Thanks for your prayers! We are back in Addis, about 9 hours on the road, one potty stop.
I’ll do a post I’ve had drafted as my brain feels incapable of new thought. :)
It’s interesting to me, to observe Third Culture Kids (TCK’s) who have spent their lives in a country other than their parent’s passport culture.
Jon and I reminisce about our childhoods, which, in the big picture, were very similar.
At SLC, we drove through Sodere and I watched the male TCK’s come prepared, hunting monkeys with pellet guns. (The monkeys were surprisingly naughty and intimidating. They would steal food off your plate while eating). I thought about how much my brothers would have loved monkey hunts.
But Jon, who spent large chunks of his summer in the water, made this interesting observation in the pool.
Many of the teenage guys were out there and doing cautious, basic dives off the diving board. I asked a mom of older TCK’s and she mentioned that most of her kids have learned to swim at SLC’s (which happen every two years) or at lake Langano (a popular vacation spot for SIM missionaries).
If this is the long-term life God has for us (and I kind of hope it is and I kind of hope it isn’t), my kids won’t know summers spent at a pool or tubing behind a boat. I had this sad moment but then I realized that though what The Littles learn as normal is very different from what Jon and I had in childhood, they also have a life rich in experiences I never had.
That night, I watched these same young teenage boys learn how to breathe fire (apparently commonplace in Switzerland).
I pleaded with Jon to refrain from this activity but probably about 40 people learned to breathe fire and that’s not something we do in Indiana. We learn to do flips off diving boards.
I know that to be a TCK is abundant in life experiences and world travels but it also sets up my kiddos to never quite know where they belong. Speaking in sweeping generalities, after meeting many TCK’s and hearing them share, there seems to be a sort of immaturity about things of pop culture but a deep maturity in their walk with God.
As I watch Little J and Little A resist our next transition and beg for “home”, it’s a chance to (cry, pray) point them to our true home, Heaven.