We had just arrived home after more than twenty-four hours of travel. Crossing an ocean and multiple continents, we were literally halfway around the world from where we had hugged my parents goodbye in the D.C. airport.
We have only been gone two months, surely not much could be different, I thought. Time in the slum community where we live often seems like the movie Groundhog Day, where each day is similar — lived over and over again with slight variations. Children hollered out greetings as we drove into the community. Welcome home.
I had been mostly composed during the days leading up to our goodbyes. I often save my tears for just my journal — or my husband’s shoulder.
But when we got to our house and started sweeping, in the liminal space of jetlag and crossing cultures, I found myself at the end of my rope. There was dirt along the edges of the room. Not dust, but dirt. We moved a small bookcase aside and found lots of dirt. Oh no. Opening the bookshelf revealed termites, chomping away at my carefully collected and saved books.
I spent the next two hours, tears falling down my cheeks, going through the bookshelves book by book, assessing the damage, wiping off termite dirt, and sorting what was salvageable. I could literally hear the termites eating, crunch crunch crunching their way through our books.
“I’m so overwhelmed,” I told my husband.
I wiped snot off my nose, tearfully throwing the book This Isn’t What I Expected away. The irony of the title and the situation did manage to elicit a laugh out of me.
This is not what I expected coming home. What other surprises are awaiting us?
In the first two weeks back, it turned out that other unexpected things happened. Such as seven electricity blackouts in the course of two weeks, sometimes lasting for hours at a time. I know this is common in many parts of the world, but in our neighborhood this is unusual and presents all sorts of challenges. No electricity means no water, no fans, and no sleep — all in the midst of juggling jetlag and culture-shocked kids.
Then our best friend told us unexpectedly that she was moving. She was our next-door-neighbor and person-of-peace into this neighborhood for the past thirteen years. She helped us in countless ways over the years: with language learning, cultural insights, raising our children, and being a faithful friend. What will life be like here without her? I wondered.
The next day we helped her and her son pack a van with all their movable belongings and leave. My tears fell freely that day. It was another invitation to trust in the Lord, to lean not on my own understanding.
And while I do not have a crystal ball, and I cannot see the future, I do know that there will continue to be hard things as we seek to follow God in this place. And that is ok. I am not in control, but I trust in a God who is loving and kind and who promises to be with us through the hard things.
Almost a month has passed since our return, and things are feeling more settled now. My sons are back in school, the house has been repainted and thoroughly cleaned (including caulking the cracks in the walls to hopefully discourage termites from entering), and we are past the worst of the jetlag fog.
As I am re-entering life in this familiar place, I am praying for wisdom. How should I use my time? After two months away, what roles should I jump back into and what roles should I let others carry? What is the invitation from the Lord in this next ministry term?
My brother and his wife recently moved to Taiwan to serve long term. I had the opportunity to share at their commissioning service. I shared with them that international workers are not super humans. We too are sinners, in need of God’s grace daily. We can share about God’s love and forgiveness only as we remember that we ourselves are recipients of it. We are not called to save the world; we are called to point people to Jesus. He is the savior of the world. Not us.
Many of us have been raised to care deeply about fighting the injustices in the world, working for peace and reconciliation, and caring for the poor. These are all good things, and we deeply believe that whatever we do for the least of these we do for Jesus. And yet, we need to remember that we are not the saviors.
We must let Jesus fill us each day and trust that doing small acts with great love is important in the heavenly economy. In trying to follow Jesus cross-culturally, we will come to the end of ourselves. And as we find ourselves on our knees, in weeping, in anger, or perhaps in fear — that is a moment of grace. A moment when we realize how small all our best efforts are. A moment when we realize we still need God. The truth is, these moments are perhaps the most important part of serving internationally.
So wherever you are on the cross-cultural journey, whether just embarking or returning after many years of service, may you too hear the invitation of God’s grace, especially in the moments when you feel overwhelmed by the realities of the choices you have made. When the termites — literal or figurative — seem to be eating through your life, may the Lord meet you and sustain you.
Photo by Michał Lis on Unsplash
