Becoming like a child...

I have recently been reading an excellent book called " Ministering Cross-Culturally." The author, Sherwood Lingenfelter, tells about his experiences living in another culture and says that as we adapt to the new culture, we become 150% people: 75 % our own culture, and 75% our new host culture.

It's an interesting thought. Obviously, if we are to be effective missionaries, we must adapt to our host country and culture, taking on a new language, cultural norms, foods, even climate. But we always remain American (or whatever our country of origin is).

In a way, when we enter a new culture, we become as little children. We must learn to eat, learn to speak, learn manners, even how to go to the bathroom or bathe. Everything is new. This is perhaps one of the most difficult things to accept. At home, we were someone. We had a place in society, we felt at home, we knew what was expected of us. But now, we are ignorant foreigners. When we speak, people laugh. When we make a cultural mistake, people think us rude. When we make rice wrong, they tell us so (I know that from personal experience).

I have crystal clear memories of a certain jungle outreach where we spent three weeks mostly hiking from village to village in an area inaccessible by car. As the days wore on I felt my self esteem taking a fatal blow. The locals who accompanied us soon left us behind. Every river we had to cross reminded me of my foreignness as I struggles across the rocky river bottom, slipping and tripping. Then at the other side of the river, I struggled to empty my rubber boots of the water (which inevitably spilled over the edge of the boots). I watched the rest of the group move on, knowing that even though I was pushing myself to the limit physically, I wouldn't be able to keep it.

It's an incredibly humbling experience, to realize that in this world, you know nothing. It changes you. There is no going back once you have been stretched by an experience like that.

After 13 years in the country, in many ways, I have adapted. I can speak Spanish fluently, make many of the local dishes, get around the country, and I usually know what is expected in social situations. In many ways, I have become a Panamanian. I even have my residency papers to prove it (and having an Panamanian husband also helps).

Yet in many ways, I will never be Panamanian. The color of my skin, my hair and my eyes shouts to the world that I am different. Even as I have tried to adjust, I find a part of myself resisting. As I try to be a good missionary, part of me shouts, "I don’t WANT to be a Panamanian." I think that's why I loved his statement of being 75% of one culture, and 75% of another. I have given up my homeland, my culture, submitting myself to the laws and customs of another land. I have given the last 13 of my years, hoping to make this nation a better place. Yet a part of me remains forever American. The foods, holidays, and values of my culture remain, pulling me back continually.


It's been a painful experience at times, and has changed the way I see the world. And still I continue to learn. And many times I still feel like a little child, just starting to learn about the world