Foreigner in a strange land

I’ve known since my first day of American sixth grade in January of 1994 that I would always be different. Maybe it started before that, when I got teased in 2nd grade for wearing a pair of red “bell-bottoms” (which I don’t actually remember being bell-bottoms, but that is the phrase the kids used) from a thrift store. Didn’t I know those were so out of style? So maybe that was a clue. But in sixth grade, I really felt it hard. Really, really hard.

Since then, I’ve learned to adapt a bit. I’m not a great adaptor, even as a TCK (Third Culture Kid); I like to be comfortable, and I’m not at all good at meeting people. Plus I stink at languages and get embarrassed about that easily, so okay, I’m not as flexible as they say TCKs should be. So sue me. But I’ve moved an awful lot, and I’m really trying to feel at home where I am – enough so that I can make friends but not so much that I will be crushed when I leave.

And I’d felt reasonably at home at the church we’re attending here in Visalia. Sure, I’m constantly aware of the economic chasm between us and most of the church-goers, but it’s something I’ve put toward the back of my mind and don’t usually choose to think about. And I was beginning to feel as though I fit, sort of. This morning at MOPS, I even opened up a little to share some of our family prayer requests. It felt very awkward but relieving to talk about my life instead of just keeping it to myself all the time. And everyone seemed so sweet and interested. It was such a heart-warming experience.

But during discussion time, after hearing our speaker, something just switched off in my brain. We talked about relating to kids and husbands, and the ladies were all talking about dates with their husbands and short trips alone without the kids. All of a sudden, I felt like a complete and utter alien. Dates? Trips? to luxurious places in particular? Are you kidding me? The last time David and I went out with friends without Timothy was in June, but the last time we went out just the two of us without Timothy was a year ago November – to the senior play at Hillcrest, in fact (just after our anniversary). Yep, that was our last “date.” And a trip without Timothy? To anywhere? You’ve got to be kidding me! Not happening. Timothy and I go on trips without David. That’s how it works. A real vacation – to go rest somewhere, just we three? Not a chance. It hasn’t happened in the two years since Timothy was born, and it’s not likely to happen anytime soon. So yeah, I felt completely alienated.

And then, to top it off, we were reminded about the fundraiser MOPS is doing at Macy’s. I mentioned earlier about sixth grade, right? The one time I have ever been to Macy’s was in sixth grade. A dear lady from church, Irene, took me and another impoverished young lady to Westwood and gave us some spending money. I went to Macy’s because all the girls at school talked about it, and I thought maybe if I had something “in",” they’d accept me. (It didn’t work, by the way.) I got a nice, casual button-down long-sleeved plaid shirt that I maybe wore twice or three times ever. And I’ve never been to Macy’s since. It’s just not something that’s ever crossed my mind. I shop at Walmart. I don’t have trendy girl clothes, make-up, jewelry, or shoes. I wear nice jeans and a nice hand-me-down or thrift store shirt with my Nigerian slippers. Sure, sometimes I’d like to dress up and be a little more feminine and fashionable, but I just don’t have the money. Good grief. In an economy like this, when we are scraping to get by every month, to find enough to pay the bills and the rent, how can I possibly consider spending a day at Macy’s??

I want to clarify here that I’m not criticizing my fellow moms, or American culture, or whatever. I admit sometimes I want to be like that, to be able to throw my money away on luxuries. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m materialistic – just like you. And I already feel like I’m not a wise spender. And it’s not that I don’t want to have wealthy friends. That’s silly. But I do wish I didn’t feel like such a foreigner. I wish someone could understand where I’m coming from and identify with me in my current situation. For once in my life, I wish I could belong. Ah well, as I’m learning in my Beth Moore study of the Patriarchs, it’s my spiritual heritage to be a foreigner – teaches me to always keep my focus on the great things to come. And there are great things to come when I cross over!

The line between faith and foolishness

This is something I’ve often thought about since my college roommate first told me about her now-husband who believed in voluntary poverty and chose to work for room and board rather than a salary. Please don’t in any way think that I think he is or was foolish. Although I don’t know him very well, through his wife’s eyes, I understand him to be smart, wise, and caring, and I’m glad she’s happy with him!

But the question came up then in particular, and now I’m facing it in my own life. What do I mean? Let me give you an illustration from a friend’s personal experience, tweaked a little for his privacy. I have a friend who had a medical condition that was chronic. He spent a few weeks in a spiritual revival a few years ago, and he was 100% convinced that God had healed him of his medical condition because of his faith and prayer. He proceeded to dispose of his medication – just threw it away. He truly believed that God had healed him. The next day when the medical condition persisted, he felt a little foolish. He had to purchase new medication and make sure he took it faithfully from then on. God hadn’t healed him. Was it because he didn’t have enough faith? Or was it because it wasn’t part of God’s purpose? I don’t pretend to know the mind of God, but I think it wasn’t because of my friend’s lack of faith.

So at what point does my faith in God’s power and plan become foolishness? How do I know if I am believing the right things? God helps those who help themselves, right? I believe there can be miracles, and I believe God has absolute power to bring about any situation He sees fit. I also am convinced He has something specific for my future, and that He will bring that about. But is that foolish? What assurance do I have that this specific plan is His actual plan? What if I’m wrong? What if I’ve misunderstood all the supposed signs I’ve witnessed, misinterpreted the events around me? I know it happens. How do I know my faith is based on truth rather than delusion? I desperately want to trust and give Him my complete faith.

I’ve never been one for theology in its formal sense, but I figure there have to be answers to my question – answers that are practical and helpful rather than theological. It’s at times like this when I wish I were back at Wheaton, surrounded by spiritual leaders and mentors, people I could have called upon with such questions, or fellow students with whom to discuss the issues. Alas! I am alone and must wait on God.