re-entry – Page 3 – A Life Overseas |

4 Ways to Give Yourself Grace During Re-Entry

White Subarus and silver Toyotas back out of their respective driveways, plodding their way to respective workplace destinations. I don’t know where. Department stores, manufacturing plants, and office buildings with cubicles.

I wonder how many of these folks love what they do?

That could be me.

I sit on the borrowed front porch of a friend’s house in suburbia and cry.

My life was college students and events in a country that was not America. Open mic nights with long conversations into the evening about Jesus and music and work and life. Bible studies and food and college kids in my living room, singing songs, laughing, sometimes crying, and always eating. People who were so integrated into our lives they’d pretty much become family.

But no more. That life is now 8000 miles away.

Suburban America is my home again for the first time in nearly a decade. And it’s weird. I don’t like it.

I don’t have a job. I don’t have a place to live. I don’t have a ministry. I don’t have any local friends. Most significantly, I don’t even know who I am right now.

And now my coffee’s cold.

Sure. I know I’m a child of God. My identity is in Christ. I am accepted in the Beloved. But, honestly — that all feels like “blah, blah, blah” on this particular morning, sitting with cold coffee on a borrowed front porch.

We missionaries and ministry-types should always seek our identity in Christ and not our work. We know this. Most of us would even proclaim it from a pulpit when things are going well.

But it’s super easy for missionaries and ministry-types to cross a line. When you’re off the field or you no longer have the ministry you’ve given so much to, sometimes you don’t know who you are anymore. There’s loss. There’s a hole that used to be full of activity. Activity that was not just busy, unimportant, and impotent things. These were vital activities. World-changing, life-changing, eternal things.

But it’s gone now.

For missionary me, it’s 8000 miles away. And I am in suburbia with front porches and Subarus and Walmarts and cold coffee.

This was one of the lowest moments of my life.

When coming off the field, these are the realities many face, with any honest reflection. So much of my identity was tied to that work and to that place. It’s not easy to settle back into the homeland.

Coming home is a process that’s longer than an airplane ride. A process that takes time. Whether you realize it or not, you’re grieving. I was experiencing grief that morning on the borrowed front porch. It was my morning of mourning. I was grieving a significant loss. And grief needs time. I’m looking at that moment five years later, and it still makes me sad.

Taking on another country as your home changes you. You will not return to your passport country the same person.

Grace and time are keys. Be generous with yourself and your time. Reflect much on the generous grace of God.

Here are four ways to give yourself grace during the transition.

1. It’s okay to not be okay
This will be your reality for a while. People will ask how you’re doing, and you’ll say, “fine.” And that may very well be a lie. It’s okay to not be “fine.” You’re going to have a lot of conflicting emotions. There will be the joy of reunion and the pain of loss all mixed in the same emotional smoothie bowl. You’ll be happy to see folks you love. You’ll also miss a lot of people, places, and memories from your adopted home. You have two homes now. Most people don’t get that. You’re starting all over again, with little understanding of what’s ahead.

Know this will pass. You’re not going to stay in the state of discombobulation forever.

But for this time, it’s not only okay — it’s essential.

2. It’s okay to be the conversation dropout sometimes.
For a significant season, I felt like I needed to mention our old home in almost every conversation. I’m confident it was annoying.

But it was the only thing I knew how to talk about.

Every other conversation was about jobs and yard work and politics and cheeseburgers and all things America. I didn’t know how to enter into those conversations with any sort of knowledge or enthusiasm.

You have to look for common ground. And for a time you will find very little of that. Give it time. This will pass, as well.

In the meantime, learn to listen well. Take on the job of cultural assimilation using the same intention and the same tools you did when you landed in your field of service. It doesn’t fix your heart. But it helps.

3. It’s okay to take a transitory position.
Jobs are abundant in America right now. Jobs that are as satisfying as the one you just left? Probably not. My second language is proprietary to a single part of the world. It’s useless in America. Entering the job market, I assumed my marketable skills were minimal or maybe non-existent. I didn’t want to be a “missions pastor.” My assumption was a future in manual labor or the service industry.

Don’t listen to the lie that you “don’t have marketable skills.” Because of your unique overseas experience, there are important things that only you can do. The ability to navigate cross-culturally requires incredibly valuable soft skills that employers pay a lot of money for. But, you may have to take a transitory job to figure out what those skills are for you.

I threw my resume at the wall like so much spaghetti and took what stuck. I landed a fund-raising position with an international non-profit and learned how to function in the American workplace again. I knew it wasn’t going to be my gig from now until I retire or die. But it was a gig from God. I learned. I grew. And, eventually, I moved on.

4. It’s good to get help.
I had a third-party coach who helped me through this transition. Having another voice and another set of eyes is critical and (at least in my opinion) non-negotiable. Making this transition on your own is not healthy. Check with your organization to see if they will help pay for a development coach who will assist you through this process. This person can make all of the difference.

It did for me.

Time is key. Leaving the field is not just leaving a job. It’s leaving a life. Transition off the field is as life-altering as moving to the field. Be ready for this.

My moment with cold coffee on a borrowed front porch happened five years ago. Time has passed. I’m okay. There will always be residual scar tissue. But grace (with time) does heal all wounds.

So get ready to embrace the discomfort and swim in the beauty of the grace of God. Give yourself time and space to land.

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Bernie and Renee’ just celebrated their 30th year of marriage while residing in Greenville, SC. Their two adult children launched while the whole family resided in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia. Currently, they serve as the regional leadership couple for Southeast Asia at New International. Bernie is a leadership and non-profit coach and consultant who writes and publishes daily at bernieanderson.com/blog.

