.

~~~~~~~

Val Robb met her Kiwi husband in Canada while completing an education degree. Their family moved to Auckland in 1994, the first of 13 international moves so far. Homeschooling six children while living in New Zealand, China, Canada, and America has provided plenty of material for her to write about! Val has taught workshops for parents and writing classes for children on three different continents as their family travelled for her husband’s university job. Now that she’s completed her 25-year homeschool journey, Val offers coaching and workshops to encourage homeschooling parents. She blogs at www.inspiringwriting.co where she loves helping parents strengthen relationships with their children while growing their kids’ writing skills. Val is the author of the upcoming book, Walking Together: Grace-filled Guidance for your Homeschool Journey.

TCKs and the Power of Presence

by Brandon Jones

I’m at a theatre in Brazil with my daughter, Monica, who is just a few months away from finishing high school here in Brazil and moving away to start college in the United States, a country that does not really feel like her home. But, then again, neither does Brazil. At least all the way.

Our afternoon movie was Rental Family, which features a man named Philip who is an American actor that has spent the last seven years in Japan. During that time he’s picked up enough Japanese to get by, booked some gigs, and settled into an apartment from where he can watch so many neighbors. But all the time he’s alone.

For my daughter and me, this movie was quite the experience as we are in our eighth year in Brazil, have picked up enough Portuguese to get by, have settled into an apartment from which we can watch so many neighbors, along with their dogs. But we’re also kind of alone.

In the movie Philip often has conversations that mix English and Japanese as he fits in quite often in spaces and places, but yet he also always stands out. The cross-cultural stuff, however, is in the background of the movie. What stood out more to me was the theme of presence and how as humans we were created to be in the presence of others and gift those others with our own presence. There’s power in our presence, and the business Philip begins to work for, the rent-a-family business, cashes in on this power for better or for worse.

In some ways Philip is perfect for the part. Of course, he’s American, so he’s asked to fit western roles. For seven years he has also been trying to figure out how to be present in another culture that he will never fully understand. But above and beyond every culture is the same, universal human nature that creates it. And above and beyond us humans is the God who created us for presence, no matter how many apartment buildings or norms exist to keep us compartmentalized and apart from one another.

As the movie goes on this theme of presence collides with the question of honesty. Is physical presence all that powerful when it’s based on an act or a lie? Yes and no. The movie does well in letting us see Philip’s journey, introducing us to fascinating characters, and at the end letting us sit with the ambivalence of how presence, honesty, and relationships all intertwine, whether that be in Japan or any other part of the world. 

Sitting there with my daughter, I realized the movie wasn’t just telling a story about Japan or rented relationships, but was gently pressing on something deeper within me.

Rental Family is not a Christian movie, but its characters and themes reinforce the Christian doctrine of the Incarnation. There is power in God’s presence with us. And that power would certainly be diminished were it based on some lie, were some of those ancient heresies true after all that Jesus wasn’t really God and really one of us, but some imposter merely playing a role—our Rental Savior.

As cross-cultural missionaries our whole family has dealt with feeling like imposters from time to time. Our passports say one country, and our Portuguese accents confirm it, but our hearts are torn. We may never truly feel what a Brazilian feels, but we’ve lived here long enough to talk like they talk and even think like they think às vezes (sometimes). And while this is true for my wife Marci and me, it’s even more true for Monica and her little sister Olivia, who have spent a majority of their developmental years in Brazil.

Monica is present in this humid, densely populated place, and its emotive people have shaped who she is. But she’ll never be Brazilian, even if her Portuguese accent is better than mine. Yet as she preps to “return” to the States, she doesn’t feel all that American either. Sure, she’ll look and sound the part, but the contours of her character have been permanently pressed by Brazil. 

There’s a phrase for kids like Monica and Olivia: Third Culture Kids (TCKs). In a way they can “mostly belong“ in more than one culture, while not fully belonging in any of them. And so they are really their own third culture that is a mix of the two. Their mom was also a TCK from Kenya whose heart, in her own words, “always beats to the rhythm of an African drum.”

Philip, the movie character, and I are different from them. We grew up in just one culture and were formed by it before moving abroad. He’s from Minnesota, and I’m from Kansas City. Yet, culture has its way of seeping in through the cracks, so even though guys like us take on things from our new culture, it’s different than being formed by it — we can keep things more compartmentalized. 

Toward the end of the movie Philip opens up about his regret in not going back to America for his father’s funeral. He never says why he didn’t go, even after showing up to the airport with his ticket in hand. There’s complexity to such things. His relationship with his father was not great. But there’s also ambivalence about “going home” for guys like Philip and me. There’s familiarity there, sure. But there’s also the heartache of familiar strangeness (or is it strange familiarity?) as well as the difficulty of yet another goodbye. 

As our family looks ahead to prepping Monica and even Olivia for their re-entries to the States, a temptation is to let the laments of future losses pile up and rob us of our full presence here in Brazil. We must guard against it. We must also guard against giving our daughters the message that the culture they are returning to is worse than Brazil or just plain wrong. As we learned before coming to Brazil: cultures are neither right nor wrong, just different. 

Marci and I have hopes and prayers for our daughters as they re-enter that they can come to peace with “mostly belonging” while they are in the States, and, looking back to Brazil, will see their unique journey as a bonus instead of a detriment. 

Monica was recently asked to reflect on her experience as a TCK, including its pros and cons and said this:

Being a TCK is very difficult. No matter where I am, I am missing something from my other world. No matter how much I have in Brazil, I still miss my family in the US, and I still know that I will always be a foreigner in Brazil. I have dealt with jealousy of people who stay in the same place their whole life, but I moved past that, as I would never give up my life for the world. 

Being bilingual is definitely one of my favorite things about being an MK [missionaries’ kid], as I have unlocked a new way of expressing myself. I have also learned valuable lessons about how to lose, grieve, grow, and thrive. I find my experiences of learning how to create my belonging in unfamiliar places very useful. I also like the uniqueness of my story.

Even though people who aren’t TCKs can’t understand me, I still value my unique experiences. To have your own third culture that’s a mix of both worlds is priceless. To mix languages and cultural norms from two distinct places is fun, and it’s a part of me. Looking back at all the hardships, I find what I’ve gained to be more than what I’ve lost.

As our family continues to split further into two hemispheres, the power of physical presence will remain a sore spot in my soul. Like Monica, I too feel that pull of longing to be with family in the States and treasuring my time there. But, at the same time, my home is not there. It’s here in Brazil. And it’s familiarly strange for me to be here, even after seven years. And that’s okay.

Hebrews has long been my favorite biblical book, and even more so since I moved to Brazil. Although there aren’t a lot of people who can understand my daughter or me, Jesus can. And Jesus is enough. I’m thankful for His presence. It’s beyond powerful. And it’s no act or lie. The family of God is not for rent.

~~~~~~~

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.

Stop Burning Out for Jesus

by Valerie Limmer

Jesus once told a parable about ten bridesmaids — five wise and five foolish. I’ve often heard the parable taught in church as a lesson in being prepared to wait for Jesus’s return and not becoming complacent in the waiting. But is that really what it’s about?

All of the women fell asleep. There was no difference in their level of activity — only in their preparedness. One set literally burned themselves out and didn’t leave anything to replenish themselves with. The other set also fell asleep, but when their lamps ran low, they had brought extra supply. 

Which brings me to a new conclusion: This parable could just as easily be about not burning ourselves out as it is about waiting.

People in ministry love Jesus. They often dedicate their lives, their hobbies, their energy and resources to sharing the good news about Him with others, serving people in the name of Jesus, and advocating for the weak and helpless. This work can be all-consuming. We do it “for the sake of the Gospel.”

But is that what God really asks of us?

I’ve written before about how giving up more than God asks of us can be just as bad as giving up less than He asks. When we do more than what He asks, we risk a different type of disobedience. After all, if a farmer asks me to plow a certain field, and I plow both that field and the one beside it too, am I being helpful—or did I just destroy a crop that wasn’t ready to be harvested?

Missionaries and pastors seem particularly susceptible to the lie that working ourselves to exhaustion is somehow a demonstration of godliness. It may be a demonstration of dedication to our work, but not of our dedication to God. So what does this parable tell us about the right way to approach our work? 

  1. We need to be prepared for Christ to take longer.

He is not — and never was — going to come according to our schedule. He is our leader. We are not His.

