It was a crisp yet sunny afternoon in Pereira, Colombia. A verdant hillside sat highlighted before me with bouncy clouds parted perfectly. I looked at my daughters, sitting before me with their clay cups of hot chocolate. Cocoa, no doubt produced in the same region in which we sat for our afternoon delight. After a week of field conference, we spent a few extra days visiting the botanical gardens and one of the only theme parks in the country.
It was an epic moment and I knew it as I sipped on the local freshly brewed coffee. Was it the environment I just described? Perhaps. However, this will forever be remembered as the moment I realized what real coffee was. The rolling hills of Risaralda are located at the heart of the coffee region of Colombia. These mild Arabica beans are smooth and creamy when prepared with a simple pour-over filter. Now, I can’t ever drink coffee without remembering how magnificent it could taste.
Similarly, there is a before and after of when we moved overseas.
When we “go back” (as Joel and I say to one another) to the States now, there is a strange haze over the life we see. It is familiar because we have lived it, but it feels so safe and comfortable it makes us uneasy. I know that sounds strange. Why would safety and comfort cause discomfort? Shouldn’t I wish to lavish in it? Shouldn’t I be tempted to stay? Some.
The tempting aspects feel like a mirage; like what might make you want to stay where you vacation. It feels good to drive on a road knowing everyone will remain in their lane. Oh look! There are lanes. It feels good to superficially joke about something and get a smile or a laugh without having to explain yourself several times.
But this haze I speak of exists in our lives here in Colombia as well. I am just as familiar with feeling like an outsider here. Every aspect of me stands out: blonde, white, tall… instantly gringa. I know that I represent a nation. Whether I want it or not, I am pinned into an ambassadorship. Every single interaction I have with someone, they will file away in their memory banks as “this is how gringas are”. That may sound arrogant, but it doesn’t make it untrue. It is exhausting to be someone’s only reference. Every question about politics, international affairs, the president, safety, food, culture, likes/dislikes weighs heavy on me. My personal preferences could be mistaken as an American generality. “I’m actually Canadian-American” I want to say, but it’s no use. My persona is instantly gringa.
The other day I was looking out the passenger window as we returned from the airport. To get home we pass through the entire city of Barranquilla, all 1.8 million people’s worth of homes. Some homes are made of gathered plywood. Apartments begin to pop up everywhere. The thought I had as I looked at all the structures was: where will all this go? Some of these homes (the makeshift plywood) will obviously not last as long. The big apartments are already showing the wear and tear of our harsh sand, humidity, wind, and rain. Where does it go? Where will all of the buildings go in 100 years? Will they all have to be torn down and rebuilt? I don’t know why these questions disturbed me as I sat there watching building after building pass by. Then the answer came to me: transiency.
While the rhythms of life become familiar to me year after year, I realize very clearly that as much as I experience, I will never fully experience what it is to live here as a Carolina or Joel as a Jose. Simply by nationality I am protected from the harshness of reality. I may want to feel what those around me feel because I am tired of always standing out; however if I am honest I don’t truly know that I could walk a day in their shoes. Simply because of who I am, I am a sojourner.
I am caught between worlds. Some seasons it feels like I am tangled in a web between, always outside, never able to approach fully. Other seasons and moments I am talking with someone, hearing their sorrows and there we are: two souls communing by the power of the Holy Spirit. These brief yet significant encounters are beautiful. They bubble up whenever we share about Colombia (in the U.S.), and the people “there”. Day after day a sort of perspective begins to open up. So much of what I was sure of is blurred.
God doesn’t blur… The character of God begins to expand beyond my limited grasp.
He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also He has put eternity in their hearts, except that no one can find out the work that God does from beginning to end (Ecclesiastes 3:11).
I didn’t know that I was trying to hold my beliefs as a security blanket until my hands began to ache from the strain. I must let go. I must let go of my carefully curated opinions of who God is. I cannot receive it until I have opened my hands. The Lord whispers the mystery of himself. I used to believe that I could grasp the fullness of God. I now understand that the knowledge of God is not something to possess. I breathe it in as He allows.
As I kneel in the humility of not knowing, I receive what God has picked for me. As much as I thought I wanted to have ownership of the character and ways of God, I am humbled to understand that He alone gives me what I need.
My life begins to take shape around God. Being a sojourner has benefits. Instead of trying to fit into the world I was a part of, or the world I am currently living in; Jesus invites “Come to Me…” (Matthew 11:28a)
Being rooted and established in Christ (Colossians 2:7) is not only enough for me every day, it becomes the eternal vision I was made for. Oh the joy of not placing my identity in a place. Oh the joy of finding out my home is Christ. I don’t have to search for a place or a group of people to belong to. I already belong to the Kingdom of God. I belong to the sojourners throughout history. My heart is set on eternity, and I am rooted and established in Christ.
Angel Ballew and her husband, Joel, serve in Barranquilla, Colombia with their three daughters. Their ministry includes networking local churches and their leaders, a homeschool community, and running a co-working space called CoVentus as a BAM (Business as Mission) project.