More Results: Continued Analysis of the Missionary Attrition Survey

by Andrea Sears

Remember that survey of returned missionaries? The missionary who conducted it (me) wrapped up her furlough, headed back to Costa Rica, weathered 2 months of absolute craziness (only part of which is contained in this blog post) and is now finally able to refocus on publishing the results. I am sorry for the delay, as I know many have shown interest in seeing the results!

The decision to “head home” from the mission field is a complex one, to put it lightly. Sometimes that decision is made for us (our term is up, the agency doesn’t allow us to stay longer, it’s time to retire, etc.), but other times we have to decide when the time is right to move on.

We have a lot of different things to consider. Here are just a few of them:

Of course there’s our “call” and whether it’s “completed” or we feel a “release” from the call by God, or if we believe He wishes us to continue.
Then there’s fundraising: “do we have enough money to live on?”
Practical things can’t be ignored, like how our kids are doing, options for their schooling, and who might need us back home.
Our own physical or mental health, or that of our spouse or children, can create a need to return for healing’s sake.
Life happens, sometimes creating trauma, injury, war, or other conditions that preclude our continuing.
And difficulties with our team or agency or co-workers may seem too dysfunctional to overcome, or we might be part of the problem and unwilling to admit it and make changes.
And sadly, if we are honest, in the mix of all of this is our own pride:
- Does leaving mean I have failed?
- What will God feel about me if I leave?
- What will my donors think if I leave?
- Being a missionary makes me “somebody.” What will I be back in my own culture?

In order to be able to share the full-length survey results with anyone who is interested, I have set up a web site to publish the results section by section as I write them up. The site is www.themissionsexperience.weebly.com, for those who want to read the complete “Overview of Survey and Methodology” section. You can subscribe to get updates when new sections are published. And I’ve got a resource list of helpful books and web sites about different aspects of missions.

What follows is a blog-sized teaser of the overview section, setting the stage for understanding and contextualizing the results sections.

Overview

The survey was distributed electronically through a variety of networks including popular missionary blogs, the Missio Nexus web site, personal networks, and appeals to forward the survey on to other possible participants. Participants self-selected if they felt they had the time to participate in the survey and were former overseas missionaries who had returned to their “home” country.

Demographic information was collected for each participant, including:

gender,
ethnicity,
age (currently and at time of departure for the mission field),
marital status,
number of children in the home on the mission field,
passport country,
religious denomination,
mission agency,
years on the mission field,
countries served,
type of work done,
language study,
funding, and
years since leaving the mission field.

Survey questions were grouped into the following 8 sub-topics:

Family
Team
Host country
Physical Health
Expectations
Spiritual
Financial
Mental health

For each sub-topic, a list of statements (e.g., “I was homesick.”) was provided with instructions for the participant to rate each statement with an answer from the following 5-point scale:

I did not experience this on the mission field.
I did experience this, but it had no effect on my decision to leave.
This had a slight effect on my decision to leave.
This had a moderate effect on my decision to leave.
This had a strong effect on my decision to leave.

These response options allowed us to measure three important pieces of information for each potential factor, increasing in specificity at each level:

The proportion of missionaries experiencing each factor (answering the question: “how common is this experience on the mission field?”),
The proportion of missionaries that felt that the experienced factor impacted their return decision (answering the question: “does this factor tend to impact the return decision or not?”), and
The strength of the impact of each factor on the return decision (answering the question: “how heavily does each relevant factor weigh in the return decision?”).

Open-Ended Questions

In addition to the scaled responses, several sub-topics had open-ended follow-up questions where participants could share more details or stories (e.g., “If you experienced marital issues and feel comfortable sharing more, please describe them.”). Many heartfelt stories were shared, for which we are grateful. These responses were analyzed qualitatively to look for central themes or particularly poignant quotes that illustrated an important concept.

Overall Factor Weighting Results

Finally, each participant was asked to try to quantify the weighting of each factor in their decision, summing to 100%.

When the overall weightings assigned to each factor are averaged across all survey participants, the following list shows the ranking of each category in terms of perceived importance in making the decision to return to the passport country:

Family: 25.7%
Team/agency: 22.3%
Other (miscellaneous factors not mentioned in other categories): 10.3%
Health: 10%
Mental health: 9.5%
Host country: 6.6%
Spiritual: 6.5%
Financial: 5.2%
Expectations: 3.9%

The next section of analysis will be about family factors, the most heavily weighted category in the return decision for many missionaries. Stay tuned.

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Andrea Sears is co-founder of the ministry giveDIGNITY, which works in the marginalized community of La Carpio in San Jose, Costa Rica. The ministry focuses on Christ-centered community development initiatives in education, vocation, and violence prevention. Her family has been in Costa Rica for 8 years, and served as the Missionaries in Residence at John Brown University during the 2017-2018 year while on furlough.

To the Returning Missionary

You have walked with God in this place a long time, and He has walked with you. He has been beside you and inside you this whole time. The same Spirit remains in you and with you in your new place.

This place has changed you, and you have changed this place. Do not be distressed if you don’t understand everything that has happened and that is happening. Remember that the stories God writes are always long. They unfold over generations, not days or weeks or even months.

You have been here long enough to understand some of what God is writing, for both yourself and the people you’ve served, but some things may not make sense yet. Do not fret, and do not fear. The Father will show it all to you One Day. Until That Day, remember that you leave with our love, even as you live within God’s love.

Many years ago you came to this place as a foreigner, and the place you’re going now may also seem foreign to you. Everyone and everything has changed, including you.

So in the days and months and years to come, when you feel misunderstood, remember that no one understands your foreignness like Jesus, the One who came to the most foreign land to show his beloved creatures Truth and Light. He will understand your sorrows like no other.