If God has called us to ministry, it may be for a lifetime, or it may be for a season. If it’s for a season, He will redeploy us somewhere else when we’re done. In either case, we cannot afford to pour an entire lifetime of energy into only a few years before we burn ourselves out.

Once we burn out, there’s no guarantee we will ever come back. Some people’s personalities and mental health are changed forever.

  1. The things we do may look similar to what others do.

The work of a Christian advocate for the poor might look very similar to that of the work of someone who’s not a Christian, but the nuances will be different. The motivations will be different. The spiritually-holistic approach will be different.

If we anchor our sense of accomplishment and well-being in Jesus rather than the results of our work, our mental and spiritual health will also be different. Jesus can give us the stamina to keep going, to live an entire lifetime of faithfulness. It’s that longevity that often stands out more than anything else to the people who observe and come after us. 

Our testimony doesn’t just consist of what we do. It consists of our faithfulness in doing it. Not just for a few years, but for a lifetime.

  1. We need to leave ourselves enough resources to last, so we can keep burning.

Our lives and ministries should consume those resources at a sustainable rate. In other words, we shouldn’t be constantly edging towards burnout, even if we don’t quite get there. We should always be engaging in self-care practices and rest that replenish our resources.

This “leave enough resources” principle isn’t just intended for the person in ministry, but for their family as well. If we don’t leave ourselves enough to take care of our spouses and families, then, as Paul says, “Anyone who does not provide for their relatives, and especially for their own household, has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever” (1 Timothy 5:8).

This may mean that as we age, our activities diminish somewhat, apace with diminishing energy. 

It also means that we make rest a part of our rhythms of ministry. Depleted, we may be able to put on a good show for a while — perhaps falling back on old journals and moments of learning during times when we were less worn — but eventually our depletion will show itself in our ministries. 

This could be in the form of ever-decreasing nourishment in the things we teach. It could also be in the form of a fall into sin. Depleted people are more likely to stumble and fall. Rest is not just required for our own refreshment. It’s required to sustain godliness.

If our rest is insufficient, we won’t have the energy to pursue God—really pursue Him in devotions. Sitting in silence takes focus and energy. Meditation takes energy and creativity (another thing that turns off in fatigue). Intensive prayer takes loads of energy. 

Is it any wonder, then, that taking a Sabbath rest is one of the Ten Commandments? That commandment is a fundamental undergirding, a support for our obedience in every other dimension.

In contrast, how many people have become shells of their former selves, have lost their faith, or caused their families to lose their faith because of their obsession with serving with no thought to wisely stewarding their time, efforts, and energy so they’ll be sustainable through the long haul? 

I now think that Jesus’s admonition at the end of the parable of the lamps in Matthew 25 to “keep watch” (“be on the alert,” the NASB says) is actually an admonition to take care of our own resources so that we can keep burning — no matter when He comes.

Originally published here; reprinted with permission.

~~~~~~~~

Originally from Canada, Valerie Limmer lives in Okinawa, Japan, where she’s served as a missionary with her husband since 2011, partnering with the local church to focus on outreach and discipleship. Their Japanese pastor calls them “bridge-makers,” facilitating relationships with the community. Valerie is the author of Captive Set Free: How to Find Freedom Through Forgiving and On the Potter’s Wheel, a memoir of disability on the mission field. To learn more about her work or to read more of her articles, visit peterandvalerie.com/OurBlog.

The Great Unknown: The Risks and Joys of Cross-cultural Marriage

by Hannah Blankenship Herrera

I remember singing the lyrics to Hillsong United’s “Oceans” in my middle school chapel, begging the Lord to “lead me where my trust is without borders” and “take me deeper than my feet could ever wander.”

“You call me out upon the waters / The great unknown where feet may fail / And there I find You in the mystery / In oceans deep my faith will stand,” I sang, probably acutely aware of the pleated uniform skirt hugging my waist in an unflattering manner.

I imagined this “great unknown” to mean some exotic mission field, perhaps an unreached people group on a desert island, where He would call me and I would bravely go.

There has since been controversy over Hillsong’s theology, and I’m in a faith tradition that doesn’t use that song for corporate worship. But young me meant those words with all her heart.

In college, deeply burdened by the stark racial divides in my American Deep South upbringing and university life, I prayed earnestly to “be a part of unity in diversity in the church.” I meant those words too, and years later, God answered me—in a far more literal way than I ever could have imagined.

In August of 2025, I married my husband David, an Afro-Latino Colombian I met on a mission trip in high school. We had no idea the Lord would weave our cross-cultural friendship into something more, but it’s been the adventure of a lifetime.

Our wedding was a transcendent celebration — guests of all colors and ethnicities praising, dancing, and singing side by side. Raindrops mixed with flower petals as we walked back down the aisle, and a breathtaking double rainbow graced our exit. It felt like a taste of heaven.

Before getting married, we carefully weighed the costs. We knew we would face challenges other couples wouldn’t. There is so much unknown in any relationship, but especially a cross-cultural relationship. There are millions of experiences that shaped his childhood that I will never understand. He grew up taking a cart to a water hole in the mornings, and I grew up in the suburbs.

There are values and understood norms that we stumble upon and learn only by crossing. Even though we speak each other’s languages, there are still references, jokes, and nuances that are hard to grasp. I’ve had people tell me they don’t think they could be in a cross-cultural relationship for all those reasons.

Visiting my husband’s rural coastal hometown is a perfect visual of these differences. The simple task of arrival is no simple task for me. On one recent occasion, I threw up three times in his backpack on a ten-hour overnight bus ride. Then, to get back, we had to cross the river in a handmade wooden boat that carries vehicles and people across through a pulley system. (Quite literally I was out upon the waters, praying the barge wouldn’t fail with a massive van, motorcycle, and us on it.)

But once we are there, it’s always worth it. His church friends have embraced me as their own. His mom delights in serving us the most wonderful home-cooked Caribbean food. We walk fifteen minutes from his house in our chanclas to the coast, and we are often greeted with the most stunning, fuchsia-infused sunsets spread across the entire horizon, throwing vivid oranges and pinks onto the waters below.

Normally, the vastness of the ocean and the mystery of its depths feel frightening to me. But on one of these occasions, as we stood hand-in-hand gazing at the sky, I was struck with a thought: the unknown can be beautiful. The vast mystery ahead of me was breathtaking, stunning in its splendor.

I realized that was my life, our marriage. God had called me into a great unknown where my feet could easily fail, but in His mercy, it was far more beautiful than I ever could have imagined. And as the song says, His grace abounds in deepest waters, and His sovereign hand will be my guide — every step of the way.

David and I have our differences. There are things we work through that other couples don’t. Sometimes it’s frustrating. Sometimes there are tears. Overabundant communication is a must. We’ve already faced challenges, and I’m sure there will be many more.

But his infectious exuberance, his perceptive wisdom, his unwavering support of my dreams, the energetic dancing he sweeps me up in, his huge smile, his kind eyes, his soft heart, make it all so very worth it. Despite our drastic disparities in upbringing, ethnicity, and culture, I have always felt known, seen, and safe with him. In fact, I feel that our similarities far outweigh our differences. Because above all, our primary culture is one we do indeed share — our faith.

I work in university ministry in Colombia, and when students find out I’m a gringa married to a costeño, their curiosity has no bounds, paving a path for me to share about the covenantal love of Christ towards His church. Hearts open to me in ways they never would have if I weren’t married to someone from their culture. And if or when we do move to my hometown, I pray our relationship will be a quiet statement of hope for racial unity amidst so much division.

My message is this: The unknown can be scary, and you do need to carefully consider the risks of walking out upon the waters. But don’t let that prevent you from seeing how breathtakingly beautiful it is.

His sovereign hand will be your guide.

~~~~~~~~

Hannah Blankenship Herrera is a university ministry worker and freelance journalist living in Medellín, Colombia with her husband, David. She is a regular contributor to Christianity Today where she covers immigration and Latin America. Her most recent article for The Dispatch focused on cross-cultural couples separated by the U.S. travel ban. For more of her writing, follow her on Instagram @hannahherrera or X @HannahReneeB.

 

The Price of Integration

by Stacy Eubanks

A few days ago, I stood in the middle of my pineapple patch just above the equator, tears of grief streaming down my cheeks as I gazed over the wall of our compound and reflected on the last few years. The grief was over my impending departure from a land and people I have grown to love.

