Guest Contributors – Page 21 – A Life Overseas |

Outlawed Grief, a Curse Disguised

Living abroad is an amazing adventure, but it comes with some baggage. And sometimes, the baggage fees are hidden, catching you by surprise, costing more than you planned. You thought you had it all weighed out, you could handle this, squeeze right under the limit.

But then it got heavy. Your new friends moved away, or your child’s new friend moved away. Far away. Like other continents away. And your kid’s broken heart breaks yours.

Someone died and you didn’t get to say that last, fully present, goodbye. Family members celebrate a birthday, or the whole family celebrates a holiday, and you’re not there because the Pacific’s really big, and you’re on the wrong side of it.

Or your child can’t remember her cousin’s name, and she doesn’t even know that’s sad.

And you realize there are just some things Skype cannot fix.

And you grieve, and your kids grieve. Maybe. But what if all these things happen again? And again. You have another round of airport goodbyes, another holiday season with sand. Another Christmas with crying.

What if grieving gets old and annoying and time-consuming and exhausting? What if it becomes easier to just not grieve? To not let others grieve?

I’ll tell you what happens: Grief itself gets outlawed and a curse descends. And everyone learns that some emotions are spiritual and some are forbidden.

Has your grief ever been outlawed? Have you ever felt that your sadness or grief was “wrong and not very spiritual” and you should “be over this by now”? If so, I am very sorry. The prohibition of grief is a terrible, terrible curse.

Sometimes it’s outright, “Don’t cry, it’ll all be ok.” But oftentimes, it’s more subtle (and spiritual) than that. It’s the good-hearted person who says, “It’s not really goodbye, it’s see you later” or “You know, all things work together for good.”

What if your kids miss grandma and McDonald’s and green grass, and someone tells them, “It’s for God,” or “It’ll be ok someday; you’ll look back on this as one of the best things that ever happened to you.” What if you tell them that?

Grief gets banned, and what was meant as a balm becomes a bomb, ticking. The intended salve starts searing.

When loss happens, why must we minimize it? Why are we so uncomfortable with letting the sadness sit? Are we afraid of grief?

We sometimes act as if you can’t have grief and faith at the same time. Sometimes, shutting down grief seems spiritual. We tell ourselves and others, “Forget the past and press on. God’s got a plan. God is sovereign.” We use Bible verses.

But banning grief is not biblical, and it’s not spiritual.

Maybe we feel that grieving a loss of something or someone shows that we don’t have all our treasures in heaven. Perhaps we delude ourselves with the twisted notion that if we had all of our treasures in heaven, our treasures would be safe, and we’d never experience loss. And although this is crazy talk, we speak it to ourselves and others.

Does grieving really signal a lack of faith? Would the truly faithful person simply know the goodness of God and cast themselves on that goodness? No one would say it, but we sometimes treat the sovereignty of God as an excuse to outlaw grief. I mean, how could we question the plan of God by crying?

We may feel that grieving a loss that was caused by someone else (through neglect or abuse) shows a lack of forgiveness. And although we know it’s not true, we act as if once a person’s truly forgiven an offender, the painful effects and memories disappear forever.

What if the loss was caused by parents or a spouse who decided to become an overseas missionary? Does the goodness and holiness of their decision negate the grief? Of course not, but sometimes we feel that the truly spiritual would recognize the godly sacrifice and be grateful. As if gratefulness and grief are mutually exclusive. As if a decision has to have 100% positive or 100% negative results. Gray exists, after all.

Maybe you made the decision to move overseas, and it was a God-thing and your call was sure, but now it’s just really, really hard. How will you deal with your own grief? Will it threaten you, or will you courageously allow yourself to feel it?

Remember, grieving isn’t equal to sinning.

Sometimes, outlawed grief goes underground. It becomes a tectonic plate, storing energy, swaying, resisting movement, and then exploding in unanticipated and unpredictable ways. A tectonic plate can store a heck of a lot of energy. Sort of like grief, once outlawed. It descends below the surface. And sometimes heaving tectonic plates cause destruction far, far away. Really smart people with even smarter machines have to do smart things to pinpoint the actual location of the destructive shift.

Have you ever experienced an earthquake like this, caused by buried grief? It might not be obvious at first, but after a little bit of digging, you realize that the pressure and tension had been building for a long, long time.

So please, allow grief in your own heart and in the hearts of your family members. If you’re uncomfortable with other peoples’ grief (or your own), you might want to look deep, deep down in your own soul and see if there’s some long-outlawed, long-buried grief. If you find some, begin gently to see it, vent it, feel it. Begin talking about it, slowly, with a good listener.

And if you come across someone who’s grieving a loss, please remember that they probably don’t need a lecture, or a Bible verse, or a pithy saying. But they could maybe use a hug.

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Jonathan Trotter is a missionary in Southeast Asia, serving with the church planting mission Team Expansion. Before moving to the field with his wife of thirteen years and their four kids, he served as a youth pastor in the Midwest for ten years. In preparing for the field, Jonathan worked as an ER nurse in an urban hospital, where he regularly witnessed trauma, suffering, and death. His little sister died when he was six, his mother died of breast cancer when he was seventeen, and his father died of brain cancer when he was twenty-five.

For more thoughts on grief (although not specific to missions or third culture kids), check out Don’t Be Afraid of Me, Please (and other lessons from the Valley)

Edited and adapted from Outlawed Grief, a Curse Disguised, August 2013.