You have seen so much change in your years here. Change in the people around you, change in yourself, change in the people you’re returning to. And you are tired. So tired. No one can work and live as long as you have and not be tired. Remember that Christ is your rest. (And on your journey, also remember to sleep.)

Circumstances change, and communities change, and in the end, He is all we have to hold onto. So don’t lose hope: He IS our hope. Hold onto Him, and remember that His love never fails. It will never fail you.

Though organizations may fail you, though supporters may fail you, though cultural acquisition may fail you, though years of experience may fail you, though people you love and invested in may fail you, though you may even feel you’ve failed yourself, still one thing will not fail you: the love of the Great Three in One will never fail.

And One Day, this squeezing in your heart and this aching in your bones from all these years and all these travels and all the years and travels to come, it will all be undone. Everything will be made new. Remember this.

“Don’t you just love it?”

By Emily Casada

It was the middle of a hot tropical summer in Cancun, Mexico. Sweat dripped down my staff t-shirt as I loaded a visiting mission team into the 15-passenger van for a winding, bumpy, 30-minute drive to our next ministry site. We were 4 or 5 weeks into an 8-week-long summer of visiting missionary teams. At this point, my family and I had been in Mexico serving as missionaries for more than a year and a half.

Our staff was stretched thin. My husband had been working 60-hour weeks running programs at the Christian community center we staffed, leading work projects for teams, food shopping for the missions teams, and visiting families we were caseworkers for. I was working part-time in the ministry and full-time taking care of our 2-year-old son. One of the women from the team, bless her heart, looked at me and asked – don’t you just love it? Of course she meant being a full-time missionary here. I stammered, uhh, love it? Ummm, yeah. Sometimes, sometimes I do… but it’s also, very hard.

Mission teams are a blessing to the ministry, providing finances for work projects in the impoverished communities we serve and sponsorships for the children in our child sponsorship program. But how do you explain to someone experiencing a euphoric spiritual high on a short term mission trip that it’s not always like this? We call it “the mountain top experience” where everything seems amazing. But visiting another country for a week is not the same as living and struggling through it day after day.

We see the good, the bad and the ugly. We are tired and stressed. This is our life. You fly home tomorrow, and we stay here preparing for the next team. And all the while we feel like we have to be “On” every minute a mission team is visiting so that they have a good experience and want to return with their church again next year. We were struggling to make it. The stress of living overseas, long hours, conflict with leadership – led to burnout.

It was at the end of this second summer that we made the difficult decision to leave the ministry 2 years into our initial 3-year commitment. We prayed and cried and struggled with the decision. We wavered back and forth, wanting to be obedient. We could stay one more year and fulfill our commitment and at the end be depleted, washed up, in a really unhealthy place. Or we could leave now, knowing we had persevered through two difficult years. We knew we weren’t in a healthy place and our family, marriage, physical and mental health, ministry and relationship with God were all suffering.

We are now almost one year back in the U.S. My husband and I are both working full-time jobs back in the career world. It’s been a struggle. And people ask us, don’t you just love it? Of course they mean that we love being back home in the U.S. I stammer, ummm errr yeah, we love being close to family again. But it’s also, very hard. How do you explain it to someone who has never experienced missions overseas? This doesn’t feel quite like “home” anymore. We miss the children and close friendships with coworkers we made in Mexico. We miss ministry and struggle to find fulfillment in the career world. We have trouble reconnecting with old friends who have moved on, and with our home church because we’ve changed. We are no longer the same. Our values and desires are completely different because of our experiences overseas.

Some days it’s so hard; we take it day by day. We pray and cry out to God. Why is this so hard? We are so glad we went and were obedient, and we won’t look back one day wondering what if? But it’s hard. Will we ever feel content again? What ministry is He preparing for us next?

We trust Him with everything. That He is working in us and preparing us for the next step He has for us. But it’s hard in the valley, not being able to see the top of the next mountain or what’s on the other side. It feels dark and it’s difficult to feel as close to God as on the field, when you relied on Him daily for everything, and He showed up in amazing, impactful ways. Day by day. Step by step, we strive to follow Him. Where else can we go? We are living the words of John 6:68-69: “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and to know that you are the Holy One of God.”

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Emily Casada and her husband Alan were missionaries in Cancun, Mexico where they worked with vulnerable children and families at a Christian community center. Emily has a huge heart for international missions and orphan care. They currently live in Kentucky with their 4-year- old son.

These Seeds

By Rachel E. Hicks

We’re a world away. It’s been almost three years.

Sometimes those seven years on the field feel like a dream, but the soil of that season clings in both hidden and obvious ways.

We went because of a clear call. We stayed through earthquakes, teammates leaving, medical traumas, kids coming unraveled, depression, and repeated changes in ministry direction as one door after another closed. Each dark season found us asking again if we were to stay. Yes, (and sometimes only that) was the answer.

Every now and then there were glimpses of fruit: a transformative conversation, a chance to share the hope we have, a sense that because of the love of Christ in us, someone was being changed. But the deepest soul-plowing, change, and growth seemed to be happening in our own lives. We were learning the long road of obedience, learning by experience a theology of suffering and surrender. And we kept planting seeds.

Then one day it was time to go. Literally, from one day to the next we were shown the exit sign. We asked again, and again, Are we to stay? And this time the answer was No. God was merciful in His clear guidance. How do we explain that? A myriad small things lining up, pointing in one direction. Several large things also pointing in that direction. Mostly, though, a deep inner sense that we were hearing Him correctly.

