The other day I was looking for a file on my computer, and I came across this “almost finished” poem that I began writing 10 years ago, when we lived in Tanzania. Now, here we are 10 years later, back in Tanzania. I read it to George and he urged me to finish it and share it. So, I finished it and now I’m sharing it. 🙂 I don’t share it to solicit pity, concern, or anything of the sort. If you are wondering if I’m okay, I am! Some days, maybe not so much, ha! But that’s just life!
The reason I am sharing my poem is to give you a peek into the struggles that missionaries have from time to time. Of course, struggles are not unique to me, missionaries, or anyone, for that matter. Everyone has them, no matter where one is planted on this globe. Rest assured, our blessings are too numerous to count; however, blessings do not shield us from burdens. Missionaries do have some rather unique and often challenging circumstances that just come with the territory. In this poem, I have tried to describe some of MY struggles. So here you go:
Where is Home?
From time to time when I was a child, I heard of foreign lands, I wondered what it would be like, if one day I tried my hand? Maybe someday I would be blessed to be a missionary's wife, What would it be like, where would I go, if I were to live such a life? God blessed me with a man, who with his whole heart loved God, Together we lived, loved, and learned, and eventually moved to foreign sod. We moved far away across the globe to share God's Word with the lost. We left family, friends, and comforts of home, no matter what the cost. Our new home consisted of cracked cement, all faces we met were new. The language we heard was strange to us, the benches were not padded pews. Folks stared at us, and yelled out names, they weren’t trying to be unkind. What a relief to find a retreat; to relax and try to unwind. We’ve learned new customs, the do's and don'ts, more than we can count. But sometimes the loneliness sets right in, until tears flow free like a fount. We fumble to communicate as we pass along the way. Yet we cannot probe their hearts; they smile, and then turn away. Is this how it will always be, on the outside looking in? I want to know - will it feel like home? And if so - when? Always different, never the same, not accepted as “one of them.” I try to be strong, as the day is long, but oh, how I miss my kin. We've left the land we've always known and moved far away to another. No more do we get to visit with our brother, sister, father, mother. Some folks will write occasionally, and a box or rare letter we’ll find. But you know how the old saying goes, out of sight, out mind. Time has passed, we've settled in, we've adapted to a new way of life. Yet once in a while, there are pangs in the heart, and it causes internal strife. Life is so different from what it used to be; where do I belong? I don't know where I want to be; are these feelings right or wrong? Where is home? Here or there, I’m not sure. But still, I have a bed. My Savior, when he sojourned on the earth, had no place to lay his head. God called me to be a pilgrim, so on earth I’ll continue to roam. And one of these days I’ll hear the Lord say “Pilgrim, Welcome home.” ~Joy~
