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.
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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.