So we left. Packed up, said farewells, rode a couple of long flights, dreamed together about what was to come next.

And those seeds? Friends still sometimes ask about them. What do we think is the legacy we left? What do we hope will happen with the work we did, the relationships we formed, the tiny bit of the kingdom we tried to help spread?

We ask those questions ourselves sometimes, still—usually silently and while lying in the dark, feeling how strange it is to be here now, in this place, thousands of miles away. It feels like a wound that’s not quite healed or a slightly shameful scar. I don’t know why. Maybe because there’s no way to answer, though we feel like we should have an answer.

I don’t know what will happen to those seeds. Maybe the only ones that will grow and bear fruit will be the ones planted in me during that time, though some small measure of faith inside me believes that some of those seeds will sprout toward eternity. Someone else will water. God will give the increase.

I keep coming back to this: we obeyed the call to go, the call to remain, and the call to return. We did what was given us to do, and we know the way of Jesus better now. The rest belongs to Him.

Friends of ours from our church here in Baltimore put out an album recently. The band is Sojourne, and I’d love for you to listen to the title track, “These Seeds,” which inspired this post, especially if you’re wondering what will happen to the seeds you’ve planted (or are planting).

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Rachel E. Hicks was born in the foothills of the Himalayas and spent the bookends of her childhood in India, with moves to Pakistan, Jordan, Democratic Republic of Congo, and Hong Kong in between. She married her college sweetheart and managed to live in one place for seven whole years (Phoenix, Arizona) before God’s call moved them and their two young children to East Asia. There, they lived and taught holistic ministry alongside a local partner for another seven years. They repatriated to the U.S. in mid-2013 and now live in Baltimore, Maryland. Rachel writes poetry, fiction, essays, and blog posts and works as a freelance copyeditor. A few of her favorite things include: electric scooters, spicy Sichuan food, hiking, and unhurried time to read. Read more of her writing at rachelehicks.com.

The Far Side of Somewhere

I remember my first home service. All those awkward experiences like drinking water from the tap and flushing the toilet with potable water again. Or feeling naked and exposed with no metal security bars on the windows. Or handing payment to cashiers with two hands (like I do in Cambodia) and then being embarrassed, because normal people don’t do that here.

What was up with the laundry smelling nice, all the time? (Come to think of it, what was up with everything smelling nice, all the time?) Could a load of laundry really take a mere two hours to complete, all the way from wash to wear, without having to hang on the line for two or three days in rainy season and still be damp — and smelling of fire and whatever dish the neighbors last cooked over said fire??

I wanted someone to explain to me why Americans felt the need to store hot water in a tank. Seemed like such a waste of energy when you could use a tankless water heater instead, thereby providing a never-ending source of hot water for yourself. (Running out of hot water in the winter is a big problem for me.)

Today I’m facing another home service. I’ll click publish on this blog post and leave my Cambodia home. I’ll board a plane and begin the process of temporarily re-entering my American home. I need to go. It’s time. After a second two-year stint in this country, culture fatigue has hit me hard. I’m worn out from the collective sin patterns of this culture, and I need a break. I love Cambodia, and I sometimes need a break from Cambodia.

Still, there’s nothing like preparing to go on home service for bringing on an identity crisis. Who am I, and where do I belong? I live in this city and traverse its Asian streets, all without quite belonging to them. Yet I don’t quite belong to the immaculately clean American streets I’ll soon be walking, either. Belonging is a slippery feeling for a global nomad. It can be everywhere, and it can be nowhere, all at the same time.

Nevertheless, when I walk in the door of my parents’ house tomorrow, I know I will once more experience the words of Bernard Cook, words that hung on the walls of every one of my childhood homes: “We need to have people who mean something to us; people to whom we can turn, knowing that being with them is coming home.” Growing up in a military family, I always knew Home was with my family. Home is with the people I love.

And as a Christian, I know Home is with God Himself. I love these words from Christine Hoover’s book From Good to Grace: “With Christ as my city, I can traipse all over the globe and never once not be at home. Because I dwell in His grace.” Christine knows a bit about this unmoored feeling of mine. She and her husband didn’t cross country borders when they moved to Virginia to church plant, but in leaving their home state of Texas to follow God’s leading, they certainly crossed the kind of deep cultural divide that make you wonder where in the world you belong.

I want Christ to be my city. I want to dwell in Him. The best part about finding home and belonging in Him is that He goes with me wherever I go. Psalm 139 is a gift to us global nomads in this regard. In verses 7 through 10, the Psalmist asks:

Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?

If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.

If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.

When I moved to Cambodia nearly four years ago, I traveled west across the ocean on a morning flight, literally rising on the wings of the dawn. And when I stepped off the plane in Phnom Penh, I found that not only had God flown the skies with me, but that He was already here in this place — for I cannot flee from His presence. Even on the far side of the sea, He holds me fast. And no matter how deep the depths of my life, I know He is with me.

From now on, wherever I go and no matter which side of the sea I settle on, I will always be on the far side of somewhere I love. There is just no getting around that. But how precious of God to include David’s words in His Word. David could not have known about jet propulsion when he penned Psalm 139, but thousands of years later, his words are a balm to the global nomad’s soul. For we rise on the wings of the dawn, and we settle on the far side of the sea, and because God lives in us, we can find Home in every place He has made.

Returning Well: Looking Back, Moving Forward

arrivals

Re-entry.