When I arrived in Cameroon, full of hope and eager anticipation to get started on the mission to which God had called me, I had no idea the journey on which my Lord was taking me. The first six months were rough. For eight weeks I did not have a car and had to rely on teammates for every single outing. It was then that this independent woman began to learn dependence.

Next came culture shock in its various forms, the most difficult of which was realizing that I am “without honor” as a mature single woman in a culture where honor comes to women solely through marriage. A search for significance ensued, but I was not competent in ways valued here, and my areas of competence seemed null and void.

Then came the heart-shaking reality that the national church was not interested in the primary ministry in which I was sent to engage. Perhaps I had missed God? But He had given too many confirmations to conclude that. It was suggested to me that I consider requesting a transfer to another country where I could be more useful. I thought about it. Cameroon had been the last country on my list, and I only reluctantly agreed to come after some encouragement to trust God in this placement.

I decided to stay, to set down roots, and to bloom where I had been planted. It was then that God gave me the strategy for my first missionary term, the strategy that He would use to open hearts, melt barriers, and grant me favor that would eventually turn into honor despite my marital status. “Be with them,” He said. I understood that to mean that I should “be with” them in every way possible. And so it began.

Three Januarys ago I started going to 6 a.m. prayer service at the church I had only recently decided to regularly attend. I left at 5:15 every single day for three weeks, driving into town and quietly listening to exhortations from pastors and elders who were leading prayer each day. That caught the attention of the senior pastor, who pulled me aside one day to remark about it.

Prayer is a high priority for African Christians, and let’s just say that American Christians aren’t known there for our prayer prowess. I simply told him that I wanted to be with the church and with Cameroonians, in prayer and in everything. “On est ensemble,” he said. “We are together.” It was not the first time, nor certainly the last, that I would hear that phrase, and I was yet to discover the deep meaning it carries.

Being with people means doing life with them. It means traveling together when, where, and how they travel. It means riding in cramped public buses and cars with my luggage on my lap for ministry trips, learning to negotiate taxi fares from throngs of competing passengers shouting on busy city streets, and even riding motos to places cars cannot access.

It means eating what they eat, sleeping where they sleep, and speaking at 3 a.m. in all-night prayer meetings. It means learning how and what they celebrate, learning and using their languages, and wearing their clothes. It means attending birthday parties, weddings, and funerals, dancing with them and mourning with them.

“Being with” means not being in a hurry but willing to sit outside and crush leaves and palm nuts or wash dishes in the sun while repairing cultural misunderstandings or talking through life’s challenges. All these things say, “I am with you, on est ensemble.”

Being with people in these ways opens their hearts to you. They see that you want so much to know them that you are willing to become like them. It’s unusual and curious to them, and it makes them want to know you, to know why you are driven to integrate in this way. Paul said, “I have become all things to all people, that by all means I might save some. I do it all for the sake of the gospel, that I may share with them in its blessings” (1 Corinthians 9:22-23).

There is a price to pay for integration, though, and you must count the cost. It can alienate you from your colleagues who may not do it to the same degree or in the same ways. It can result in nationals making unhelpful comparisons, and you must guard your heart and become deaf to these. Integration opens doors to places you may not be prepared to enter where cultural traditions and rites intermingle with Christian practices in a cauldron of syncretism that can challenge your interpretation of Scripture and send you back to your Bible to sort it all out.

Integration also means that your life becomes closely connected with their lives, and your heart with theirs. It means you love and are loved, and that these people become your people. It means that the way you perceive and think changes; it becomes less like your birth culture and more like your host culture.

It means that when it is time to go “home,” you feel instead like you are being ripped from your home and community. You realize that it might mean you don’t fit anymore in the place you came from. It means that a few days before you depart you could find yourself standing in your pineapple patch, shoulders heaving, tears streaming because you are leaving home to go . . . home?

You know, as you gaze over the wall and observe your neighbors carrying water in large buckets on their heads from oldest to youngest, that nothing is the same where you are going. You know that the people you left behind years ago will have gone on with their lives, as you have also had to do.

The climate, food, sounds, smells, driving, clothes, customs, and rhythms of life will be different there, and you will have to learn to reintegrate without losing what you have gained on this side of the ocean. The truth is that people are lost in darkness on both sides of the ocean, and that means you will need to again become like those you are going to, in order to save some.

This is the price of integration.

~~~~~~~

Stacy has lived in Spain, Peru, France, and now lives and serves in Cameroon, Africa. She works in the areas of theological education, compassion evangelism, women’s ministries, and discipleship.

Crossing Cultures for Love

by Ruth Potinu

“Where you go I will go,” our pastor read on our wedding day. “Where you stay, I will stay. Your people will be my people, and your God my God.”

I hadn’t yet been to my husband’s homeland. We’d met while both doing cross-cultural work outside of our passport countries. I was excited to meet his family and start the work that we felt God calling us to. Once my visa came through, two months after our wedding, we left for a two-year commitment that has since turned into living in my husband’s home country for the last eleven years.

The honeymoon stage got me through language learning, adjusting to cultural differences, and being the only expat living in his village. It can be isolating at times, and yet I am so grateful for my husband’s family who are now my family. The gift of being accepted and protected through marriage is something I don’t take for granted, especially in a country that is not my own. We ended up settling in the capital city, and my husband’s church accepted and welcomed me there as well, becoming family away from family.

As an MK who never knows how to answer the question, “Where are you from?” I love that my kids can say that they are from the country where we serve. They have cousins and a grandmother here. I love that my husband’s village has now become my village, and while that can come with its own pressures and expectations at times, it also comes with so much support and a safety net that allows me to live in this beautiful, but often complicated country.

But while cross-cultural marriage comes with so many blessings, it can also hold heaviness. There was a moment when covid-19 was ravishing the globe that travel restrictions became so intense that I wondered if we would ever be able to travel again, as a family, to my home country.

I watched many cross-cultural workers boarding planes arranged by the US government to get them out of a country known for a having a weak medical infrastructure. For me, getting on one of those planes wasn’t really an option as it would mean leaving my husband behind. In fact, even our scheduled furlough didn’t happen that year when the airline contacted us to say the flight we had already booked would now not be happening.

I cried ugly tears one day as restriction after restriction made it harder and harder for non-citizens to enter the US. Would normal travel ever open up again? Was I really ready to give up the opportunity to see my biological family? That felt like too big of an ask.

I love the work that we are able to be a part of. I love my family in country, but I also love my family who live oceans away. Jesus words in Luke 14:26 suddenly held so much more weight: “If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even their own life—such a person cannot by my disciple.”

It’s easy to say you’re willing to give up your family in theory, but a much different feeling to actually come to a place when you might actually have to live that out. “Help, me. I don’t think I am strong enough” was and often is my silent prayer.

Eventually doors for normal travel did open again. Relief comes, and you savor every minute that you can with those who live far way. There is sacrifice as grandparents on one side of the planet get to spend quality time in person with their grandchildren while those on a different side of the globe do not get that as often. Missed milestones like baptisms, school programs, and birthdays hold such a mix of joy and hard. I’m thankful for technology, but only so much can be experienced through a screen.

Covid is in the rearview mirror now, but just last month our host country was added to a list requiring high bond fees for non-citizens to travel to the US on a visitor visa. I already heard of one friend in a cross-cultural marriage whose visa application was denied after this new requirement, and their planned furlough is now in jeopardy. Constantly changing visa rules and restrictions have a way of adding stress to so many cross-cultural marriages.

And yet, here we are thankful for the love we have that reached across borders. I am thankful for a love that gives our children identity in some areas even though it can give confusion in other areas. We have a love that comes from opposites attracting, and now we must daily figure out how to live a life together. I’m thankful, and it tests me. I’m grateful, and it’s hard. I love getting to live such a culturally rich life, and I pray often for God to give me the strength to live it well in spite of the heaviness that it can hold.

~~~~~~~

Ruth Potinu works alongside her husband in his homeland of Papua New Guinea. There they seek to minister to the vulnerable, especially widows and their children. She is the author of Permission to Mourn: Engaging with Culture, Story and Scripture in a Quest for Healing with Hope. Ruth loves watching her four kids grow up, connecting with friends (preferably over a good cup of chai), and writing whenever she can carve out the time.

