Nobody told me I would look out the window and long for a different view. Nobody told me my dreams would stop taking place at the house I grew up in and instead feature a different home, a different landscape, a different country. When I left for the field twenty-four years ago, nobody told me that when I returned to the USA, I would miss my messy, frustrating, complicated life abroad. 

People ask if I’m glad to be home. I know they want me to say, “Yes,” but how do I answer truthfully? “Maybe? Sort of? Sometimes?” Because the truth is this place isn’t home anymore. God transplanted my heart home long ago. So instead of feeling settled, I ricochet between “I got this” and “Wait! What? I’ve never even heard of that!” 

Coming back is like going out but in reverse. Once again, I, an apparently intelligent adult, find myself flummoxed by day-to-day tasks. Life requires more paperwork than I could imagine. And, just like when I landed on the field, it has to be done All At Once, All By Me. And that’s physically and emotionally overwhelming. So, I need to take time to rest in the only One who can give me rest.

Cross-cultural ministry experts say that making the transition from the field back to your sending country takes two to four years. That seems like a long time to walk on a balance beam, grasping for God’s hand to keep from tottering into either apathy or pathos.  

But nobody can make the transition for me. I’m on my own in this. That makes it all the more important that I walk this path with the only One who can walk it with me. I have to lean on God just as much—if not more—during this transition as I did when I lived on the field. 

When everything that should be familiar seems unfamiliar, when I don’t think I can fill out one more form or face one more “Aren’t you glad to be home,” God alone can give me the strength and perseverance to keep going.