“Re” – meaning “again.” Meaning that you’ve done this before. This is not the first time. Sure, this time will have its differences. But, He has given you the courage to step out and the strength to walk forward before. You’ve sorted your things, packed countless boxes, and weighed your bags before. You’ve said goodbyes, given hugs through tears, watched the ground get smaller underneath you. You’ve landed and felt out of place—even awkward and alone. You’ve transitioned before… maybe not perfectly, but you did gain wisdom and got to where you are now. You can do it again. He will give courage and strength again. And the same skills that you learned to use to transition then—you may find it beneficial to pull them out, dust them off, and apply them in a new way. This is a “re,” and an “again” after all. Look back, and in so doing you may find you have wisdom for moving forward.

“Entry.” You are entering—walking forward into something. A new beginning. A new chapter. A new season. It may be to a place you’ve known before—but now you are different, they are different, and that place is different. So there may be hints of the past and even assumptions that you’ve not changed. But you know better. Or you may be going someplace new. You may relish the thought of a new beginning or weary at the thought of starting all over.

Whatever the case may be, entering something new means leaving something known. For some that brings a sigh of relief. For others, it brings deep and painful grief. And for many, it brings both—along with a host of other re-entry experiences. What was is no more. And may never be again. What will be is not always entirely certain. And where you belong and what feels like home—complex.

Re-entry.

Even though grief, confusion, and complexity swirl around you from leaving your current “known,” part of that “known” comes with you when you leave—it has been woven into the deepest parts of you as it has changed you, shaped you, and made you who you are now. Often it is this “known” that contributes to the difficulty of re-entry but at the same time also creates the opportunity for re-entry to be a pivotal time leading you to genuine thriving in the next season of life. The key to this thriving is an intentional gleaning of treasures from your recent “known.” Let me explain…

Your life that you have been living cross-culturally, your most recent “known,” is filled with treasures. Some are obvious. Some are hidden beneath the surface. The joys, the wisdom, the things He taught you, the ways He stretched you, and even the ways He has formed you (or is still forming you) as a pearl through great pain—all these are treasures. All are valuable—maybe for you, maybe for others. . .many times for both. And it is these treasures that can hold the key to your thriving in the season of life after re-entry. It is these treasures that in the hands of the Master can be honed and then applied in the next season to make a real and significant difference—not only leading to your own thriving, but also to the blessing of others.

So, you land back “home.” You unpack, or try to. And you want this time of re-entry to be pivotal—to lead to thriving—you want to find these treasures, “But where do I start?” you wonder. “How do I even recognize these so-called treasures when I am not even sure what they look like, and I can’t even find where I unpacked my chapstick? How do I take time to stop and find these treasures when the life in my passport culture is giving me sensory overload? And once I find these treasures, how do I know what to do with them to make a real and significant difference?”

Almost ten years ago, our Father put a vision on my heart—a vision of a resource that would guide cross-cultural sojourners through an effective debriefing to a dynamic renewal. For five years the seed that He planted laid dormant, until I mentioned to my boss in passing that we should write our own re-entry resource for our staff. He encouraged me to write it. At that time, I wrote what I now call the “draft.” Once it was complete, I knew deep down, He had something more.

And so nearly every day for the last five years, we have been crafting, honing, field-testing (a grateful shout-out to those of you who were part of that process!), editing, and polishing Returning Well: Your Guide to Thriving Back “Home” After Serving Cross-Culturally. Returning Well is a guidebook that invites you into a guided conversation with your Creator that will reveal and apply invaluable treasures of insight as you reflect on your recent season of cross-cultural service. By using Returning Well, you will discover how this season influenced you, how to re-integrate well, and what moving forward in faith means for you. Returning Well not only provides a place to start but continually ushers you into specific conversations with Him so that you be fully released to uniquely and wholeheartedly love and serve your Creator in the season of life following re-entry. And at last, I am excited to share that Returning Well is now available—more details are below.

For those of you in re-entry or seeing it on your horizon, I fully believe that this season holds immense value for you. He has given you exquisite treasures. Following His lead and relying on His strength, you can do this, we can do this, you’re not alone—let’s get started. Here is an excerpt from Returning Well for you to take a moment to enter into a conversation with Him, guiding you in looking back and in so doing, giving you wisdom in moving forward.

What was the initial stage of your transition to your host culture like? How did it compare to your expectations?

What habits, mindsets, or resources most helped you through this initial stage of transition (e.g., practical transition skills, relationships, attitudes of the heart or mind, specific Truths, etc.)? What made each helpful?

Which of these, or particular aspects of these, might be helpful to you now as you transition back to your primary culture? In what ways might they be helpful?

You can return well. To take the next step and begin your Returning Well journey, visit www.ReturningWell.com/Purchase for information on purchasing Returning Well individually or in bulk.

Readers! We are giving away one copy of Returning Well. Anyone who comments on this post will be entered into the Giveaway. We will be selecting the winner through a computerized program. You have one week to leave a comment. We will announce the winner on Monday, August 31 on our Facebook page and on this blog. Thank you for being a part of this online space!

Previously published on Velvet Ashes, updated and used with permission.

Melissa’s heart was set ablaze for cross-cultural work in high school and it was in college where He honed her sights on member care (and the areas of marriage, family, and transitions in particular). Ever since then, she’s been traveling the world through her feet, her knees, her phone, and Skype – listening, loving, and serving those who have lived or are living among those not like them. She is a devoted follower, wife, mom, and an Associate Certified Coach through the International Coaching Federation. She eagerly anticipates the culmination of a vision and burden that He gave her to create Returning Well — a guidebook that makes an effective debriefing that leads to a dynamic renewal available to all people in re-entry. Its publication is forthcoming. You can get in touch with Melissa at her website: MelissaChaplin.com or by way of her email: Melissa@MelissaChaplin.com.

