Today was a hard day for the kids. For the conference kids’ program, they were supposed to go to the reptile park, something they’d looked forward to all week.
I showed up as a surprise, eager to tag along to provide some support, but my 6-yr old, usually bubbly and strong, teared up. My 4-year old badly needed a hug. Both didn’t want to want to go.
“I want to stay here, Mama.”
I could see— that the cross-cultural stress was kicking in. Being the only Asian kids amongst new faces, losing their routine and familiar spaces (there are no playgrounds here) was becoming hard.
Interestingly, just last night before I went to bed, I had a thought- that I did miss my routine, my wide open space, even my friends. If that was case for me, what more them?
Early this morning, our board activity was about the adjustments we had to live in Africa. Perhaps that opened an awareness for them, and some emotions to spill out.
And that was OK.
Some of the teachers urged us to convince them to go, even collude with them to get them on the bus. But I could see, that all they wanted was a bit of control. They wanted to stay behind, so I said, “OK, let’s do that.” We skipped the afternoon part of the conference and just sat with them, watching the buses of kids drive off.
As their tears dried up, I held mine back. Such is the potential reality of raising our kids in the field.
It would be hard, no doubt. For all of us. We would live as exiles, as Jesus did, never quite completely fitting into a different world.
But I wanted them to know- that we would always be rooting for them. We would sit with them through their grief, even if they couldn’t articulate it.
No matter how old you are, Mama will sit with you with your grief. And I will never force you on a bus you do not want to get on.
If God does call us (not just me but us) here to live and serve, I will do my best to be here and sit through yr grief. This is my commitment to you.