Black and white photo by Saca, at http://saca.deviantart.com/art/Despair-37824515

Step Away from the Guilt

I was worried I’d grown numb to it. Maybe I’d become calloused. Hardened. Immune.

Because poverty wasn’t affecting me like it used to.

When I faced it as a teenager—on mission trips to places like Nicaragua and Botswana—my eyes and my heart were opened to things I never knew existed in the world. I was wrecked to discover such unimaginable and inescapable poverty, and it messed with me. I’d return home and make all kinds of extreme commitments. I vowed to be less materialistic. I took radical stances with my “self-absorbed” Christian friends. I soapboxed about America’s obsession with excess. I volunteered more, and served wherever and whenever I could.

But as the aftershocks of my experiences with poverty wore off, so did my radical life changes. Until my next mission trip.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

It was a vicious cycle of the best intentions that did nothing more than fuel my need to continually strive to be better, do more, and—somehow, hopefully—be enough. I’m not saying I didn’t genuinely have compassion, conviction, and passion to live a life that makes a difference. I did. But it translated into a guilt-driven reaction to the extremes I saw and experienced, because I couldn’t reconcile the poverty I witnessed with the life I lived every day.

It was a nauseating roller coaster ride as I tried—and failed—to bridge the disparity between my abundance and their lack.

It was years after I moved to South Africa to serve in the poorest region of the country that I finally realized that those things can’t be reconciled or bridged. The contrasts will never make sense.

I mustn’t allow my guilt to force-feed my insatiable striving complex. Nor must I allow it to paralyze me into inactivity or apathy.

I finally learned to step off the roller coaster and actually engage in doing something that would truly make a difference. Not fueled by guilt, but by hope.

I realized that it isn’t about being apologetic for what I have, giving everything away, or looking down on how much people spend at Starbucks. It is about stewarding what I have well—using it to serve, strengthen, and love others.

People often ask me how I could live and work for so long in a community of such dire poverty. “Do you just get used to it?” What they are really asking is the same thing I’ve asked myself: “Did you grow numb?”

And I see now that I didn’t. But somewhere in my 13 years of living in Africa, something did change in me.

I stopped feeling guilty about what I had and the “luck” of being born an American, and I started to feel grateful to be part of the solution.

The problems and challenges are enormous, but I am confident that we can all do something that makes a difference. In our own unique ways, with our own individual passions and talents, we can bring hope into places and hearts that gave up a long time ago.

Not because we feel guilty, but because we are compelled by the hope we ourselves have been given.

What’s been your experience with responding to poverty?

Alece Ronzino

After pioneering and leading a nonprofit in South Africa for 13 years, Alece now lives in Nashville, TN. She is a Nonprofit Communications & Development Strategist, a freelance copywriter/editor, and the founder of One Word 365. She blogs occasionally but candidly about searching for God in the question marks of life and faith. Follow Alece on Twitter and visit her blog, Grit and Glory.

{Photos Source: Daniel C. White}

A previous post by Alece: Bring the Rain

The Voice of the National – Global

Earlier this month we invited you to participate in a post designed to further the conversations surrounding missions around the world. This post is the summarized compilation of the answers you sent us. Thank you to everyone who took the time to sit and listen. Even if you did not contribute to this post we encourage you to use these questions as launching points for gaining deeper understanding, trust, and connections.

Allow me to introduce you to our international panel

– In Nicaragua, Cassie interviewed her friend Juan.

– Ellen spoke with Samuel, from a very rural nomadic community of pastoral people in Northern Kenya, who moved up from teacher, to headmaster, to school inspector and is now: Constituency Elections Coordinator Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission for Kenya.

– Dustin interviewed Dr. Hugo Gomez who works throughout Central America. He the president of Global CHE Enterprises with community development efforts in Mexico, Honduras, El Salvador, Guatemala, Belize, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, and Panama.

– Levi submitted answers from a group of local pastors in Japan.

The first questions speak of impact.

1. What do foreign missionaries do well? How have they helped your country?

Juan said:

The missionaries that I have found to be the most helpful are those who are open to sharing their lives with us and at the same time learning from us. They have had different experiences in their lives and are able to share and learn with us about how to live in a more peace and just-filled world. Missionaries also have a lot of access to financial capital and resources, which can be beneficial if it is used correctly.

Samuel said:

The core issue is the spread of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

They blend the spread of the gospel with developmental issue in areas that touch on humanity development (medical work, education, part time jobs in their areas of specialization etc.).

They come in handy in very remote areas in seeking solution to perennial problems bedeviling residents of the far flung marginalized communities. Just thinking of how for example they help during boreholes breakdowns, means of transport from time to time, cases of expectant mothers that develop complications during deliveries to referral hospitals.

Through exchange programmes for students and interns empowerment in relevant fields is enhanced.

Revenue collection in Missionaries run facilities am thinking of the Buffalo country Kijabe (The hospital and the academy and all those replicated in the country)

Hold Nations accountable to the people in some instances.

Dr. Hugo Gomez said:

– Role Model of Commitment to the calling obeying the Great Commission and Great Commandment leaving their comfort zone even Short, Middle or Long Term.

– Set example of Wholistic Ministry amidst biased or dichotomized widely spread worldview.

– Conduct good studies, keep statistics way far better than most of us nationals.

– Help nationals plan and evaluate more objectively (specially whenever evaluations are in a participatory style)

– Set good models of Stewardship/Administration for Ministries and Institutions.

– Set good examples of punctuality, order and ornamentation.