 

Navigating Cross-cultural Marriage

by Shiyani Refuge

When my husband Ben and I got married in 2009, we thought we had a pretty good understanding of each other. We had met in Sri Lanka, attended the same church, shared similar values, and deeply loved God. What we didn’t fully realise at the time was that we were also bringing two very different cultural worlds into our marriage.

I was born and raised in Sri Lanka. Ben, though originally from the UK, grew up in India as a third culture kid. Between us, we carried layers of cultural influence—ways of communicating, expectations about family, unspoken assumptions about gender roles, conflict, time, and even what it meant to express affection.

For the first year of our marriage, we moved to the Middle East, and shortly after, we settled in the UK, where we have spent most of our married life and had our two children. Recently, we made another big transition—moving back to Sri Lanka as a family. Each of these moves brought new cultural adjustments, not just externally, but within our marriage.

And if we’re honest, some of our biggest challenges weren’t about where we lived geographically but about how well we understood each other.

Every marriage has differences. But in a cross-cultural marriage, those differences can be starker because they are buried under layers of deep-rooted cultural values that shape how we think, how we feel, and how we respond.

For example, early in our marriage, Ben felt hurt when I addressed issues about him extremely directly! To me, this was normal—honest, concise communication which, within a typical Sri Lankan family context, is very common. To Ben, it felt abrupt and insensitive.

On the other hand, Ben’s tendency to avoid confrontation (beating around the bush in a typical British kind of way!) left me feeling like he wasn’t making an effort, and I felt disconnected. That’s one of the first lessons we’ve learned: many conflicts in cross-cultural marriages are not about being right or wrong—but about needing a deeper understanding of each other.

Going Back to the Origin

One of the most grounding truths we’ve learnt to hold onto is this: Marriage is God’s idea.

Before we try to fix or correct the “differences” in each other, we have to understand the original purpose of marriage itself. It’s not just about compatibility or happiness—it’s a covenant where two become one. Not by erasing differences, but by learning to honour and love each other through them. In cross-cultural marriages, this becomes even more important as we are constantly navigating differences—not just internally, but often externally through extended family, community expectations, and social norms.

Having a shared foundation of God’s view of marriage gives us both something steady to return to when everything else feels uncertain or chaotic.

A turning point in our marriage came when we learned the value of vulnerability within our marriage — not just emotionally, but culturally. Instead of assuming, we started asking questions when differences in perspectives came to the surface. Simple questions like “Why is this important to you?” or “What feels uncomfortable about this for you?”

These conversations weren’t always easy, but it is amazing how taking the time to ask and listen to simple questions can reveal hidden layers of misalignment in each of us and instead of these becoming points of conflict, they are transformed into closer connection. Vulnerability creates safety. And safety allows both partners to bring their full identity into the marriage—culture included.

No Culture is Perfect

Here’s something else we have discovered together in our cross-cultural marriage.  Not everything we inherited from our cultures was healthy for us! Some of our reactions were shaped by past experiences, family dynamics, or cultural norms, and to be honest, until these caused an issue for us or for a person we love, we wouldn’t bother addressing them.

But we both have seen how our own cultural baggage can harm our relationship. There were (and still are) moments when small issues can trigger bigger emotional responses. The habit we have both had to be intentional about when these occur is to pause and ask, “where is this really coming from?”, because cross-cultural marriage has a way of exposing these hidden layers. Instead of ignoring them, we must take ownership. That means acknowledging wounds, unlearning certain patterns, and choosing a better way forward—together. None of us need to stay a victim of our past experiences or negative aspects of our own cultures.

If there’s one skill that has been a helpful tool for our marriage, it’s learning to communicate our needs clearly—and kindly.

In some cultures, needs are expressed openly. In others, they are implied or expected to be understood without words. When those two styles collide, it can lead to disappointment, resentment and disconnection. It sounds simple, but clear (and kind) communication of our needs takes practice—especially when it feels unnatural, but the result is a strengthened bond between us.

Like all other couples, there have been seasons in our marriage where we felt like we were just getting through—navigating differences, adjusting to new environments, managing family life. But coming back to that original purpose of marriage, it was never meant to just be “endured”, it is meant for enjoyment and to thrive.

When we hit these dry spots in our marriage, we remind ourselves to laugh at our cultural misunderstandings instead of fight about them. We intentionally create new traditions that reflect both our backgrounds rather than only choosing one cultural perspective over another, and we choose connection even when it requires extra effort. Joy in marriage doesn’t happen by accident; it’s something we must intentionally build into our relationships.

Even now, after seventeen years of marriage, new situations reveal new differences. Moving back to Sri Lanka has been a fresh experience of navigating identity—as individuals, as a couple, and as a family. But we now view our cross-cultural marriage as a gift instead of a disadvantage. Yes, it requires more intentionality. Yes, it can be challenging. But it also offers a richness, depth, and perspective that can shape a marriage in beautiful ways.

We recently launched our Cross-Cultural marriage course, Two Cultures One Heart, which aims to strengthen marriages and aim for joy. You can find out more information at www.fieldpartner.org and use the voucher code LIFEOVERSEAS to get 25% off the course fee!

Anyone signed up to the course is also welcome to join our online group cohort where you will have a chance to meet other cross-cultural couples as we go through the course together, running weekly with Shiyani and me from 15th May for 5 weeks. Contact us at ask@fieldpartner.org for more details.

