A man without a country

They say that when you go to the foreign mission field it is like going to another planet but that is an understatement to say the least. When Angie and I first packed up everything that we owned in plastic crates (that is everything that we did not sell in garage sales) and bought our non-refundable one-way tickets to Bolivia we had no idea what we were getting into. I can still remember going through the airport on our way to Bolivia. It was a few weeks after the incidents of September 11th. Angie, our three babies (Raimy was 3, Timothy was 1 -1/2 and Gabrielle was 3 months) and myself were all loaded up like pachyderms with all of our earthly possessions on our backs or in plastic crates. When we finally reached the third check point and they asked us to unload all of bags again I think all of us just about had a nervous breakdown but some how we made it here.

The first year was not too bad. We actually enjoyed it. We had been waiting so long to get here that it was like a breath of fresh air when we finally did arrive. Two years of “I can’t wait until we get there” had suddenly become “we made it”. The first year was a time of adjusting to a new culture. We did not speak the language. The culture was very different. We weather was different. The food was different. Here were the earthlings in the middle the planet Mars trying to learn how to be Martians. Slowly and slowly we began to be able to communicate with more than just hand signals and picked up a few words. The city became less and less complicated to get around in. We began to become more Bolivian.

I say that we began to become more Bolivian but I share that with a little hesitancy. The reason why is no matter how hard we worked at fitting in we would never completely fit in. The accent would be a little different. The selection of word usage and body language would be different. At the least people would look at us and see we were from another place. We would never completely fit into the country of Bolivia.

Another interesting thing started to take place when we started traveling back and forth to the United States that I did not realize would take place: we started to become foreigners in our own country. The first year we went back it was not so visible but the following year it was very visible. First there was the desire to answer all of the questions that people were asking us in Spanish instead of English. Next there was the being out of touch with the things that were happening in the American culture. We shared once with a person how we liked the new movie that came out and they shared how that movie had been out for a couple of months. Lastly I think we really realized that we did not fit in completely into our own culture when I ate at McDonald’s and had diarrhea for a week (I know some of you say the food is bad anyway but McDonalds is a sign of America to us).

So we do not necessarily fit in Bolivia because we are foreigners and when we go back to the United States we do not exactly fit in completely there as well because we have changed so much. So we have become a people whose country is American Airlines flight #922. A family who is between American culture and Bolivian culture not fitting in completely anywhere. People without a country.

After six years I do not have an answer if this is right or wrong. To tell you the truth I have stopped asking the question. I am okay being a man without a country. It keeps us flexible. I some how think that is how Jesus felt as he was here on the earth although he did not do it by airplane.