– During the 60s introduced diversification of crops in contrast with Monoculture/monocrop growing corn and only corn (staple food).

– Have done New Testament Translations to most of the 24 languages and whole Bible translations to about a dozen Maya languages.

– Have provided or channeled scholarships both in-country and abroad for theological studies, secondary and university and post graduate studies

– Have trained and equipped Christians (and non-Christians) for ministry

– Have helped or invested in projects of infrastructure, church facilities, schools, clinics, housing, wells and other well-intentioned projects.

The Japanese pastors said:

Believers visiting from another country can give a great example of what it means to be a Christian: ‘Not what to do, but what to be.’ (This was explained to be especially true for Japan, which doesn’t have the Christian heritage of a country like the UK.)

Also, having Christians from different countries attend Japanese churches acts as an ‘object lesson’ in having international worship. … teams to Japan should not try to be Japanese, but rather seek to love the Japanese, and thus give an example of what it means to share Christian fellowship across cultural barriers.

The second question addresses assessment.

2. How could foreign missionaries better serve your country and people?

Juan said:

I have seen all types of missionaries here in Nicaragua. There are several that come here, don’t learn Spanish, live in their huge houses on the outside of town and have no real and meaningful interaction with the local people. But there are other types of missionaries who choose to live among the poor, immerse themselves in their communities, come as learners and have an impact through relationships. We really need more of the second!

Samuel said:

Missionary work has come of age thus the need for the current crop of missionaries to live with realities of time in their engagements with the local communities.( Building of partnerships in activities undertaken to add value to works done once they leave.)

Supplement government effort in alleviation of suffering among the citizenry.

Dr. Hugo Gomez said:

– By increasing cross-cultural understanding efforts.

– By increasing contextualization in contrast with culturalization which leads to alienation.

– By continuing to train and equip national leadership.

– By empowering national leadership by gradual delegation of authority.

– By helping in multiplication of local leadership.

– By “working with” instead of “doing for”

– By letting nationals design and build once safe and widely accepted technical specifications are met.

– By avoiding systematic relief services.

– By encouraging nationals to invest their local resources (human, material, financial, livestock, property, etc) as much as possible.

– By promoting and encouraging Transformational Development Ministries like CHE.

– By continuing to witness about the Good News of Christ to non-believers and to disciple new believers

The Japanese pastors said they would like:

People with a willingness to: make friends, receive help, listen & learn, give the language a go. Good communication before and during ministry. Establishment of sustainable ministries. Respect for the local leadership. Humility.

“The pastor is the shepherd, so before you do anything with his sheep you should ask him.”

“The best type of missionary is a person with a broad heart.”

The third question gives us a look at the future.

3. What is your dream for your country?

Juan said:

My dream for Nicaragua is that all people could live in peace and out of poverty – with their day to day needs met while feeling like they are contributing to the great society.

Samuel said:

To see a country anchored in the Lord, that is at peace with itself and its neighbours

A country where human suffering is minimized and where there is room for all to grow in all spheres of life.

A country where there is equitable distribution of resources.

Dr. Hugo Gomez said:

To see individuals, families, communities continuously multiplying in and through Community Health Evangelism towards Transformational Development in the Abundant Life the Lord has made available for all here on earth and for eternity.

__________________________________

We are hopeful about what we can all learn when we take a moment to stop and intentionally listen to the amazing people we all work alongside.

What have you learned lately from the people of your current nation of residence?

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The Changing Face of Missions (In Which the U.S. Falls Behind)

An article in Christianity Today [1] recently commented on the hefty June 2013 report, “Christianity in its Global Context”. [2] The particular aspect of the Global Context report that Melissa Steffen chose to focus on is revealed by her article’s lengthy title, “The Surprising Countries Most Missionaries Are Sent From And Go To.’

I won’t reproduce Melissa’s ‘gleanings’ here but encourage you to go read her article if you’re interested [1]. Suffice it to say the results of the Global Context report are very telling with regard to the nations that are currently sending “missionaries” into the world. The USA still sends the most missionaries into the world, but when you look at it proportionately, against the number of church-going Christians in the sending nation, PALESTINE leads the bunch followed by Ireland, Malta and my near neighbor Samoa. The USA comes in 9th according to these ‘handicaps’. Of course, there are other ways to spin the data; missionaries per capita for instance would yield different results again.

Recently I was at a breakfast meeting with fellow mission leaders when one made a comment that Brazil was the largest sender of missionaries nowadays. I almost choked on my passionfruit pancakes. Before I had time to respond, the conversation had moved on so I just dismissed the comment as erroneous. That same morning a good friend and colleague from Brazil, a missionary in Kolkata India, sent me the link to Melissa Steffen’s article. God was obviously humbling me – happens often. In terms of total missionaries, Brazil is indeed up there, second only to the USA, with 34,000 missionaries being sent at the time the research was undertaken (2010).

In 2002 Philip Jenkins [3] stated the obvious to his largely non-Christian readership: the center of gravity for global Christianity has shifted. He wrote, “Soon, the phrase ‘a white Christian’ may sound like a curious oxymoron, as mildly surprising as ‘a Swedish Buddhist’.” Mission statistician and strategist, Patrick Johnston [4] more recently observed, “The globalization of the mission force… is an unprecedented phenomenon.” and notes that, “from 1980 onwards the massive increase in missions was in Africa, Asia, Latin America, and especially Asia.”

