Being a missionary kid comes with its own set of advantages and disadvantages. Advantages include an ability to walk between worlds and validate people’s perspectives and diversity. Advantages include a broader view of the world and a certain amount of self-sufficiency that contributes to success and independence. Advantages include an appreciation for chai, chapatis, and dhal.
Among the disadvantages of being a missionary kid is a deeply ingrained rhythm of relationships and experiences that have an expiration date. When you grow up in one house all your life, down the street from the same people, attending the same church, going to the same school, relationships and experiences seem to have no expiration date (or so I’ve heard). The kids you went to preschool with are the kids you play basketball with in high school. The adults who taught you Sunday School in 2nd grade come to your high school graduation party.
As a missionary kid, I had some of these relationships and experiences. I recently went to a reunion for people who attended RVA, and among the crowd that attended were the couple that stepped in as dorm parents for my dorm for a few months in 3rd grade, the lady that worked in the cafeteria for as long as I can remember, and the woman who’s somehow related to my dad who also taught my 6th grade Swahili class. On a recent trip to Kenya I had coffee with a friend who first came into my world in 6th grade, and a cup of chai with a couple that’s been friends with my parents for over 20 years. I stayed with a friend whose floor I would sleep on when I was 7.
So to a certain extent, there are these lifetime relationships that are scattered throughout my own history as a missionary kid.
But more prominently in view is a rhythm that anticipates a fairly complete turnover of relationships every several years. Every several years my parents would leave the mission field and spend a year in the States. Adults I loved and trusted would regularly make the announcement that it was time for ‘home assignment,’ the year they spent in the States, strengthening their support network and raising money. And inevitably, when (or if) they came back to Kenya, they had changed…I had changed…and things were different.
As a young adult I found this rhythm in my own life. After 3 years in college I was itching for a change of scenery…so I spent a semester in England. After another 3 years I was once again itching for a change…so I spent a few months in Kenya working in a children’s home. After another few years I had completed a seminary degree and was finishing up a degree in Early Childhood Education. Which sounds all kinds of stable, but each summer I would re-locate to Bible camp in Wisconsin to work for 10 weeks, and during the year I worked for Feed My Starving Children’s traveling team that went all over the country to lead weekend packing events. So, not surprisingly, after 8 years of living in Minnesota…the longest I’d lived in one place (even though I had 4 or 5 different addresses during those 8 years), I moved to Florida.
Florida has been an experience that has challenged this rhythm of transition. After 2 years I moved to a new mailing address, but kept the same job. And it wasn’t easy. I found myself looking for reasons to justify leaving altogether. Now, I just marked 4 years of being in this job. It hardly seems possible. I’ve been in Florida for 4 years and have only had 2 mailing addresses. I’ve had the same job for 4 years. I’m on planning teams that are planning the “third annual…”–and I was there for the kick-off event. There is a 3 yr. old in my congregation whose life I was part of before she was even born. Seniors in high school this year were just coming in to the youth program when I first got here.
All of this longetivity and stability is playing with my heart and mind. A part of me wants to stick around and see what it’s like when relationships last…what it’s like to be part of kids’ lives for longer than a few months…what it’s like to actually have stories about “the time…” But another part of me is on edge, waiting for the announcement that furlough is coming…anticipating the clear invitation to keep moving, or the announcement that ‘my people’ are leaving.
I don’t know if furlough is on the horizon or not. I’m just aware that it’s taking everything in me not to anticipate that it’s inevitable.