Because two cultures don’t have to compete in a marriage. They can come together to create something entirely unique and beautiful.

~~~~~~~~

Shiyani Refuge is from Sri Lanka, where her family has a long ministry history. Her husband, Ben Gilbert, grew up as a missionary kid in India and later moved to Sri Lanka, where he met Shiyani. They have been married for seventeen years and have two young children. Ben is currently the Head of Training for FieldPartner International, with Shiyani heading up the marketing department. They are passionate about helping cross-cultural marriages to thrive.

The Life Cycle of a Home Assignment

by Rachel Hughes

Deputation, home assignment, furlough, visiting your passport country—whatever you call it—these trips are fraught with extremes of stress, joy, disappointment, encouragement, and all associated feelings. It’s a phenomenon unique to the missionary life cycle that significantly impacts our life journey.

During our almost fourteen years of missionary life, our family has completed six “home assignments,” and I’ve recognised some common stages, each with pitfalls and joys. Whether your experiences are similar or not, if you have mixed feelings about travelling to your passport country and engaging with supporters there, know that you’re not alone!

Looming in the Distant Future

The first stage is characterised by emotional discussions while searching for dates that suit each family member, our ministry partners here and there, our mission organisation, and our extended family over there. But the perfect time does not exist!

We face impossible decisions like dates that suit supporting churches but leave our kids missing out on major life milestones or that meet the needs of ministry on location but miss major extended-family events. Whatever we decide, it’s never ideal, and someone is disappointed.

The Now-But-Not-Yet Fog

In everyday life here in Japan we’re usually running at capacity, but as the time comes closer, details for there need to be planned. Deputation schedules, conferences, meetings, living arrangements, medical appointments, family events, school enrolments, car loans, and the list goes on.

For example, here I’m taking the kids to soccer, chatting with other mums, but the back of my mind whirrs away: How to keep fit over there? Can a soccer ball go in checked luggage? Can we borrow bikes? Would bikes fit in the car? What car? Oh, I have to text that person about that car. Oh no! Did I just agree to cook church lunch here this Sunday? Oh dear! Focus, here, now!

It’s hard to focus when half your brain is fixating on problems of another time and place. This stage is exhausting!

The Work-Not-Pleasure Planning Stage

Another difficulty in the detailed planning stage is the endless potential for disappointing the extended family. The fact that we’re coming for work can be hard to explain.

If we arrange to stay with one family member while in town visiting a supporting church, we have to apologise because—after scheduling all the home groups, youth groups, and other events—we have time for just one dinner with them. So, they’re upset we’re coming to stay but “they’ll hardly see us.” Meanwhile, other family members assume we’ll spend all that time with the other family and feel overlooked.

Weeks before we’ve even set foot in the country, we’ve already managed to offend a significant number of our extended family!

The Day

The travel day finally arrives. We survive the horrors of getting to the airport, get our luggage underweight (doing the last-minute shuffle between bags), survive security (losing a child’s beloved water bottle that somehow, after all our checking, still had water in it!), navigate immigration, (finding working, non-sticky pens for endless forms while a clinging child whines that they’re thirsty), get to our gate, then finally sit on the plane and catch our breath.

Then there’s transfers. More luggage to cart, more overtired, stressed-out kids to urge quickly through airports, more paperwork, more lines, more security—me spread-eagled in the machine, my husband in his socks, hitching up his trousers (the clingy child attached to his leg), repacking bags while searching for shoes and belt.

Eventually, we walk out into the bright light of our destination. The air smells familiar. The birds sound natsukashii. A car stops at the pedestrian crossing, and we bow instinctively, blush, and hurry across. We have arrived.

The Supermarket Readjustment (and other reverse culture shocks)

Very soon, we visit the shops for everyday items. There’s always some new shock, often what people are wearing (or not!). I remember thinking, “Oh, I can see that man’s feet!” and quickly averting my eyes, only to see another man in flip-flops, then realising with horror that the entire shop was filled with men’s hairy feet! Another time my son stopped, mid-aisle, threw his arms out wide towards an entire shelf of ketchup and tomato sauces and loudly exclaimed, “Tomato sauce! What would you like?! Red, red, or red!”

I’m often unable to make decisions and come out with a strange variety of items, mostly not what’s needed. I’m shocked by prices, bamboozled by variety, and invariably come away with fresh cinnamon donuts.

Getting Down to Business

By this stage, we have remembered how to function, are basically set up, and can start visiting the mission’s home office, supporting churches, and groups. We travel widely, but perhaps even if you stay in one place, you might also experience some of these common events of regular home assignment weeks.

“Tuesday night meltdowns” where family members take turns (hopefully) deciding they’ve had enough. The “When can we go home?” misunderstanding where a child asks to go home, we answer “Soon,” but they break down crying, “No, not that home, home-home,” and we have to explain it will be a few months yet. This last one is exacerbated when it takes place at your mother’s house, and Grandma realises her grandchild doesn’t think of this country as home.

Then there’s the argument-in-the-car-on-the-way-to-church combined with entering-the-church-to-be-confronted-with-a-larger-than-life-sized-poster-of-yourselves. For us, this argument often starts in the car with a child refusing to go to Sunday school, turns into a fight with one parent (despite our best efforts to be patient), who is then criticised by the other parent questioning whether that was the wisest thing to say under the circumstances, at which point the second child defends the first parent, the first child cries, and the parents fume while pulling into the car park.

We all get out of the car, promise whatever bribes will get our kids to cooperate and keep us sane for the next two hours, plaster on our best smiles and enter the lobby to be confronted with a picture-perfect poster of ourselves on the wall. Oh, the irony!

Another occurrence is the “sudden memory dysfunction.” After a few weeks of taking our show on the road, I experience a heart-pounding moment in the middle of a talk where I can’t remember if I’ve said the next point today or if that was at the other church last week. I panic, mouth open, hesitate, take a breath, then from the front row, my son’s little voice pipes up, reciting the next line.

But then I’m reminded of the joys of being on the road as a family. Our regular schedule in Japan has us all off in different directions, but for home assignment time, we get to be together. And my husband and I do enjoy working as a team, formulating presentations and considering how to communicate the nuances of ministry in Japan to an Australian audience. We make some awesome family memories.

The “How’s Your Host Country?” Degeneration

In after-church conversations, we hope for scintillating exchanges with supporters, comparing analyses of Australian and Japanese cultures and sharing strategies for gospel ministry that best meets society’s felt needs. But often we find ourselves talking to visitors or being shown photos of someone’s ski trip to Hokkaido or hearing about the stress of renovating a second bathroom and laundry room (clearly, the irony that no one in Japan has a second bathroom or a laundry room is lost!). Eventually, we descend into that classic conversation:

“How’s Japan?”

“It’s good.”

But then there’s always a couple of people who are clued in. “I don’t want to take too much of your time, but just wanted to ask, how is that little girl and her mum going? The ones from your music class who came to the church event last summer. I’ve been praying for them and would love to hear if you’ve seen them again?”

Or “How are you going with that university campus group that was down to just one member? I’ve been praying you’ll find more Christians on campus.” And we realise that though we’ve never met in person, they’ve been reading our newsletters and praying more faithfully for little Miki-chan and the campus ministry than we have! And this person thinks what we’re doing is valuable and important for God’s kingdom.

Our hearts are filled. We’re reminded to pray for Miki-chan, her mum, and that lone Christian on campus. We look forward to catching up with them all when we go back. We are encouraged!

The Finance Frazzle

Something I find very confusing and unpredictable about this stage is finance. Firstly, seeking financial support can be erratic. Some churches give massive amounts with very little prompting, while other churches give less than what it costs us to visit them.

Secondly, our personal finances are stretched. People often want to meet at a café, and prices add up. But without our own home, we can’t invite people over, and with no fridge to store leftovers, even our daily food budget becomes expensive. Then randomly, (often older) folk press money into my hand as they shake goodbye, saying, “This is just a little something for you to enjoy.” Such generosity fills my heart.

Travelling can leave us financially vulnerable. But it also gives us opportunity to experience the generosity of God’s family. Cars to borrow, houses to house-sit, offers of babysitting, dinner vouchers, a trip to the zoo, a youth group outing paid for. Over the years, we’ve received incredibly thoughtful gifts that remind us of God’s generosity through his people.

The Friendship Confusion

In between all the official visits, we’re helping our kids to continue with schooling, to maintain relationships with old friends they hope to return to, and to navigate new friendships which they know they’ll leave (so may not want to invest in, but feel really left out when they’re not included like not being invited to a birthday party). It’s a lot for young hearts to handle.

And it’s not only kids who struggle with friendships. I’m often grieved that some who were very close friends before we left have moved on and seem to have forgotten that we were close. But with a few good friends, we pick up where we left off as if no time has passed. And then there is the joy of new friends who show genuine care and interest.

The End-blur Stage

The last few weeks are often a blur of last-minute coffee catch-ups, tying up medical things, office meetings to plan our next few years, a few years’ worth of underwear and shoe shopping, and trying to get to the beach one last time. Then there is the packing, weighing, reorganising of paperwork, and plans to get to the airport.

After a restless night, filled with dreams of lugging kids and suitcases through unending corridors of unknown airports, we have another one of those airport-days. Finally, we walk out of the airport at the other end and breathe that familiar smell of “home.” Ah, the joy of sleeping in our own bed! We are exhausted! In the next few days, we gradually return to our usual schedule and greetings of “How was your holiday?”

I find the whole experience overwhelming—socially, emotionally, spiritually, even physically. The pitfalls, disappointments, grief, and stress all take a toll. But it’s wonderful to meet people who partner with us, who encourage us and share our kingdom goals.

It’s reassuring that our family want to spend time with us because they love us. It’s refreshing to go to church in my heart language, to hear Biblical preaching, and sing heartfelt praise in lively churches with thriving kids and youth ministries. It’s exciting to meet young adults with incisive questions considering a life of ministry and valuing our input.

The home assignment is an extremely stressful and demanding element in the cycle of missionary life but also a source of great joy, encouragement, and evidence of God’s blessing on our lives.

 

Originally appeared in the Spring 2025 edition of Japan Harvest Magazine (https://japanharvest.org/). Reprinted with permission.

~~~~~~~~

Rachel Hughes has been serving in Japan with her husband and their two children for fourteen years. She is involved in a variety of ministries, including music and English classes, family outreach events, youth group, prayer events, and various conferences.

Confessions of a Cultural Misfit

by Rachel Allord

I didn’t wake up that morning thinking I’d commit three blunders in rapid succession — Bam! Bam! Bam! — but blunder I did. Once again, I had failed. Failed to fit into my new London surroundings. I was trying, hard, but even so I stuck out like a duck in a pond full of swans.

My family and I had been living in London for several months before I finally got the chance to sink my teeth into something that felt like actual ministry. Not just learning the labyrinth of London’s transportation network, or navigating the NHS, or demystifying the British school system — all endeavors that demanded time, energy, and prayer — but Real Ministry. That morning, I was to meet with two church women to plan an upcoming outreach event.

We had decided to meet at one of the women’s homes. As I stepped out my door wearing black joggers and clutching my stainless-steel tumbler of freshly brewed coffee, I felt a twinge of hope. Maybe we were going to make it. Maybe the chaos that came with moving our family overseas would begin to settle.

Back in those days Citymapper was my best friend, and as I navigated myself to the correct address, I ran into the other woman, also on her way. We exchanged greetings and the obligatory weather quips. Then she said, “Have you come from the gym?”