It seems the face of missions is rapidly changing along with the changing context(s) of Christianity.

Have you experienced this first hand? I have. I prepare Kiwis (New Zealanders) to work alongside a vast variety cultures in mission and development work. I also now routinely work with colleagues from many nationalities in my international roles.

Not so long ago you all you needed was a modicum of cultural sensitivity to engage cross-cultural work, now it’s essential to have a high level of “inter-cultural competence”. This competence is becoming more commonly known as CQ (Cultural Intelligence). David Livermore [5] is focusing on this growing subject in mission.

*****

Does this surprise you that the United States ranks ninth in terms of sent missionaries? And that Palestine ranks first? How does this reality of a higher number of various cultures serving as missionaries affect your own work?

– Jay Matenga is based in New Zealand and has over 20 years experience as a reflective practitioner of mission mobilization.

Work: http://pioneers.org.nz & World Evangelical Alliance Mission Commission Mobilization Taskforce.

Blog: http://missionmotion.blogspot.co.nz

Footnotes & links:

1. http://www.christianitytoday.com/gleanings/2013/july/missionaries-countries-sent-received-csgc-gordon-conwell.html

2. http://www.gordonconwell.edu/resources//Global-Context-of-Christianity.cfm

3. Jenkins, P. (2002). The Next Christendom: The Coming of Global Christianity. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.

4. The Future Of The Global Church: InterVarsity Press/Authentic Media/GMI, 2011

5. http://davidlivermore.com/cq/

Photo above is Jay recently in Thailand with mission colleagues from Egypt, China, Peru and Brazil.

Not Hating Your Husband’s Ministry

We welcome Danielle Cevallos as our guest writer today. Her words come to us from Bangkok, Thailand where she and her beautiful family serve.

Early in our marriage my husband and I did ministry alongside of one another. However, in the past 5 years, God has called my husband to something that has forced me to really look at how “we” do ministry. Today he works with an organization that requires him to travel every month. He now trains and encourages national leaders. While it is amazing to see what God is doing all over the world, this has been the first season in our lives where we have not been side by side in ministry.

I would get frustrated that he got to go off into the world and do these awesome things, while I was at home. I wanted to be a part of the adventure and the awesome God things that he got to be part of.

What I didn’t realize at the time,

was that I already was.

I began praying that God would help me to know what ministry “together” looked like in this season in our lives. Here are some things that he gave me

Prayer

About a year ago, God began to show me that this really is the answer to everything! Yes, God is sovereign. But, he has chosen to use our prayers to change things. To make things happen. When I began to pray specifically for my husband and his ministry, support raising, and the specific leaders that he was working with, my heart became considerably more involved in the work that was going on. I was able to encourage him, and lend a new kind of support that I am embarrassed to say, I had not been giving before.

Hold down the fort

My husband has always been helpful in our home. He enjoys taking our girls places, and working on things with them. He does dishes and folds laundry While he is gone, it is hard. Early on, I used to let him know, in a no-so-subtle way, how hard it was. Imagine how supported one might feel going off into the world knowing that your wife was at home, and super ticked off about it. I prayed hard for a heart that was willing and for the grace to make it through the days while he was gone. I thanked God and my husband for how awesome, present and invested he was while at home. Slowly God has begun to change my heart in this way.

Be ready and available

While there is not always an opportunity for us to work side by side, there are times when those opportunities do arise. I have edited countless newsletters and emails. I have gone on coffee/dinner/support dates. I have travelled to India and worked with the women there. I have written blog posts. I have worked part time, and as of late, have gotten a job in Bangkok so that we can get visas to live there. When it is needed, I try to be available and positive, for whatever he needs.

Give him time to decompress, talk, and relax

When my husband would come home from a trip I would immediately want to hand everything over to him. I learned that one way to support him was to give him some time when he got home. If that was a dinner out, a late morning in, a long conversation about the trip or a Starbucks, then I tried to give him that. I want him to feel okay about leaving both before and after returning home. It isn’t always easy, but one more day, night or morning won’t kill me.

Recently we moved to Bangkok so that my husband could be closer to the work God is doing in Asia. This has been the biggest way I have had to support his ministry thus far. God asked me to leave my life behind for this work. Perhaps the biggest thing that has helped me keep a right perspective is knowing that the same God who calls us, equips us. If he is the one calling my husband, and our family, then he will equip us, both on the front lines and on the home front.

What do your roles in ministry look like within your marriage? What has been helpful in keeping a good perspective on that?

– Danielle Cevallos, missionary in Bangkok, Thailand. Believer in Jesus. Wife to a traveling missionary. Mother of two beautiful young ladies. Friend of amazing women. Southernized New Yorker. Carrie Underwood lover. Fountain Coke/Starbucks addict. Run-on sentence writer, and special educator.

blog: This Life I Live Twitter: @d_cevallos

Bring the Rain

Africa has the greatest storms. The rainy season finally comes after months of drought, and by the time the first drop falls, the earth is cracked and parched. Lakes and ponds have all but dried up. The tall savannah grass is brown and brittle.

The earth is thirsty. Ready. Waiting.

And then, out of nowhere one day, the storm clouds roll in.

The blackened sky sobs heavy tears. You can feel the thunder deep in your bones as it echoes through the plains. The lightning makes you jump and paralyzes you with awe all in the same loud, bright instant. The wind reminds you that only God could tie the trees down tightly enough.

Africa’s storms are altogether wonderful.

And altogether terrible.

