Feeling Needy

Living outside of your own culture obviously causes a lot of lifestyle changes. Being a missionary creates even more changes on top of that, because along with adjusting to a new culture you also have to think about fundraising, reporting back to a ministry in your home country, etc. In a lot of ways you become a clueless child again, depending on others to help you out and show you the ropes.

I. Hate. That.

Alright that’s an exaggeration. Kind of. A little bit. 

For my whole life I’ve been pretty independent, and I liked it that way. I didn’t have to count on other people to get me through. I’ve had a very blessed life, and of course I’ve had hardships and problems to overcome, but for the most part I was content to try and make it on my own as best as I could.

And in the States, that’s fairly easy to do for most people. We all have our own houses that have enough of a yard that we don’t have to communicate with our neighbors every day. We all have our own cars so we can take ourselves wherever we need to go. We have stores that carry everything we need and then some. And most of us have a well-paying job that helps us buy the necessities and some luxuries as well. 

I’m generalizing, but for many of people in the States this is what life looks like. And I like it that way. I like the freedom it gives me to go where I want to go and do what I want to do. But the second I step on foreign soil, that feeling of independence disappears. I don’t know where to go. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to buy or what to wear. And I especially don’t know how to go and do and buy. A U.S. missionary leaves the quiet comfort of self-sufficiency and is suddenly thrust into a new world where she is at the mercy of neighbors and friends, at least in the beginning. She has no choice but to lean on them for advice, support, car rides, sometimes even meals. 

Honestly, that part isn’t so bad. Really, it’s not. The beginning time when a missionary first enters the country is a great time to bond with the community, because you have no idea what you’re doing. They will laugh and tease as they teach you to become a community member, and all of your blunders and humble moments will bring you closer with them. I can readily admit that I don’t know how to cook beans or make tortillas, and I’m ready to learn where the best grocery store is and which parts of town are safe to walk around. That’s good, practical stuff.

You know what the hardest part was for me, beginning when I first moved to the DR and all the way through now in Honduras? It was the emotional and mental support I suddenly needed from friends, family, and sometimes even strangers. When I had a problem growing up I would typically keep it to myself and try to deal with it on my own. And most times, I could do that. I hated having to ask for help, or *shudder* having to share my feelings with people. I just wanted everyone to think I was fine, and for the most part I usually was. To this day my friend still chastises me about the way I say “thank-you” to people who help me out. It’s like I can’t say it in a normal voice; it comes out sheepish and timid, as if I don’t deserve their favors or that it’s such a terrible inconvenience to do something for me. I don’t know why I say it like that. I've always loved doing things to be a blessing in other people's lives, but I never let people be a blessing to me.

You can’t be alone on the mission field, or you just won’t make it. I think that can be said for anyone anywhere, but the need for others is magnified when you’re taken out of your known culture and placed somewhere brand new. I remember one time a few months after my parents and I moved to the Dominican. It had been several weeks of things not going the way we had hoped. I was lonely because the friends we thought we had made had suddenly gone away, and I was so stressed out about everything going on that painful blisters broke out on the palms of my hands and covered them for about a week. After a while the blisters disappeared, we made new friends, and things began to get better. My mom sent an update to our friends and made a short mention of my past ailment. One of our friends wrote back and said, “Next time tell us what’s happening so we can pray with you” (emphasis mine). 

His seemingly simple answer stuck with me. Why hadn’t I considered that before? Why didn’t I reach out to my friends for support when I felt so low? Through that whole period of time I was moping around, bemoaning how lonely I felt (I remember sighing a lot), when an entire army of friends, family, and supporters were ready to cover me with prayer and encouragement. Loneliness is a natural feeling when you’re living in a different culture; isolation, on the other hand, is a choice. Especially in this day and age when there are so many different ways to communicate.

You know what started to happen? I started to welcome the encouragement. I finally allowed people to bless me with their time, prayers, or even Honey Nut Cheerios if that’s what the occasion called for. There were some days a kind email or an encouraging word from a friend was all I needed to get through the day. The moments where I let go of my independence and let people into my life became my sweetest memories:

Like the time my uncle built us a storage room in his house so we would have a place to keep our belongings while we were away.

Or like all of the times my friends woke up at 5 in the morning to take me to the bus station on travel days.

Or the time a kind man pulled over to help me change my flat tire when I was visiting the States and didn’t have a cell phone to call for help.

Or the time some wonderful friends gave up an afternoon at the beach so they could come sit in a hot concrete house and be an encouragement to me after I had just moved into Batey 7 and was feeling lost and alone.

Or just today when some friends took me to the dentist to take care of a small problem because they know I don’t have a car.

And every time someone asked if they could send something to me, pray for me, or even take me out for a meal. I remember every gesture, every time someone reached out and lived life with me. It was so humbling sometimes that I could hardly bear it, but now I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I like needing other people in my life. I like having people to lift me up when I’m feeling down. In a way I even like being financially dependent on supporters. When people send support it’s like we form a team, a team where we can pray for each other and work together to do God’s work in this world. It’s scary having to trust other people, but it’s even scarier thinking about walking through life alone. I’m so grateful to have so many people I can count on. I hope you all know you can count on me too.

Let other people be a blessing in your life. We were never meant to do this alone.

On a related side note, I now have a link to my online donation page through World Gospel Mission. Check it out if you’re interested!