The Psalms: A Reentry Handbook

By Robynn Bliss

I remember hanging suspended upside down inside a squished cab of a pick up truck alongside the road. The ambulance arrived, and two paramedics stuck their heads in from either side of the cab. They told us they would have us out in no time, they inquired as to how we were doing, and then they asked if there was anyone they could call for us. We grimaced and glanced at each other. Ethel had grown up in Brazil, Denise’s parents were in Nigeria, and mine remained obliviously out of reach in Pakistan. There was no one to call.

The summer before I had watched, with that horrible sinking feeling, my parents board the plane to return to Pakistan. I was of age. I had crossed that dreaded line that meant that I no longer went with them. I was stuck in Canada, far from them, far from my childhood, far from everything I had ever known. I was alone.

It wasn’t entirely true. I wasn’t technically alone. My parents had figured out a plan for that first summer without them. I had people to stay with, a church to attend, and I knew where I would be going once summer was over. I had relatives that loved me. There were plenty of well-meaning people to look out for me, and yet deep inside there was a place that shook with the reality that I was really on my own.

I cried a lot that summer. I grieved adulthood thrust upon me. I ached for my parents and the stability they brought. I missed Pakistan and the familiar, my boarding school and all my chums. My loneliness was so profound it nearly swallowed me whole. It was thick and tangible.

During this time Jesus reminded me again of the Psalms. David often was separated from his family, his friends, his safety, his childhood, his familiar. He was often on the run, living out of a suitcase: a transient, a wanderer (a TCK?). He was no stranger to separation and grief. Many of his journal entries reflect that. He wrote things like: “Morning, noon, and night I cry out in my distress and the Lord hears my voice”(Ps 54:16), “You keep track of all my sorrows” (Ps 56:8), “Come with great power, O God and rescue me! (Ps 54:1), “for you have seen my troubles and you care about the anguish of my soul” (Ps 31:7).

In the midst of David’s pain and uncertainty he knew that God was his fortress and his protector, his helper. He understood that God loved him deeply and that God was with him in the midst of all the sadness. “The Lord directs the steps of the godly. He delights in every detail of their lives. Thou they stumble, they will never fall for the Lord holds them by the hand” (Ps 37:23). ”Unfailing love surrounds those who trust the Lord” (Ps 32:10). I found comfort and camaraderie in reading David’s poems, his songs, his journal. He seemed to understand. He seemed confident that God would be with me too. It became my life line. During those first 2 years back I read nothing from scripture except the Psalms! David mentored me through reentry. He taught me how to depend on God in the midst of suffering and separation.

One day I was driving my little car across the Canadian prairie. Suddenly and for no apparent reason (I mean I wasn’t out of gas and there did appear to be oil in the car!), it quit! I had no idea what to do. I pulled to the side of the road and thought about my dad. My dad would know what to do! My dad had probably told me what to do at some point but I couldn’t remember what that was. And to complicate what always seemed already like a complicated life, my dad was off in Pakistan! I opened the hood and stood over it. The tears started running down my face. I felt the separation that was such a reality. And then I did what my mentor David taught me to do: I cried out to God. God if you are the Good Shepherd –the Expert on Sheep, and the Great Physician – the Expert on me…surely you know something about cars. Will you please come to my rescue? Will you please fix this stupid car?? I closed the hood, got back in behind the steering wheel and turned the key. It worked! God had fixed my car. God had been my Heavenly Mechanic, my Nearby Holy Dad. He had stepped in and helped me.

The reality of His nearness waxed and waned during those early years. Often God through His tender Spirit eased the pain of the separation and He was my helper! Other times it was still so very hard and I missed my parents and their expertise on living very keenly.

“O Lord you alone are my hope. I’ve trusted you, O Lord, from childhood. Yes, you have been with me… My life is an example to many, because you have been my strength and protection…. O God don’t stay away. My God, please hurry to help me… I will keep on hoping for your help. I will praise you more and more…. O God you have taught me from my earliest childhood, and I constantly tell others about the wonderful things you do…. Let me proclaim your power to this new generation, your mighty miracles to all who come after me…”Ps 71: 5-18

(Previously published on Communicating Across Boundaries and in Traveling Without Baggage, a Christar publication.)

Robynn Bliss is a proud Canadian who spent her childhood in Pakistan, married an American, and went on to live, work, and raise a family in India. She is co-author of the book Expectations and Burnout:Women Surviving the Great Commission and writes at Communicating Across Boundaries every Friday.

When There’s Nowhere to Go But Home

When my husband and I decided to leave Cambodia, we had a hard time articulating why. Life was fine – very good actually. We had a decent groove with work, amazing childcare for our two children, and the most incredible faith community.

And yet. We knew.

It would have been easier in some ways if there was some sort of “reason,” like a family or health-related issue, or something to do with the kids’ schooling. But for us it wasn’t any of those. There was no crystal clear moment, no flashing light, no obvious sign, and no audible voice from God. There was just a visceral knowledge that it was time.

When we moved to Cambodia in the first place, we were young and typically idealistic. We wanted to “make a difference” with the gifts and talents God gave us and invest meaningfully in work and relationships. We loved Cambodia deeply (and still do), but after nearly six years of committing ourselves to the country, its people and to our work, we felt like we received an inaudible release. The call to Cambodia had come and gone. And that was okay. It wasn’t failure or lack of commitment, or even cutting things short. We had permission to go.

Even more, there was an instinctual, gut-knowledge that if we stayed, we were actually taking the easy route. To leave? Well…that was terrifying. It meant trusting that God would provide a new way, a new vision for the future and a new path to see it through.

That’s where we sit right now. Nine months ago we left Cambodia. We took the long way home to Canada, stopping in 14 countries to visit friends and family along the way. Each step in our journey, including the five months we’ve been back, have been important in piecing together the next phase of our lives.