Water rushes into homes, through the cracks in mud hut walls and the gaps in old thatch roofs and the seams in tin shack ceilings. Gusts of wind blow right through bedrooms and marble-sized hail destroys gardens. Those with only their feet for transportation run for any cover they can find — the bus stop, the liquor store, the first home they can reach in the village.

The storms are harsh. And unrelenting. And inconvenient.

And yet, they are welcomed.

There is a joy about the rainy season. “We need it,” is what you’ll hear.

Africans find it easy to say. Easy to see. Easy to recognize and acknowledge that as challenging as the storm may be, good will come of it. It is, after all, an answer to countless prayers for the sun-scorched ground.

They know that the thirst can’t be quenched without the storm.

Spring can’t come without the rain.

New life can’t bud deep beneath the surface of the dry, crusty ground until the heavens unleash their fury.

The drought doesn’t end until the storms start.

We need them.

I need them.

I need the storms in my life. Not as punishment or discipline or as some cruel cosmic joke that leaves God chuckling to Himself. I need them because of what’s waiting on the other side that I can’t see yet.

I need them because sometimes my heart grows cracked and dry, forgetting what it feels like to be filled to overflowing.

I need them because when everything in my life has turned the bare, barren brown of winter, I’m desperate for the life-awakening green of spring.

I need the storms. Even when I hate them.

Bring the rain.

What storm — large or small — are you facing right now?

How can you choose joy in the downpour?

{Photo Source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/kigaliwire/4403135333/}

Alece Ronzino – After pioneering and leading a nonprofit in South Africa for 13 years, Alece now lives in Nashville, TN. She is a Nonprofit Communications & Development Strategist, a freelance copywriter/editor, and the founder of One Word 365. She blogs occasionally but candidly about searching for God in the question marks of life and faith. Follow Alece on Twitter and visit her blog, Grit and Glory.

Carrying Water

Today’s guest post comes from Tamara White, former domestic missionary, current international consultant and therapist.

When I was in Haiti, high up in a mountain village, I was greeted every morning by a little girl who carried water for her family. The container was as big as her torso, perched perfectly on her sweet head. It seemed too heavy for such a tiny girl and I mentioned this to the pastor’s wife. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘we’d like for everyone to have accessible water but really, it’s good for the children to carry water. It is the least of their battles.’ She, of course, was right. I was there to teach about PTSD but during my stay I was informed about their battles for education, gender equality, food insecurity, and opportunity.

‘Be kind, everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.’ Plato

That was my mantra as I dove into inner-city ministry twenty years earlier. There were fun battles. Walking through a foot of snow to the latest ‘hole in a wall’ food haunt with friends. Teaching the Sunday School lesson from on top of the classroom table with some nice hip hop moves for ‘Moses’ and, my favorite – being ornery late at night and blaring Luciano Pavarotti into my Tupac driven neighborhood. And, there were dark battles. Perplexing injustice and violence, exhausting vigilance for safety, and the loneliness of pouring myself into others when I was still becoming whoever ‘I’ was. But there was something even more destructive that was leaving my soul ragged and orphaned. Depression and anxiety.

I attended small groups with other twenty somethings living in the city. I probably looked like I connected but internally, I felt void and unmoved always feeling like I was looking in. In staff and community meetings I was robust in debate but would give a big sigh as I crawled into bed feeling a mere shadow of my former self. The only time I truly felt myself was when I sang. I’ve always sang and performed but during those years, I loved worship because I felt alive, like my inner and outer being had finally merged for those few moments.

I remember helping some friends from the Jesus People apartment out of their car. We were talking about simple things. Familiar things. I was ‘spirited’ in my share of the conversation. As the wife gathered her belongings from the back seat her husband looked at me over the top of the car and said, ‘you know, Tam, it is okay to be angry.’ Me, a sweet Kansas girl happy to serve and eager to go that extra mile, angry? Shortly after that conversation one of the young women in our ministry told me, matter of factly, that I was just ‘not real.’ No one had ever said something like that to me. I was the one people sought out not dismissed.

Those two interchanges were simple, almost benign, but enough observation to slice into my façade. I was angry. And, I was submerged, not real and not accessible. I didn’t have a clue what that meant or how to deal with it so I did what any reasonable person would do and had a breakdown and left. It would not be the last time I would slowly, imperceptibly, fade away, and fall apart.

That was before I made frenemies with my nemesis. Before the devastating symptoms there are alarming whispers and I’ve learned to lean in and listen but, mostly, I’ve learned to care for myself. To those who are also the prey of depression and anxiety, this may mirror your own effort to be present instead of being submerged and fighting to breathe. Often and sadly, as a leader, or missionary, or, ‘person of repute’ as my mother would say – you do not get to be depressed or anxious. Which means you are a fool or crazy or, the very worst – needy.

After numerous battles fought, with some won but many lost, I decided that my truest offering might be to merge my 20 years of experience in ministry with the artful ministry of the soul – counseling. I know from experience that the demands of ministry, particularly in impoverished and vulnerable communities, can ‘out-crisis’ my crisis any day leaving me to silently fade and flat line. In combination, I know how vapid and confusing it can be, when faced with the challenge of serving in communities with a prevalence of trauma and consequential mental health decay, all while trying to honor culture and expressed felt needs. But my offer to you would be through my new mantra:

“Living well and beautifully and justly is ALL one thing.” Socrates

When I am not congruent in mind, body and soul, when I do not indulge in beauty and creating beauty, then justice seeking is really a mirage of intention. The Gospel tells me that I am free to float to the top, to engage, to wonder aloud about all these pains and to live in kindness because my battle matters too.

