Somewhere Else
Minna giving her first speech about her time in Budapest, Hungary.
“Where’s your home?”
The question that most third-culture kids (TCKs) can see coming a mile off. All that foresight doesn’t help, though. They’re still left struggling to aptly explain in a sentence or two what most other kids can communicate in one word.
Third-culture kids are kids who have lived in two or more countries, resulting in them not quite fitting into the first, but also not quite seamless in the other, so they’re a mixed-up jumble of different cultures who we now title TCKs. After four years in Budapest, our daughter Minna has well and truly joined this club, and nothing makes me more aware of this than when I offer her a Tim Tam Slam and she politely declines—actually mind-blowing.
“Where’s your home?”
“Somewhere else.”
This was Minna’s answer recently. Needless to say, this answer knocked the breath out of me; she doesn’t know how right she is—home is somewhere else. For her, this answer may be hiding how crazy this last year has been, but for me, this answer reminded me of a truth we often forget.
When I left New Zealand for Budapest, I stopped calling New Zealand home, even though that is where I have been most fundamentally formed for the longest time. It definitely wasn’t from lack of love; it was purely strategic so I could look forward instead of constantly over my shoulder at all the good things that had been left. However, home is also not Budapest anymore, even though there resides a community of people who know this new version of me the very best. Many tears were shed when I had to say goodbye to this special community and that beautiful city. To make matters more complicated, home is also not Spain, even though that is the place toward which our vision thrusts us, albeit slower than I would like.
Home is somewhere else.
Living as a missionary gets that right. It pushes us into this wandering lifestyle of being “other”—a constant reminder that while we can play house here on earth in this lifetime, this is not our home; this is not our final state of being.
You wouldn’t believe how much easier decisions are when that perspective starts to sink into everyday life. Trying to keep my reputation intact matters much less if it costs me something eternal. I’m starting to get an embodied understanding of the verse, “And what do you benefit if you gain the whole world but lose your own soul?” Rather, how can I leverage the present for the future? How can I leverage this life for the next? When I get to the end of my days, what will have actually been important? It straightens some very crooked things out, hey.
When I started asking these questions, Minna suddenly became very important. My relationship with my husband, Glyn, became a lot nearer to the top of the priorities list. God became the be-all and end-all of purpose.
When Minna first answered this question, I was a little sad. But over the last few weeks, this feeling has changed within me. Because actually, when asked the question, “Where’s your home?” I want to be able to answer with utmost confidence, “Somewhere else.”
