Moving abroad is disorienting for many reasons, not least because holidays, traditions, and seasons often look completely different than they do back home, or are ignored entirely. Especially if you’re used to distinct seasons but now live in a place without them (or vice versa), that sense of loss can feel sharper than expected.
I’ve become accustomed to the sight of palm trees wrapped in Christmas lights. Black Santa feels more familiar to my children than any grey-haired American version they would’ve encountered in their passport country. But what about autumn, with her crisp mornings and reminder to release what’s no longer needed? Or spring, with her buds of new growth and call to embrace the sunshine after months of hibernation? Depending on where you are in the world, even the predictable lengthening and shortening of days through the year might be absent, rendering each month, each “season,” virtually indistinguishable from the next.
This is bigger than pining for a Pumpkin Spice Latte or a Reese’s Heart (the best shape), though those things are also extremely valid! The loss of the seasons, rhythms, and dates that used to anchor our lives is truly grief-inducing. Days and celebrations that once marked our time and gave shape to our lives can vanish or morph beyond recognition. This can stir up a mix of emotions, so first let me give you permission to feel all of them — sadness, confusion, nostalgia, even relief. They’re valid.
Early in my time abroad, I began leaning into the church calendar, or liturgical year, as a way to create new rhythms of sacred time within my family — something we could carry with us, wherever we lived. I was fascinated by how the liturgical year could draw us into a rhythm of fasting and feasting, reflection and rejoicing, all centered around the story of Christ’s life. It gave me a way to orient my heart toward the seasons of God’s story instead of the rhythms of culture. The perpetual summer of East Africa was slowly wearing me down, but the power and presence of the liturgical year gave me hope.
If you’re unfamiliar with the church calendar, you’re in good company. I was raised in a Southern Baptist church, which made this pretty foreign to me at the start. The church year, or liturgical year, is a year-long cycle of seasons that liturgical churches observe formally, but is available to anyone. You might recognize some of the more familiar parts of the calendar like Advent and Lent, but it also includes others like Pentecost, Eastertide, Ordinary Time, and even the 12 Days of Christmas. Together, these seasons walk the church through the birth, life, death, and resurrection of Jesus each year, inviting us to participate in rhythms of waiting, repentance, celebration, and mission.
As I recognized my disorientation with traditional holidays in my host culture, the church calendar became an anchor for me as I created a home for our family. It offered a structure for time that didn’t depend on national holidays or weather or what kitschy goodies I could find at the Target Dollar Spot.
I channeled my grief into absorbing as much information as I could about the church calendar and coming up with creative ways to observe it within our home. Over the years, our family has developed our own traditions: lighting Advent candles, marking Ash Wednesday and Palm Sunday, learning about saints whose lives inspire us, and even — to our daughter Hallelujah’s great delight — joking that we can’t say her name during Lent!
Most importantly, the church calendar has become a way to be rooted in the greater story of Jesus, a way to orient our lives around God’s kingdom no matter where we are in the world. We may not always find a church celebrating every feast or fast, but we can still mark it in our hearts and homes.
For our family, following the liturgical year has become a gentle act of resistance, a way to be in the world but not of it. It reminds us that our citizenship isn’t ultimately American, Rwandan, or anything else, but heavenly. The calendar helps us keep time by God’s rhythm: a rhythm that transcends borders, cultures, and time zones. As global workers, might just be one of the most grounding gifts we can receive.
If this idea feels new to you, or you’re curious about how to begin, here are a few gentle ways to start incorporating the church calendar into your rhythm of life, especially as Advent season approaches:
- Notice the seasons. Simply start paying attention to where the global church is in the story. When Advent begins, when Lent begins, when Easter or Pentecost arrive, find a way to acknowledge it. Awareness alone begins to shape us. You can get a beautiful printable calendar from Little Way Chapel here.
- Mark the moment. Light a candle. Change the color of a tablecloth or a vase of flowers to match the season (purple for Advent and Lent, white for Easter, green for Ordinary Time). Small visual cues help our souls remember the story we’re living in.
- Create family rituals. This could be as simple as reading a short Advent devotion around dinner (there are lots of free resources available around the web), writing prayers of gratitude during Eastertide, or taking a short walk on Ash Wednesday to reflect on your humanity and dependence on God. There is so much freedom here! Create something beautiful and unique for you and your context.
- Find your community rhythm. If your local church doesn’t follow the liturgical calendar, that’s okay. Consider connecting with online communities or friends who do. Share reflections, prayers, or even photos as reminders that you’re keeping sacred time together, across oceans.
You don’t have to overhaul your entire year to begin. Let this be a gift as you make your home overseas, not a reason to be overwhelmed. Just take one step toward living more intentionally in God’s story—one candle, one prayer, one small pause at a time. I pray the liturgical calendar is a blessing to your home, as it has been to mine. May it anchor you in love and presence, no matter where you find yourself in this season.