After becoming acquainted with the battles of the people in that mountain village in Haiti, what was it then that unnerved me about that tiny, little girl carrying water on her head every day? Quite simply, it was because it said, ‘I am in need.’ It was Christ, at high noon, asking for a cup from the shamed woman at the well. I get to share a cup of water with Christ when I admit, ‘I am in need.’ And when we all gather at the well, the water just might turn to wine. It’s most often not our choice what we get to carry in life, whether it is water or depression or injustice. The real battle is to be present, flatfooted and standing in our space in this world. I don’t allow my battles to remove me from my life anymore. I carry them, on my head if I have to, so I can live well and beautifully and justly. And that is kindness.

What hidden battles do you carry? What would it cost you to carry them on your head for all to see?

Tamara White, MA, NCC – Ministry: www.zoeroots.com Practice: www.zoecounsel.com

Tamara has over 20 years experience in urban, international, and diverse populations serving complex situations of individuals, teens and families in crisis. She founded and directed two nonprofit organizations in Chicago and Denver serving homeless families, teens, gang members and single mothers, with a focus on addictions, attachment, trauma and life skills. An undergrad student of theology, organizational development, and communications she holds a Masters in Counseling Psychology. Her areas of expertise are trauma and PTSD, addictions, pre/post adoption, therapeutic parenting and attachment, grief and loss and, of course, depression and anxiety. Tamara is a single, adoptive mother who resides in Colorado with her children who amuse her, pets who shed, and friends who make her laugh.

From Africa to Asia, a Transitional Interview

After eight years of service in Botswana, Sarah and Kevin Witt felt a stirring in their hearts. They began to pray about the next step. With two small children and one on the way they chose to leave comfort and a semblance of normalcy in Africa for the unknown awaiting them in Asia.

If you are just starting out, or you have lost count of how many times you have uprooted, hopefully this interview with Sarah will help you feel not so alone during your own times of transition.

After 8 years in Africa you recently decided to move to Asia. What spurred that decision?

I am not sure we ever really had a time table in our heads, to begin with. As the years passed the thought of leaving became more and more distant as Botswana became our home and our lives.

Quite honestly, some of the decision to make a change came from a conflict with leadership. The conflict was quickly resolved and the relationship still was strong, but it caused us to look a little deeper. When we did, we realized we were too comfortable and just moving to the rhythm of life. We were accomplishing things, but not growing like we wanted. We both knew we needed to be open to the changes that the Lord was making. It would have been easy to continue to stay in Botswana and ignore what He was trying to say to us, but we both knew in our hearts that wasn’t what we needed to do. We decided to put in our resignation before we even knew where the Lord was going to send us next.

Our hearts have always been in Africa, so naturally we figured our next assignment would be within in Africa. When our friend suggested we come and check out the Philippines, we almost laughed. “No way, we’re Africa missionaries!” Kevin went and visited. Shortly thereafter we determined that was indeed where the Lord was calling us.

As a missionary in a time of a major transition what is your greatest challenge?

I was very comfortable, after eight years in Botswana, getting around the town and knowing where things were at and how to access materials and supplies.

Arriving in the Philippines meant starting over in every aspect. Not only in establishing our home, but also starting the process of learning to just “live” in a new country and place. It’s almost like I felt like I was a new missionary all over again and that my previous 8 years of service never happened! Learning a new culture and a new place and how to get resources has really been my entire life since arriving.

Also, just the sheer fact that it’s a totally different continent with different faces and places creates some culture shock. We are learning a different culture, and how to live in a big, crowded city, versus the African bush!

What advice would you give to someone considering a huge change in their life?

Lots and lots of prayer and most of all grace! It’s hard to take a step of faith and change directions after being in one place for so long. I don’t know that I have it figured out, but I do know that I tend to be hard on myself. I think I expected to just jump in and know what to do. I am learning to take it slow, build a supportive home for my family and children, and learn this new place as I go.

Pray through it and give yourself the grace to make mistakes along the way, it’s part of the journey.

Be open to other areas of ministry, not just the ones that you originally thought you would be a part of.

In what ways is your life in Asia similar to your life in Africa?

I’ve discovered wherever you go in the world people still need Jesus. I know, that sounds cliché right? Really though, the needs don’t change, there are just different looking faces behind those needs. Kids here are still begging in the streets and needing stable homes. There are a lot of cultural roots that run deep into the hearts of religion here just as there is in Africa. Their traditions are very much a part of who they are and both are very rich and colorful.

What adjustments have you had to make since you arrived in the Philippines?

I had no idea really what to expect. I moved here sight unseen as Kevin was the one who “scouted”. In some ways, I think it was a blessing as I am not sure I would have ever agreed to move here! With Africa, it was about the rawness and beauty of the place. With the Philippines, it really has been the people who have drawn us in. They practice hospitality as though it’s second nature. I think it’s hard for us to not compare the two places and there are for sure pro’s and con’s to each country of service, but we are learning to be present in where the Lord has us for the “now”. It’s easy to keep one foot back in a place that you love and considered “home” when you’re not really sure if this place will ever really feel like the home you once had before. I am trying not to do that, as I want both my feet solid in this place, so that I can learn as much from them as I did the Africans.

