Forever a Foreigner

It was the day of opening ceremonies for the new school year. Every student stood in the dusty school yard, dressed in white shirts and black or blue pants/skirts. The late morning sun beat down hot on the branches of the huge, spreading tamarind trees that overshadowed us. Several speakers had already taken the platform and droned on. But I was still excited. I was nine, and it was my first time at a real school. 

Around me, every kid put their palms together and raised their hands to their noses in a gesture of respect. Orange-robed Buddhist monks began to chant a blessing for the school year into the microphones.

It struck me like a bolt of lightning. No matter what, I could not participate in this. I clenched my fists at my sides, as if my hands might leap up on their own accord. I turned my body so I was no longer facing the platform.

I stood out. I already stood out. Brown hair in a crowd of black. White skin instead of brown. Green eyes. A large nose. Now I was the only one in the crowd refusing to honor the monks.

“You need to sompeah,” someone said.

I clenched my fists tighter and ignored them.

A boy spoke up, a familiar face from my old neighborhood.

“Oh, she believes in Jesus.”

That day and those words defined me. I had known already what it meant to be a foreigner. Stares. Questions. Different treatment.

But what would set me apart from others, no matter where I went, would not be my skin color or language skills. It would be my relationship with Jesus Christ.

The next time I was thirteen, and again about to enter a school year. This time it was in America, and the school was a private Christian school affiliated with a large church. I was with some of the girls who would be in my grade, and we were sitting together after youth group. My soon-to-be locker mate was eager to share advice about the upcoming first day of classes.

“You shouldn’t be friends with Rebecca,” she said. “She’s weird.”

I was appalled, almost embarrassed for her. Didn’t she know she was a church kid, at a Christian school? Didn’t she know what she was saying?

“I think we should be friends with everyone,” I said lamely. Inside, I was already determined. I would find this Rebecca and befriend her.

I did so. No one challenged my friendship with the ostracized girl that year, but no one else reached out to her either.

“But what would set me apart from others, no matter where I went, would not be my skin color or language skills. It would be my relationship with Jesus Christ.”

My time in Asia had taught me the courage to stand out. My time in America taught me that standing out was not a thing of borders. It follows one across the world and into the most sheltered places.

These anecdotes are not intended to be triumphant “hero moments”. During both school years I could tell dozens of shameful stories about my flaws and immature behavior, but in spite of my sinful self, God still graciously taught me this lesson:

I will be a foreigner until the day I die, whether I am in my passport country or abroad. My citizenship is in another world, one I have not even seen. My allegiance is to another King. I abide by other laws. It is not my business to try and “fit in” here. It is my business to live in such a way that I represent my King and country well, so that others too will want to share in that citizenship.

One day I shall go home. Can you even imagine it?  

For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city.

Hebrews 11:14-16