“No,” I said. Did I look sweaty? I wondered. Out of breath?

“Ah, so you are planning to go to the gym after our meeting.”

“No,” I said again, my confusion morphing into something like defensiveness.

“Oh,” she said. “I just thought . . .” Her gaze flitted to my legs.

I glanced at my joggers. Had I put on my clean, not too tight, not too baggy pair? Yes. Phew.

She smiled. “I normally wear jeans on a Saturday.”

Was there a deeper message behind these words? A hint as to what a woman my age in this particular neighborhood should be wearing? Or was I being paranoid? I shrugged. Produced a smile. “I guess I like to dress comfortably on Saturdays.”

Moments later, our host opened the door and greeted us. “Oh!” she said, surprised but cheerful, focusing on the tumbler in my hands. “You’ve brought your own coffee I see. I would have made you a cuppa, you know!”

Had I insulted her? Communicated that her coffee wasn’t good enough? Was I acting like an overly self-sufficient, rude American when I was only trying to save her the trouble?

We met in the lounge. They with their cups of tea, me with my barrel of coffee, exercise attire, and mounting shame.

An hour or so later as we were wrapping up and gathering our things, I realized I needed a tissue. We were all standing at this point, the two of them still chatting, so I stepped into the next room, the dining room, and swiped one from a clearly visible box on the table.

Conversation halted. I returned to my spot. They regarded me curiously before picking up their conversation. But it was there, a little look between them. A little too much silence. I didn’t want to interrupt! I wanted to shout. How was I supposed to know that as a first-time guest in a near stranger’s house I should have asked?

Strike three. And oh, how ready I was to be out of there.

Fast forward nearly eight years.

Now, both women are friendly acquaintances, and I realize their remarks and responses were genuine reactions to the moment, not intentional barbs. Were they hoping to cue me in to social etiquette and cultural protocol? Perhaps. But wasn’t that a good thing? Didn’t I want to acclimate? Didn’t I need a little instruction, even if it felt like nitpicking?

We’re only human. Having our slip-ups pointed out to us, no matter how minor, hurts, especially if we’re doing our best to hold our turned upside-down world together. We’re as tender as a sunburn those early months, needing heaps of grace from ourselves and others that we sometimes don’t give or get. And underneath all that self-consciousness and cultural confusion the question that emerges is should we change ourselves to fit in?

Giving up joggers and travel mugs is easy enough. But what about changing how we socialize? Serve? Lead? Parent? We’re called to die to ourselves, to ‘become like all in order to save some,’ but is this at the expense of utterly losing who we are? Becoming someone we’re not?

Every context, ministry, and individual is different — not to mention flawed — so there’s no one-size-fits-all perfect answer.  There is, however, perfect Jesus, and we look to him.

Jesus who “made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness” (Philippians 2:8). Jesus who strapped on sandals and stepped into a body that required food and sleep. Jesus who lowered himself to walk our dusty streets, humbling himself all the way to death so we could one day walk His streets of gold. That’s where we cast our gaze.

Yet in this utter humility, Jesus never forgot who He was: one with the Father. Yes, He gave up glory, but never did He waver in what we might call identity. He joined the sinner’s feast but didn’t share the sin. In complete dependence on the Father, He prayed with humility and authority and honesty.

He was meek and mild and compassionate. He picked up the basin and towel. Turned the other cheek. Turned the tables for the sake of his Father’s honour and submitted Himself a thousand times for the sake of a soul beside Him before dying for the world.

Some missionaries face martyrdom. All face little deaths of various kinds. Our rights, our way of doing things, our expectations are, one by one, snuffed out. And maybe even more surprising is the joy we find in the release.

We are not Jesus. We fall wherever it is God has planted us. We don’t have the same glory to give up. We can’t save, but carry His salvation, holding it out, person to person, country to country, wherever we go.

Through Jesus we know who we are, why we are here, and where we are going. Because of Jesus we pray with boldness and humility. He gently prods us to lay down the thing in our grip. Take up the basin and towel. Die to self, little by little, as we wait for glory.

~~~~~~~~

Rachel Allord serves in London, UK, and writes novels for both youth and adults. The Girl and the Green Hat (sequel to The Girl on the Tube) has just released through 10 Publishing. You can peruse all her books at rachelallord.com.

5 Digital Rules for Missionaries

by Naomi Johnston

In a world of increasing busyness and distraction, even in the missional sense, the digital world pulls us into its steady stream of consciousness, asking for as much as we can give, and then some. We are sorely mistaken if we think that as ministry workers we will avoid this. In fact, I find it more common that as we lose control of much of our surroundings and personal choices, we tend to try to take some control back by allowing ourselves freedoms in our personal time.

I personally struggle with my tendency to finish all my jobs, tidy my house to a reasonable standard (sometimes), and then flop onto my couch, phone in hand, for some “well-deserved me-time.” Far be it from me to discredit the comfort that provides. Rather I would like to challenge the lack of conscious thought around this and how we can implement healthy boundaries to perhaps better enjoy both the distraction itself and the life we lead outside of the screen.

I’ve been reading a lot on this in a general sense, and I liked some of the boundaries given by people who are thinking and working in this space constantly on behalf of the church. John Mark Comer has wrestled through this problem himself and seems to have found himself in a better place, if not on the other side of this possible addiction. Strahan constantly calls the wider church to return to contemplative practices regularly in life, sometimes more clearly calling us to leave our screens behind for a time. And there’s an ample supply of writers calling us to spiritual disciplines that ask us to ‘step away’ from normal life to encounter silence, and sometimes perhaps God’s voice.

So here I’ve collected a few of these and applied them to the missional life. I hope it comes as a call, an encouraging hand held out to help you set up some boundary lines around your life, as I continue to attempt this myself.

 

1. Take digital breaks as self-care.

Personally, struggle street for me is what I have fondly nicknamed ‘witching hour’—the hours before sleep when the child has settled down, the jobs and the eating have been done, and what’s left is to relax and settle in for the night. This is usually when the doomscrolling happens, sometimes eating away literal hours of my evening, to my deep shame.

One of the habits that has allowed me to reclaim some of this time is the action of ‘putting my phone to bed.’ I first learned this phrase through Comer and mistook it to mean that the phone goes to bed when I do. But actually in The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry, he writes about the practice of ‘parenting your phone’ which basically means putting your phone to bed before you do and making it sleep in—giving yourself time both in the evening and morning to live without your phone in hand. Insert horrified gasp here. But when this constant action becomes a habit, the spaaaaaace you feel mentally turns it into a self-rewarding habit.

Another digital break I have been regularly applying is the deletion of the doomscroll apps. I do this semi-regularly when I notice my use starting to creep up again. And by creep up again I mean when hours have literally been wasted over a month or so. I’m no saint; I haven’t been able to apply this discipline constantly and liberally, but it does work, and I have just now done it again. The relief is almost as immediate as the regret, but the regret doesn’t last as long.

 

2. Put your family first.

It’s tempting to get into a habit of always having your phone in hand, especially in the family moments. Nothing is more attractive to our newsletter readers and social media followers than a casual picture of the children playing in a foreign playground with tasty cultural differences littered around the scene. And yes, we should do that on occasion.

But what’s more difficult is that once the phone is out, it remains out for longer than we would like. And we get distracted by the notification that just popped up. And someone’s gran just replied to the last picture and all of a sudden you’re sucked back in.

One of the ways around this, I mentioned previously, is to remove the socials from your phone. It will allow you the chance to take the picture, save the memory and then get straight back to the family.

But another way to help is to have ‘Family Focus Hours’ where the screens once again get packed away, and that next hour or hours are spent with your family, paying attention to them and their needs.

Lastly on this note, don’t take everyone with you on holiday. Again, the memories are good to keep, so take the photos and videos, but don’t let the screens and the social media buzz that we get when we share exotic and new locations pull you back into that space while you’re there. Save it for afterwards if you must.

 

3. Consume wholesome content.

Now I know that when the word ‘wholesome’ comes out, we immediately move to thinking that I’m about to warn against unwholesome R16 or R18 movies and content. But I also want to warn against the impact of staying online ingesting miles and miles of newsfeed about what’s going on in the world.

A common note around digital and screen use is that mostly it’s all good, but the amount and the pace of ingestion are not always good. Staying on top of the news and keeping informed, great. Letting it inhabit every waking thought and scroll? Not so great.

The amount of mental and emotional energy I’ve given to the state of the world’s affairs has been a little over the top. I now limit myself to the occasional post by well-regarded journalists that might show up in my email inbox or on my Instagram. But I don’t scroll, and I don’t allow myself to wander down the rabbit hole . . . very often. Of course we will have times we want to follow the scent, but we need to limit when and where.

Our jobs as missionaries and cross-cultural workers rely on our ability to be in hard situations and be able to focus on the good. The news cycle often works in the opposite spirit. Our job is to unify cultures in one way or another; don’t allow yourself to be dragged over to the other side.

 

4. Purpose before play.

Don’t spend your online energy on junk content before you get around to doing your work.

Some of us have the privilege of representing our work to the countries we have been sent from. We have to take what we are experiencing in terms of the work God is doing where we are, and we are privileged to share that with our sending churches and communities.

But sometimes, when it comes time to write and share, our mental capacity for that has been slowly leaking out through the days and weeks in other online interactions, and we have no energy for the supporting communities that have been partnering with us to get us there!

This is yet another reason why ‘parenting your phone’ is a good boundary. Save your screen time for when it matters most. Don’t squander time on entertainment or disengaging. Use it wisely—it’s not a never-ending resource.

 

5. Be where your feet are.

We have given up so much to be where we are. Some of us have given up dreams, homes, family, possessions, relationships, potential relationships, the list could go on.

Why should we now get to where we are and use that time looking back over our shoulder at what was, or looking over someone else’s shoulder at what they have, or the state of the world where they are?

Guys, be where your feet are. Invest in the community you have. Share meals with the people who live next door. Run your child’s daily energy out at the playground and look other parents in the eye.

We have been given such a great gift, and to squander it on digital disengagement is frustratingly normal. Let’s push back on that and continue to strengthen the discipline of being present.

We’re not truly honouring the place we are and learning from the new culture if we’re constantly disengaging and disassociating. Dig your toes in. Plant firmly. Put your phone down.

None of us will do this perfectly. Screens and social media are woven deeply into our work and our lives now. But small boundaries can make a big difference. A few simple habits can slowly return our attention to the people, places, and calling God has placed right in front of us.