Since we are serving independently, we have to be pretty focused and purposeful about our ministry and how we go about it. Our first year is really committed to learning as much of the language and culture as possible. We have a few things planned, but aside from that, we’re just learning what the country needs and how we can help. It’s hard because we’re so used to “doing” and not sitting still. But there is something quite wonderful about taking the time to really get to know people and settle in.

As the mom, my ministry focus is our children and home schooling… something I never thought I would do. At times I miss those days of functioning 100% as a missionary, but I love that my children are my ministry right now. As our children get a bit older, we’ll incorporate them into our ministry so we can give them a good world view and missions experience.

Additional thoughts regarding transition?

Give yourself lots of grace. I am learning that now. Don’t expect to come in and fall right into place and for everything to work out exactly like you think it will. Remain open to God’s plans and timetable. I am learning to enjoy the adventure in the small things that are normal. Taking time to really look around and see people and things instead of trying to always figure out what I should be doing. I think as missionaries sometimes we’re really hard on ourselves and as one who raises support as well, we feel we have to be “doing” to show our supporters. It’s true, we do, but sometimes just the daily normal things produce the most ministry.

– You can find Sarah on facebook and on her blog

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In what ways can you relate to Sarah? Has comfort led to complacency in your life? How do you decide if / when it is time to change things up?

The F Word

The end of the school year brings loads of changes, some nearly universal and some unique to people with international identities. Julie Martinez, working and writing in Cambodia shares a personal story and the hopes of a family and a son in transition.

Freaked out. Frustrated. Fear. Failure. These are some of the F words that we have been slinging around the house lately. We have also been slinging around the F word Frittata, but that is a different story. We are in the process of transition and it is creating moments of drama and tension. My son who was born in Honduras and has lived in five different countries is now returning to America to attend university and emotions are running high.

This is a boy who has grown up in airports. He can navigate any airport anywhere. From the time that he was 3 months old he has been a flying across the world. I am afraid that when he remembers his childhood he will tell stories of terrible airplane food and rushing through airport gates laden with carry-ons. Or will he talk about a lifetime of good-byes? Of constantly downsizing our lives to fit into two suitcases?

This is a boy who has lived an unconventional life.

He knows how to barter in local markets like an Arab trader. He can hop on a motorcycle fearlessly and navigate unknown roads in third world countries. He is unique. He has been chased by elephants; climbed volcanoes; and has stood where the Indian Ocean meets the Atlantic. He has seen the world and much of it on the road less traveled and all before he was 18.

So, how does he transition to the USA? How does he navigate the world of fraternities, finals, football, fast food, and other Americanisms? My son is a third culture kid which means he is not fully American nor has he taken on the culture of his host country. He has created a third culture—a culture unique to him. He travels to America as a hidden immigrant. One who speaks the language – looks the part – but is missing social cues and cultural meanings.

He knows this and he is fearful—fearful of failure and is freaked out. His F word is Fear. Fear is paralyzing, sends people into tailspins. Fear is seemingly depriving him of oxygen and causing him to make questionable decisions. My F word, on the other hand, is frustration. I am frustrated because I can’t help him and truthfully, he won’t let me which also frustrates me. He will be 18 soon and naturally wants to navigate life on his own. And the reality is I can’t fully help him—he sees the world through a different lens than I do and he is going to have to figure it out.

Living overseas is wonderful, but there are prices to be paid and they are paid by all. God calls us and He equips us . . . but there are aspects of this cross-cultural life that aren’t easy nor are there easy answers. I wish I could wrap up this post with a three-fold solution. There isn’t one. The only thing that I can offer is that maybe it is time for a different word. Not an F word, but a G word and that is grace. That God will cover my son in His grace and that God in His grace and mercy will lead him and that His grace will carry him in the hard places and through the mistakes and the hard-times that are inevitable.

What kinds of G words carry you through your F seasons? In other words, we would love to hear how grace meets you in weakness and uncertainty.

Julie T. Martinez, Development Director N. Cambodia

People For Care & Learning, follow her blog at People for Care

And the Winner Is . . .

We so enjoyed watching 176 votes/comments come in for the international photo contest we ran last week. We asked you to submit your favorite pictures representing “The Face of My Nation,” and we were stunned by the captions and beauty you highlighted from the people you live among around the world. And now, without further ado– the winners.

Our first place winner, with over 80 votes, is Rob from Haiti with the following photo and caption:

”To the very last pixel, this photo of Michel represents the tenacity, determined resilience, and spirit of the Haitian people.”

And our second place winner is from Bill and Tammy in Tanzania

“Pure Love Between Sisters.”

Congratulations to Rob and to Bill and Tammy! Our first place winner will receive a $25 giftcard to Amazon, and our second place winner will get a free downloadable version of the novel, Love at the Speed of Email, authored by our own Lisa McKay.

Thanks to all who voted and submitted photos. We will occasionally be hosting these community events more in the future, and what a good reminder this one was of the gift it is to live among and learn from international people groups.

– Laura Parker, for the editorial team

To Love Two Places

Heidi and her husband are overseas newbies. They moved to Kenya in October, 2012, to capture the stories and images of the people and work across Africa. Her story of loss and gains is a poignantly beautiful look at the early days. Some Life Overseas readers are looking forward to those days, some are looking back on them, and some are smack in the middle of them.

It’s been nine months now since the airplane’s wheels lifted off of our beloved Minnesota soil and I felt arrows of sorrow shoot through my chest. My heart was already heavy, burdened with the faces of goodbye, and I struggled to swallow as the mighty Mississippi River shrank into a ribbon and then disappeared behind a cloud.

