Foreigners All

Dear Readers.  

Hope all is well on your side.  I'm encouraged to see that more people are subscribing to my blog and am always touched that your reach stretches so far.  I do hope you know that my thoughts and prayers are with you as well.

 is something I wrote last year while we were on the road, but because of poor internet was never able to send successfully. If somehow a copy made its way to you, please forgive me and chalk it up to my feeble mind!

At some point during this long one-year journey, it occurred to me that for almost the entire time of our marriage, Tony and I have always been "foreigners", in a sense. Ever since we packed our suitcases in 1973 and headed out for a two-year mission assignment in Africa, “home” has always been a rather tentative thing. This helps explain, I suppose, why we so often find ourselves in that “foreigner’s quandary” where we just don’t quite get it. 

That understanding was affirmed in 1977 as we were packing for our second trip to Africa, where we would wait for a career appointment that would eventually take us to Japan. Sharing a coffee with friends, our good college buddy said casually, "You've always been weird".  That thought has stuck with us, and while I suppose we could have been offended, we realised he had a point. To this day, we joke about it, and especially during those frequent times when we look around and see that we’re on another of those Robert Frost paths that are decidedly “less travelled”.

But lest you get a slanted image of what it means to always be the new kid on the block, let me share a few of our “foreign moments” along the way:

Standing very respectfully along the wall of a Japanese funeral home with the grieving family, thinking we were doing the right thing as we had followed them up to lay the flowers in front of the deceased man's picture. We continued with them to a place where hundreds of guests made preparations to come by and greet us.  Standing reverently, thinking how terribly appropriate and culturally sensitive we were being, I noticed two things ..... First, we were the only foreigners in an auditorium packed with funeral goers. Then I noticed a lady with white gloves and bowing almost to the waist (obviously an usher) creeping toward us and whispering in ultra-formal Japanese, "I'm going to take a guess that you're not part of the immediate family, would I be correct?"

And then there was the time when a stern-faced man sashayed up to us, towel over his arm, at a swish beach resort on the Riviera. In his best, “See, I can speak English too” voice, he "suggested" that we  mightwant to move down to the other end of the beach where our towels matched those of the second-class patrons.

It's beginning to dawn on us that we may always be 'out of place', even back in the land of our birth. Last summer as we were traveling around America, I came across an advertisement for a fancy-looking inn right on the banks of the Mississippi. We could almost hear the banjo twanging, “Way down upon the 'Swannee River" as we parked and went in.  As it turned out, it was more like the duelling banjos, leaving us with the distinct impression that we might be safer on a raft with Huckleberry Finn!

So, the gist of all this is to point out that it seems no matter where we go, we will always be foreigners on foreign soil. You Australians who have been gracious to adopt us into your country have been kind and forgiving when our weirdness shines through, but remember that even back in America, we never quite belong.

But in many ways, that’s a good thing, I think. I remember that Jesus was a Sojourner as well.  I think sometimes He may have been lonely or frustrated, and probably had times when He longed to be back in the Kingdom that He spoke of so often.

I often wonder what emotion was packed into those never-to-be forgotten words He uttered from Matthew 8:20, “Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.”

But for me, I think it’s good to remember every day that I am just a pilgrim here with a job to do. When that work is finished, then I’ll hear the voice of my Father, saying, “Well done, child; come on home!”

Until that day, let’s keep loving each other, loving what we do, and looking to the day when all the weirdness is put aside and we are welcomed into the arms of the One Who made us.

Marsha