~~~~~~~~~~

Naomi Johnston is a photographer, designer, and writer from New Zealand serving in Europe with One Mission Society. Together with her husband and daughter, she is part of a missionary community working across Europe and the Middle East. Through photography and writing, Naomi shares stories from the field and reflects on faith, culture, and life in cross-cultural ministry. She writes regularly at www.thejohnstonjourney.com and can also be found on Facebook and Instagram as @thejohnstonjourney.

Confronting Risk and Managing Fear in the Uncertainty of War

by Anna Hampton

The uncertainty and danger of war, along with the threat of conflict, often trigger deep fear. Armed clashes, devastating strikes, and expanding regional involvement have made fear a daily reality for millions. Seeing weapons in the sky, cities battered by disruptions, and chaos spreading through economies and families stirs strong emotions. Images of smoke, evacuation orders, and increasing volatility activate our natural instinct to protect what we hold dear, reminding us how little we truly control.

Fear, though natural, need not freeze us. History shows that Christ followers in war have found ways to face risks without succumbing to dread. How do we recognize today’s dangers—strategic escalations, humanitarian suffering, financial shocks—while building resilience to handle them? The difference between failure and endurance often depends on how we respond to fear, assess threats, and develop a mindset that allows Christ followers to act wisely during chaos.

Threat Regulation and Neurobiology of Hope

In war, our brains activate alarms. The amygdala floods us with stress and worry, urging us to avoid danger. This survival system works in real emergencies, but when threats feel endless, it can leave us overwhelmed.[1]

While feeling fear is part of being human, it doesn’t have to define us. Hope travels through different brain pathways, especially the prefrontal cortex, which manages planning, motivation, and thinking about the future. Hope encourages us to set goals, find solutions, and believe we can take meaningful steps even during difficult times.

Research shows that people with stronger hope have brain patterns that support action and motivation, including changes in areas linked to turning intentions into concrete steps and focusing on positive possibilities. The prefrontal cortex also helps calm the fear response, making it easier to think and act wisely.[2]

Here’s the encouraging truth: hope is not the opposite of fear — it is its powerful partner. While fear yells, “Danger!” hope quietly says, “You still have a future.” By focusing on small, manageable actions — like daily routines, helping others, or taking one step toward daily responsibilities — we actively train our brains to shift from panic to purpose.[3]

Fear is a natural part of threats, so it’s normal to engage in both fear management and threat analysis. While fear may come easily, hope is something we choose to pursue, especially when chaos and suffering feel overwhelming. Hope requires practice. Often, it’s a moment-by-moment effort to hold onto hope. Choosing to focus our minds on hope in Christ instead of our fear is an act of righteousness. Even amid conflict, Christ followers, with God’s help, can choose courage and take action. Moving forward involves choosing hope—one thought, one prayer, one step at a time.

How to Manage Fear in Uncertainty

A helpful tool for managing fear during war and uncertain times is the NAME acrostic.[4] First, clearly identify and write down your fears, ranking them from least to most intense. Then, ask yourself: if this fear came true, what would be the worst part, and how would it affect you emotionally and physically? Next, reflect on Meaning and Imagination: visualize where God would be in the situation, how He might bring purpose from the pain, and imagine Jesus interceding for you with compassion (Romans 8:34, Hebrews 7:25). Finally, entrust your fears to God through prayer, asking for His help and the courage to take one small, obedient step forward. (Editor’s note: see the Resources section for guided articles, videos, and worksheets of the NAME acrostic tool.)

This process of focused attention does several things at once: it strengthens the hope neuro pathway, weakens the anxiety (fear) neuro pathway, nurtures a secure attachment to God, and builds courage by shifting focus from threat to trust. By practicing this process for 10-12 seconds at a time, neuron by neuron, we can change our brain. In difficult times, naming and trusting fear prevents it from paralyzing us, enabling clearer thinking and hopeful action.

Moral Decision-Making During Uncertainty and the Threat of Death

When war brings deep uncertainty and the shadow of death, ethical choices can feel paralyzing. How do we make wise decisions when information is limited and fear is high? There are two key skills that help with this: first, threat assessment; and second, ethical decision-making that incorporates three decision-making aspects. These skills should not be used solely by the security specialist on the team. All team members will benefit from becoming better equipped in this area.

In Leadership and Ethical Responsibility: The Three Aspects of Every Decision, Thomas Schirrmacher demonstrates that the Bible never pits the three aspects of ethical decisions against each other. Mature Christian ethics consistently integrate them: the normative (God’s clear commandments), the situational (practical wisdom), and the existential (heart and conscience).

The normative aspect grounds us in unchanging biblical values—love for God and neighbor, the sanctity of life, and truth and justice. Even during a crisis, we ask, “What does Scripture require?” The situational aspect calls for wisdom: evaluating the real context, limited options, consequences, and seeking counsel—without needing perfect foresight or abandoning God’s standards. The existential aspect touches the heart—internalizing decisions before God with a clear conscience, genuine trust, and love.

Facing death requires genuine surrender: a willingness to entrust our lives to God, refusing to act solely out of panic or self-preservation. Ignoring any part of ethics results in unbalanced decisions. Combining all three aspects brings clarity, courage, and confidence. In times of uncertainty, this balance allows us to act with integrity, compassion, and hope—trusting the outcome to the One who holds our lives.

Who Is My Enemy? Nationalism, Syncretism, and Christian Hospitality

In wartime, uncertainty often heightens the question: “Who is my enemy?” Governments, media, and national loyalties quickly provide the answer—yet as followers of Christ, we must evaluate every answer against Scripture rather than simply accept the state’s definition.

Normatively, the Bible clearly states: “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:44). The command to love God and neighbor (Matthew 22:37-39) extends beyond national borders. Treating another nation as an enemy simply because our government labels them as such is not biblical ethics; it is syncretism—merging Christianity with nationalism until the flag and the cross become indistinguishable. This distorts the gospel, which proclaims in Christ “there is neither Jew nor Gentile, slave nor free, male nor female” (Galatians 3:28).

Situationally, wisdom evaluates threats without exaggeration or demonization. Evil exists, and governments bear the sword (Romans 13:4). But wisdom recognizes when fear inflates “the enemy” to justify hatred. History shows Christians have baptized wars as holy, only to later repent for endorsing hate.

