Living in a foreign country serves you with constant reminders that you do not belong.
Just this week, we spent four hours in the waiting room of the Thai immigration office. Four hours. Waiting. Vulnerable. Nervously offering paperwork to officials in hopes that our passports would be stamped worthy of remaining in their country for a year. Their country. And we had to show birth certificates and provide letters of recommendation. We had to show pictures of our work with the foundation, and we had to pay expensive lawyer’s fees. We found out we have to take the family in every 90 days to get more stamps of approval, and if we leave the country without permission, we might not be able to get back in. And we didin’t know the system, didn’t know which line to stand in, didn’t even know how to communicate.
Evident and continual reminders that we don’t belong.
But, back in the United States, it’s a different story. We don’t have to jump through any hoops to enter it, and we don’t have to prove anything special to stay there. It’s our home country. We speak the language, and our passports proclaim it. We know the anthem and recognize the flag. We live the culture and understand the history. We are comfortable and confident there because it is an intrinsic piece of us. Home.
And I have been thinking of late about how this life on earth is a bit like the immigration office in a foreign country.
We wait long. We groan with the vulnerability, the discomfort, the lack of understanding. We hold out an offering and then hope for the best. We feel alone, and we taste what it means to be
a stranger.
And, regardless of our latitudes, I know I’m not the only one who feels the groaning of the passing through.
“All these people {saints of old} were still living by faith when they died. . . And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth.” {hebrews 11:13}
The question is not whether I feel like a stranger while my feet touch this globe. The question is if I have the faith to claim citizenship elsewhere and the guts to refuse immigration office tunnel-vision. Do I believe in the more and set my eyes on the beyond?
Do I have the faith to walk as a willing stranger?
Our citizenship is in heaven. . . {philippians 3: 20}
Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling. {2 cor 5:2}
Aim at heaven, and you get earth thrown in. Aim at earth and you get neither. {c.s. lewis}
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Happy Fourth of July weekend, friends. Enjoy the gift of this country we are fortunate enough to be a part of. Really, we are fortunate.
ALifeOverseas.com / LauraParkerBlog.com.
Destined Traveler.
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So true. I once heard it put that we are like ambassadors to a foreign country. We are living there but it’s not our home and we are sent to represent our country by the president. We Christians are living in a world that is not our home sent as Christ representatives.
Thanks for stopping by and commenting, Daline. I love that image you shared. I guess the hard piece of it is whether or not we are doing a good job as ambassadors. It’s a sobering thought that in some places the word “christian” is a nearly negative term. I love the encouragement to do our “jobs” as representatives well. Thanks for visiting here . . . and thanks for your support of us! Happy Holiday Weekend, L
Amen! We are foreigners in this land and we need to continually remember that no matter where our pillow is. Let’s not get comfortable so that God can no longer use us.
Jan, i love the reminder not to get comfortable, though everything in our world and our heart strives for that.
Thanks for stopping by. You guys are always an encouragement! Laura
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