It is a phase that is decidedly Canadian. It’s relearning how to live and work and operate in our country of origin. It’s about finding deep and abundant rest – in the form of closeness to family, play parks for our kids, a safe car to drive, lots of walking and biking in Canada’s beautiful outdoors, and public services like health care and libraries at our disposal. It’s celebrating our first cold, white Christmas in six years. And, it’s wrestling with all sorts of new challenges, like living simply when surrounded by overabundance and learning to make new friends and find our place in a new church community. Sometimes I feel like I’m the new girl back in high school.

It hasn’t been easy, and there are days when I desperately miss Cambodia and question our sanity in leaving.

But I still know deep in my gut that leaving was the right decision.

I am reminded of the countless times throughout Scripture where God calls people outside themselves and outside of the familiar. Whether it’s Abram and Sarai heading towards Canaan, the Israelites leaving Egypt, or Paul’s missionary journeys, God calls us out of our comfort zone and out of the familiar.

Strangely enough, for us right now, that’s Canada.

In his work, ‘The Forgotten Ways: Reactivating the Missional Church’, Alan Hirsch says:

“When we survey scripture with liminality and communitas [[1]] in mind, we must conclude that the theologically most fertile sections were in those times of extremity, when people were well out of their comfort zones.”[2]

And so we find that the driving motivation to go to Cambodia in the first place – one of adventure and challenge and wanting to be changed – has now driven us back to Canada.

All of this doesn’t mean that a life overseas is over for us. Not at all. It means that before we can go and minister again, we need to refresh and re-energize after coming dangerously close to burning out. And, perhaps we need enough time in Canada to remember why we left in the first place.

For now, we plod through day to day life praying for peace, the capacity to live well in our new context, and for a renewed vision for the future.

[1] In ‘The Forgotten Ways’, Hirsch defines liminality as “the transition process accompanying a fundamental change of state or social position.” Communitas is “what happens when “individuals are driven to find each other through a common experience of ordeal, humbling, transition, and marginalization.” Page 221

[2] Hirsch, Alan. The Forgotten Ways: Reactivating the Missional Church. Brazos Press. Grand Rapids, MI. 2006. Page 221.

After spending her entire childhood (except the odd missions trip here and there) on Canadian soil, Amie Gosselin graduated from university with a BA in Journalism and a passion to travel and engage in social justice issues. Since then, she has lived in Thailand, Suriname and Cambodia working for non-profit organizations and loves that writing and stewarding people’s stories is part of her vocation. Amie is married to Steve and mom to two spunky little girls. After six years of living Cambodia, she and her family moved back to Canada where they are trying to relearn how to live in North America. Amie continues to work part time for an international NGO and is expecting her third daughter in May.

I Can’t Handle This

The barista brought us our fru-fru coffee all decorated and foamy. I would be leaving Bolivia in a couple days and my friend wanted to spend some time with me. She and I had history. You get connected to someone when you’re climbing a mountain (literally) with them.

I went to Bolivia with mountain moving faith. 13 years passed. Then in one of the darkest valleys I have ever known the decision to leave was made.

In my raw state I was in no mood for a friendly chat. I barely had enough energy to be seen in public. Her face emanated pity. When she said the next thing to console me I might have been sharp and slightly embittered.

“God won’t give you more than you can handle,” she said with a sincere smile on her face.

I stared and shook my head. I knew it wasn’t true. I cared enough for this dear friend that I wanted her to see me, hear me.

“Where’s that verse found?” I asked.

“Oh, I am not sure. I don’t know. I will have to look it up. But I know it’s there,” she said.

“That’s not a verse in the bible,” I said with a flat voice.

She insisted. I resisted.

“Let me explain it this way,” I began, “If that verse existed then it would mean that I don’t need God. If He is only going to give me what I can handle on my own then I have no need of Him.”

She stood by her belief. I would expect nothing less of her. The conversation veered to children, church, and other things. We ended the encounter with sweet embraces, kisses, true sentiments spoken with eyes and hearts locked. She is precious to me.

But I still don’t think that is a verse in the bible.

These last few years have brought more doubt than I care to admit. I doubted myself. I knew that if what I was going through was given to me by God then He hadn’t read that verse, because I could not handle what was going on.

I broke. That’s not “handling” it. That’s breaking.

I went to look it up and see if it really was in the Bible. Where do I go to find the verse? Google of course. Here’s a screen shot of what popped:

god give handle

Apparently the Interwebs have some mixed feelings about this cliche too. I especially appreciate the sentiment in the lower left hand corner. Yeah. That.

Where was I going with this? Oh yes. The bible. Eventually I did land in the silky paper pages of my bible at the infamous verse:

“The temptations in your life are no different from what others experience. And God is faithful. He will not allow the temptation to be more than you can stand. When you are tempted, he will show you a way out so that you can endure.” 1 Corinthians 10:13 (NLT)

Evil and badness try to get at us all the time. Those Corinthians were some seedy folk and had some huge temptations to face. When I hear temptation my mind goes to one word: sin. The verse talks about the choice to take a breath and look around for a different way rather than to directly follow the path of sin. When we are tempted to sin we can find a way not to. That’s God’s faithfulness.

He’s not lumping a heap of hardship on me just so He can tell me to go handle it.

He does burden us, though. Listen:

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” Matthew 11:28-30 (MSG)

Are you tired? Yes. Tired of trying. Tired of faking it. Tired of suffering silently.

Worn out? Um, yes. Worn out from running too hard with no rest. Worn out from allowing people to use me.