And that was just the beginning of the heart pains.

Eight months ago, I took off my wedding ring and hid it away, because I didn’t want the streets of Nairobi to steal it from me. But my finger’s nakedness is still stark and shrill.

For three months, we rode matatus, those reckless, necessary public transit vans that added color and anxiety to our days. But despite the sunburns, blisters, and tears, we grew. We learned how to walk the streets like everybody else, we started to recognize the people we passed each morning, and we gained camaraderie with our fellow vehicle-less man. We started to belong.

Itasca, the headwaters of the mighty Mississippi in northern Minnesota.

Now that we found a car and have settled into a sensible routine, the pain comes in a different way. The kite bird that caws like a seagull reminds me of our favorite vacation spot on the shore of Lake Superior. The still, warm evenings fill me with the longing to have a bonfire in a backyard covered with crackly leaves. And the road that circles our neighborhood and serves as our nightly walking path makes me wish that the football field in the middle was a lake teeming with goslings and that my best friend was chatting beside me.

This homesickness sneaks up on me, startles me. And leaves me wondering why. Why now? We spent two years of our married life looking forward to our move to Kenya, and now that we’re here, we can’t stop gazing backwards.

It’s a fine art, I’m realizing, to live in the present moment, to take each heart pain as it comes and pray that it won’t last long. Or that it will bring us one step closer to calling this new, lakeless city home.

This afternoon, as we sit on our doorstep beneath our avocado tree with our Kenyan mutt nuzzling us for more attention, I feel my heart beginning to open, to sense that I am splitting in half. It comforts me and it scares me, because to love two places will be dangerous.

But it will also be beautiful.

How do you handle a split heart? What are the things you miss the most about your home country? What will you miss about your host country?

Heidi Thulin, missionary writer in Nairobi, Kenya

blog: Thulins in Africa ministry: On-Field Media

“This is My Fate” A Lesson in Cultural Humility

As soon as the angry words came out of my mouth, I regretted them. I was speaking to Rehmet, the woman who helped me care for my kids and my home.

She was a Punjabi woman, uneducated, illiterate, with a smile that stretched across a beautiful, weathered face and a personality as big as her smile.

We were living in Islamabad, Pakistan and Rehmet had come into my life by way of her husband who had done some handiwork for us around the house. She had five children and lived in a slum on the outskirts of the city. She was tireless in her energy and her talking. At one point I despaired to my mom that I couldn’t understand her. “She speaks so quickly!” I wailed. “My Urdu can’t keep up”. My mom began to laugh – “Don’t worry” she said. “She’s actually speaking Punjabi”.

(photo credit)

We had slowly developed a relationship that went far beyond employee/employer. I considered her my friend. We would sit down with tea, communicating with my limited Urdu and her fluent Punjabi. We would mate socks together, cook, scrub vegetables, and rearrange furniture. She loved my kids, and I thought I loved her.

But there we were. A Pakistani woman and an American woman side by side, me letting my tongue loose. She had ruined some clothes by bleaching them and I was angry. After all, if this had happened in the United States I would voice disapproval over the mistake and demand my money back.

But, I was not in the United States.

Looking back on the event, I cringe in embarrassment. I don’t even remember what the clothes looked like – but I will never forget the sadness and resignation on Rehmet’s face. She looked as though she had been kissed by a Judas, betrayed by one she thought she knew.

I began to apologize. My speech, so articulate while angry, suddenly lost any semblance of cohesion. I was fumbling over my words, over my grammar, most of all over my ugly heart.

She looked at me with tired, brown eyes, her gaze steady and unyielding. Then without pause, she shrugged and said, “It doesn’t matter. This is my fate.”

I went cold. I would rather have heard anything but this. I would rather she yelled, screamed, got sarcastic, quit the job… anything would have been better.

I, the person who talked long and wrote hard about wanting to empower people, had taken advantage of what I knew to be a cultural value – a servant is subservient to the employer. In a culture where she was a minority as a woman and as a Christian she would never have other opportunities, this was her fate. Even if she wanted to walk out on the job, she couldn’t have. Rehmet did not have choices and I had used that against her. I had taken advantage of education, relative wealth, and influence in my ridiculous reaction to a simple mistake.

And I had done this, subconsciously knowing that it would pack a mighty punch. That is what made it so painfully wrong. My white-skinned entitlement made me cringe. Who was I? Why had I reacted this way

It was important to confess – to Rehmet, but also to God. For I had acted in a way that hurt another, had wounded knowing she had no recourse.

Rehmet and I were able to repair the relationship, largely because of her generosity of spirit and sheer joy in life. In her bucket of life experience, this was small change and she would not remain low for long. But the story has stayed with me, for it reminds me of how important it is to have cultural humility.

For cultural humility demands a process of self-evaluation and critique; a constant check of attempting to understand the view of another before we react and recognizing our own tendency toward cultural superiority. Cultural humility gives up a role as expert, instead seeing ourselves as students of our host culture.

It’s a hard subject that demands honesty but what do you do when you have caused offense? When you have wounded in a place where you are a guest? When you have exhibited cultural superiority instead of cultural humility?

By Marilyn Gardner

Marilyn Gardner grew up in Pakistan and as an adult lived in Pakistan and Egypt for 10 years. She currently lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts. She loves God, her family, and her passport in that order. Find her blogging at Communicating Across Boundaries and on Twitter@marilyngard