Existentially, the heart and conscience must be shaped by the cross. Jesus welcomed the Samaritan, the Roman centurion, and Judas. Hospitality—welcoming strangers, feeding the hungry, sheltering the displaced—is not optional in hostile times (Hebrews 13:2; Matthew 25:35-40). It is obedience. When fear whispers that the “other side” is irredeemable, we respond with Christ’s mindset: our true enemy is not flesh and blood, but the powers of darkness (Ephesians 6:12). Every person remains an image-bearer loved by the same Savior. In the fog of war, this truth frees us from hatred and calls us to courageous hospitality. Fear labels enemies; Christ names neighbors. We choose His voice.

War and Trauma

Trauma reveals knowledge we were not meant to carry, but how we handle war trauma shapes not only our healing but also what we pass on to future generations.[5] The challenge is to see trauma as the opposite of God’s beauty and choose how we process it instead of being overwhelmed by it.

Modern ethics and mental health often reverse the order of the transcendentals (Truth, Goodness, Beauty). Western thought emphasizes truth (facts, rationality) first, then goodness (rules), while downplaying beauty. This reversal disadvantages trauma victims.

Appeals to “the war is over” (truth) or “you should act this way now” (goodness) rarely reach the traumatized. Author Timothy Patitsas considers trauma to be more than just psychological damage—it is a profound anti-theophany, an overwhelming confrontation with ugliness that resembles a false revelation.[6]

It reveals a “truth” that the world is malevolent or indifferent, that God is unloving, and that fellow humans are enemies. This shatters communion (with self, others, and God), unravels character, and embeds a heretical lie deep in the heart that cannot simply be reasoned or moralized away. Victims often remain in a kind of communion with this false knowledge.

Trauma disrupts the integrating, life-giving power of liturgy and genuine beauty. Healing through a “beauty-first” approach requires restoring a focus on beauty, grounded in orthodox spirituality. True Beauty—ultimately Christ and His incarnate, cruciform love—serves as a true reflection of the divine. It reorients the soul by presenting a powerful new view of reality that challenges the ugly “revelation” of trauma. Trauma victims need to fall in love with Beauty before they can be guided back toward righteous moral direction. Beauty unites the fractured self, restores communion, and makes truth and goodness livable again.

Trauma recovery is connected to overall soul-healing. Only by recognizing and emulating true Beauty (which leads to Goodness and Truth) can the soul’s deepest scars from ugliness be healed, and the lies of a godless, hostile world be unraveled.

God’s Spirit Over Chaos

The chaos of Genesis 1 still threatens Earth. But God’s Spirit remains, like a mother hovering over her young. Christ is here. Our Father is not caught off guard by your circumstances as you read this. My heart reaches out to you, whatever you’re facing, as your sister in Christ, to encourage you to stay alert, stand firm, and trust that His hand is on your shoulder, and He will faithfully provide all you need in the real and present danger you or your loved ones face. —Anna

Additional Resources

Fear Management for Adults from Anna Hampton:
Fear Management for Adults Article
Fear Management Video
N.A.M.E. Tool for Adults

Fear Management for Teens from Anna Hampton:
Fear Management for Teens Article
Dealing with Fear Video
Fear worksheet (used in video)

Fear Management for Children from Anna Hampton:
Fear Management Children 5-12 Article
Fear Management for Kids 5-12 Facilitator Guide
Facing Fears Worksheet for Children

Risk Tolerance Inventory from Anna Hampton (available in multiple languages)

Articles from Scott Brawner:
The Watchman’s Brief
Thresholds for Departure and Benchmarks for Return
Individual Stay-Go Assessment

Notes
[1] Marek et al., 2013, https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC3678031/.
[2] Delgado et al., 2008, https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC3061554/.
[3] Sharot et al., 2012, https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC3424419/.
[4] Hampton, Anna. Facing Fear. 2023. William Carey Publishing.
[5] Levinson, Leila. Gated Grief. 2011. Cable Publishing.
[6] Patitsas, Timothy. Ethics of Beauty. 2019. St. Nicholas Press.

~~~~~~~~~~

Anna Hampton is a global risk consultant and specialist in a theology of risk. She has over thirty years of ministry experience, raised her family in Afghanistan and Turkey, and serves with Barnabas International, providing pastoral support to Christ followers working in dangerous areas. This article is based on her books, Facing Danger: A Guide Through Risk, 2nd ed. (William Carey Publications, 2024) and Facing Fear: The Journey to Mature Courage in Risk and Persecution (William Carey Publications, 2023). She is currently writing Facing Persecution: The Spirituality and Ethics of Loving Your Enemy. Hampton holds a doctorate in religious studies from Trinity Theological Seminary (Newburgh). She can be contacted at TheologyofRisk.com, on Instagram as @Theology.of.Risk, and via email at anna.hampton@barnabas.org.

Mine Is the Power?

by Valerie Limmer

It recently struck me just how sobering the passage about Caiaphas in John 11:47-53 is:

Therefore the chief priests and the Pharisees convened a council, and were saying, “What are we doing? For this man is performing many signs. If we let Him go on like this, all men will believe in Him, and the Romans will come and take away both our place and our nation.”

But one of them, Caiaphas, who was high priest that year, said to them, “You know nothing at all, nor do you take into account that it is expedient for you that one man die for the people, and that the whole nation not perish.” 

Now he did not say this on his own initiative, but being high priest that year, he prophesied that Jesus was going to die for the nation, and not for the nation only, but in order that He might also gather together into one the children of God who are scattered abroad. So from that day on they planned together to kill Him. (NASB)

The Bible makes it clear that Caiaphas utters this prophecy because he is currently the high priest. But is it just a prophecy? Before that, the Pharisees on the council had expressed distress and fear at the possible repercussions of Jesus’ actions on the mindset of the Romans towards the Jewish nation.

At other times, Jesus had said, “Why do you seek to kill me?” (John 7:21), and the Jews had picked up stones to execute Him (John 8:59), so we know murder had been in their hearts previously. 

But in this meeting? All that’s recorded to this point is fear and an acknowledgement that what they’ve been doing up to this point hasn’t been working. It’s Caiaphas who, through his prophecy, takes the lid off of Pandora’s box, who rings a bell that cannot be unrung, for “from that day on they planned together to kill him” (John 11:53).

Caiaphas, as high priest that year, not only prophecies. He instigates. Perhaps he was always going to instigate, but God tweaked his words to also make them prophetic—I don’t know. But this seems to be another Pharaoh moment: God giving an unrighteous man over to his unrighteousness. 

How sobering to realise that there are no guarantees of godliness even when we’re in the midst of prophesying God’s words. How sobering to read Caiaphas’s words—so reminiscent of Pharaoh’s hundreds of years before: “Behold, the people of the sons of Israel are more and mightier than we. Come, let us deal wisely with them, or else they will . . . fight against us and depart from the land” (Exodus 1:9-10).

These men—Pharoah and Caiaphas—were both concerned with maintaining the status quo and retaining their own power. They felt threatened by people they labelled as “other” and acted to subjugate and destroy them.

How vital it is to recognise that power never truly belongs to us! How vital it is to embrace the heart of Jonathan, who recognised God’s plan for his friend, David, and literally disarmed himself, throwing his inherited mantle of authority on his friend (see 1 Sam. 18:1-4).

How important it is for us to embrace John the Baptist’s declaration for ourselves—“He must increase, but I must decrease” (John 3:2)—and be crucified with Christ, emptying and humbling ourselves that we may be filled with the fullness of the glory of God to proclaim the hope of salvation and adoption as children of God to all who believe in His name.

A life of joy cannot be found in clutching after former treasures. It can only be achieved through gratitude now, and hope at our current and future inheritance in Christ. But we do not inherit at the expense of others—only at the expense of Christ. Dare we say that Christ’s suffering was not enough by causing others to suffer?

Originally published here; reprinted for Holy Week with permission.

~~~~~~~~

Valerie Limmer lives in Okinawa, Japan, where she’s served as a missionary with her husband since 2011, partnering with the local church to focus on outreach and discipleship. Their Japanese pastor calls them “bridge makers”—facilitating relationships with the community.  Valerie is the author of Captive Set Free: How to Find Freedom Through Forgiving, and On the Potter’s Wheel. To learn more about her missionary work or to read more of her articles, visit peterandvalerie.com.