Burned out on religion? Amen. The formulas weren’t working.

Come to me. Get away with me … I did not think this would be a literal get away. Leave the mission field? Never, God! Move back to the States? That would be like a prison sentence! I said these things out loud on numerous occasions.

Now I’m sitting in my home in suburbia, U.S.A. There’s a minivan parked in the two car garage. I’m about to go to work at my part-time job that helps pay the bills. This move is not a furlough. It’s indefinite. What just happened?!?!

Most people have been extremely kind to us through this transition. The one person that has been the hardest on me is: myself. Yep. But I am learning.

I am learning the unforced rhythms of grace. To walk and work with Jesus, to keep company with Him. Even when that means ending my missionary life overseas.

I’d like to tie this article up with a nice neat bow of practical steps or keen advice. Can’t. Won’t.

Maybe we can sit a bit and let it be okay to say, “I can’t handle it.” No cliches. No quick fixes. And then just wait and see what happens when we are honest with God… honest with ourselves.

Debriefing Resources

Debriefing

Thanks to the facebook followers of our A Life Overseas page we have a list of debriefing resource links. Please share any resources you have found helpful. We would love to bulk up the list with resources around the globe.

Other names for debriefing include: home assignment, re-entry counseling, member care, and processing for repatriation.

Christian Training Center International at The Inn (Franklin, North Carolina, USA)

Life Impact (various locations around the world)

Link Care Center (various locations around the world)

Mission Training International (Palmer Lake, Colorado, USA)

Missionary Health Institute (Toronto, Ontario, Canada)

The Rest Initiative (Maitland, Florida, USA)

TEAM (various locations around the world)

Thrive, empowering global women (various locations around the world)

TRAIN International (Joplin, Missouri, USA)

The Well Member Care Center (Chiang Mai, Thailand)

ONLINE:

Member Care Radio

Expatriate Connection

BOOKS:

“Re-entry: Making the Transition from Missions to Life at Home” by: Peter Jordan

“Transitions: Making Sense of Life’s Changes” by: William Bridges

“Trauma and Resilience” by: Schaefer and Schaefer

“As Soon As I Fell: A Memoir” by: Kay Bruner

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As stated up top, if you have links to resources that could help in the area of debriefing, counseling for repatriation or re-entry, member care, processing for home assignment, or other related needs those living overseas might have, please share. Thanks! Be well and take care, my friends.

Coming Home (through & to war zones)

Walking with Batwa of Burundi // Photo Credit: Tina Francis

Two weeks ago I was in transit from Burundi (East Africa) to the United States. The news flashing across multiple media outlets – CNN, Al Jazeera, BBC – highlighted the Israeli incursion into Gaza, the advancing of ISIS in Iraq, the confusion around the downed Malaysian airline in Ukraine and the Ebola outbreak in West Africa.

I boarded my plane aware of other passengers, hoping none were travelers from West Africa. I reminded my daughter to keep her hands to herself, the transmission of Ebola on my mind. As I watched the interactive map in flight, I prayed about the outbreak of violence in Libya and Gaza while we split the difference and flew through Egyptian airspace. I moved through the skies with awareness we dodged war zones on our way home after our Burundian summer.

I’d only be home for a set of days before I’d be reminded of the systemic injustice and racism that still resides in my homeland. The shooting of an unarmed black teenager by a white police officer sparked cries for justice and showcased the community’s sense of marginalization. In my own country I witnessed nightly broadcasts of protests, militarized police in riot gear, tear gassed crowds and looting on American streets. Another war zone, it seemed.

What stood out in my mind with clarity – there is deep injustice here and there, at home and abroad. No place is exempt from oppression, disenfranchisement, tribalism or the need to cry out for justice on behalf of the dispossessed.

As people who travel to help others, who move across borders to defend the weak and champion justice overseas there remains the challenge to see and stand for justice at home. If we are blind to our own inequities, our dulled discernment diminishes our capacity to advocate for justice elsewhere. If we cannot stand alongside the vulnerable in our own neighborhoods then our work abroad reveals us to be altruistic adventures and not consistent peacemakers.

My personal challenge as a community development practitioner in Burundi is to bring the same eyes, the same ears, and the same commitment to justice back home with me. Yes, I see the vulnerable in Burundi, the Batwa people pushed off their land and living without protection. I hear the cries of those impoverished and homeless, as their homes were washed away with unexpected flooding one rain-soaked night. I watch with great concern as another election approaches and the majority maneuver to keep power. But when I return home I must work to bring those same sensibilities home with me and not allow my advocacy to go on furlough.

(Am I the only one who sees this as a challenge for practitioners who reside abroad and move in and out of our home country?)

Coming home has reminded me, I always travel with the prophets and their imperatives to pursue justice. Wherever I am, I’m called to stand alongside the brokenhearted. I am invited to walk with the oppressed and work for liberation. I’m exhorted to work for economic justice and equity for all and to embody God’s reconciliation wherever I am, at home or abroad.

Isaiah’s words ring in my ears: “You will be called repairers of the streets where people live…” I pray this is the testimony of my life whether I am in Burundi or the United States or anywhere in between. I hope I will have eyes to see injustice and ears to hear the cries of the vulnerable wherever I reside, always ready to do the work of emancipation. Justice knows no geographic boundaries.

Wherever we are, at home or abroad, let’s run hard after justice.

***

Do you see injustice as easily in your home country as abroad?

Is there the temptation among us to allow our advocacy work to ‘go on furlough’ when we are stateside?

What is your most unexpected re-entry struggle or observation?

Kelley Nikondeha | community practitioner in Burundi

blog | www.kelleynikondeha.com Twitter | @knikondeha