Stories We've Received

Here is a place for you to discover what other POMs have to say about their experiences, and a place for you to lend your voice as well. If you have a story or thoughts to share, please email us at information@POMnet.org and we will add them to the site. Names and regions are not specified for security purposes.

Expectations

© 2008, Marina Bromley

The original plan was for us not to venture to visit our children until the year after their first furlough. That way we would not distract them from their learning and immersion in the culture, and when we did go, we would get to see the community they would be in for several years.

Our ways are not always His ways, and I was really surprised when my husband suggested that I plan on making the trip sooner. Not surprisingly, he made this suggestion at Christmas, when our emotions were running low, and the thought of a trip was a great distraction. But my first thoughts were along the lines of Why waste the money? As soon as I get back home, I’ll miss them as much as I did to start off with! I’d never make the trip, certainly not alone.

Shortly after I verbalized those thoughts, my daughter’s mother-in-law pointed out how defeatist they were. Soon God placed in my heart the desire to make the journey. My prayer for the season became “more of Jesus, less of me,” and I set off to pray about this great opportunity.

Finances seemed to indicate I’d have to make the trip alone, but a surprise cash gift from my mother-in-law to cover the cost of my husband’s airfare quickly changed that plan. And that set the path for my next life lesson: get rid of all your expectations.

We had overheard this teaching when Mark and I were cooking for summer interns with a missions sending agency. I never thought it would be a lesson I would need to put into practice, but it was so fitting for my life now that I couldn’t pass it up.

Had I not taken this to heart, the whole trip would have been a disappointment. But instead we were able to live in the minute as well as fully enjoy each and every aspect of our surprising journey!

If we had tried to hold on to expectations, we would have reacted very differently when we discovered—on the morning we began our 3-day journey—that the last leg of our flight had been canceled. But if that had not happened, we would not have seen the hand of God move us, at lightning speed, across an airport from terminal to terminal through an English-speaking employee in a completely foreign land.

If we had tried to hold on to expectations, we would not have found out that “squatty potties” are much easier to use than we anticipated.

Perhaps the most amazing expectation I had is that I would come down with some sort of stomach ailment that would keep me tied to a toilet while we were there! Instead we ate the most amazing food, cooked in the worst of conditions, and not once got sick! I never ate anything “special” (thankfully, this culture serves many things all at one time, and you can pick and choose what you want), and I never went hungry. If there was something I tried and didn’t like, I simply left it on my plate and didn’t get more. There were plenty of things I did like to make up for it, and I didn’t lose a pound on the trip.

I expected to walk a lot, and I was right about that. The few miles I walked each day on the treadmill as preparation paid off, and then some. What I didn’t know was that I should have been doing bleacher runs too! We ran into so many stairs and walked so many uphill roads in their town. I survived, though, and pushed myself physically in ways I did not expect to. I think I was more surprised than anyone!

I expected to see our children, of course, whom we love very much, but if I had held onto expectations for how we would spend our time together I might have missed the opportunity to fall in love with so many other people. Discovering that there is a small community of believers there, from different backgrounds, from places all over the world, reminded us our children are not alone. Some of the people we met have been there close to 20 years! What peace it brings me that our daughter and son-in-law have such wisdom to draw from.

It was also fun to see our children assist other newcomers to the community, sharing what they have learned in their first year. To hear them explain the culture and native community to these “newbies” helped us understand some of the challenges they themselves faced when they first arrived. To see them thriving in society as foreigners was amazing. They have embraced the language, local customs, and day-to-day life with flair and ease. When issues arose, it was not terrifying or horrendous; it was just life. This allowed us to confirm in our hearts how God had prepared them for this field and this field for them.

The hardest expectation to let go of was leaving them. I would have expected to have a few days of crying, carving memories of our final tearful good-byes at the airport. But letting go of this expectation allowed me to fully enjoy each minute of our time together. Instead of tears, there were a few sighs. There were no long sobbing embraces at the airport, as we opted to say good-bye at the curb and handle the check in on our own.

My daughter, a bit surprised, asked if it was enough “closure” for us to leave this way. It caught me off guard. I had not thought of needing closure from our visit. Another time, another place, I would have been sobbing good-bye. I could have gone to that emotional place very easily. . . . I have been there many times. But remembering that I was allowing “more of Jesus, less of me” and letting go of expectations, I chose not to go there. I wanted this trip to lay the foundation for future travel there. I didn’t want to be a burden on my children, making them feel relieved that we had left. I also wanted my own memories to be good and positive, and not an emotional drain on me.

This has proven important since we’ve been home and discovered that not only did we go to that land far away; we also brought some of that place home with us. Not a day goes by that I haven’t thought of some aspect of their home, good or bad; the people stopping us to take photos with them; the delicious food we ate; the lack of personal space; the pollution and smells of the environment; crowded busses with curious stares and smiling children; the colors of fresh foods in the marketplace. If I had attached sadness to each of these memories, returning home would meant months spent in a daze of depression. Instead, although my sleep schedule is not back on track, the weather is wrecking havoc with my allergies, and my husband has had a cold—depression has not seeped into this home.

I miss my daughter, her husband, and the joy they brought into our daily lives when we lived together, but I have a newfound joy in sharing a passion for the place they now call home. This, too, was something I had not expected.

Top 10 Things We’ve Learned as Parents of Missionaries

10. When your children announce their intentions to become missionaries, show them all the support, understanding, and encouragement you can, but also be as honest as you need to be.

9. Make every effort to go to the field at some point (preferably after they have been there long enough to manage the language and know their way around) and allow your children to show you the country they have come to love.

8. Study the country where your children live; watch for articles and programs about it. This will help you understand what your kids are living through, as well as show them that you have an interest in where they live.

7. The time leading up to the airplane taking off is the most difficult. Allow tears and emotions to show, with some control, of course. This is God's natural way of grieving and need not be hidden from one another.

6. Save articles from newspapers, church papers, etc., and every few weeks send a padded envelope containing these as well as small treats (drink mix, workbooks, non-chocolate candy, stickers) that are appropriate for mailing and for each family member to enjoy.

5. Shipping is so expensive! Watch for teams from other churches or team members returning to the field and ask if they would be willing to take a few things for your children. But also be considerate of the size and weight of items you ask them to carry over! And then remember to "do unto others" when it is YOUR turn to travel!

4. Times have changed so much from when we were missionaries. Phone calls were reserved for life and death announcements. Ham operator calls were common, although not often clear or successful! (Oh, how I remember Sunday afternoons spent huddled around the ham radio saying, "C-Q, C-Q." Research possibilities and study up on ways to be in contact weekly, even daily if need be, with your missionary family. Many are very low cost.

3. Write personal letters or e-mails to your grandchildren. Try to set them apart when you send things. Maybe call to speak to just them sometimes. Remember to ask them about things of interest in their lives. Let them know that you put their artwork up on your refrigerator just as you do for their cousins who live in the States. (Our children do a fantastic job of having our photographs in a prominent place so that the grandchildren can associate our voices with our pictures!)

2. This idea works both ways: When some rough spot comes along, whether a health issue, or a bump in team member relationships, or a family member temporarily acting inappropriately, share these hardships with one another. We learned the hard way. We didn’t want to be told after the fact that a loved one was having a serious surgery. We wanted to pray through it with the rest of the family. Even though it may hurt at the time, it’s better to feel a part of family life. If there is something to rejoice about, share that too.

1. When someone learns that your kids and/or grandkids are on the foreign mission field, and they say something akin to "Oh, I don’t know HOW YOU CAN STAND THAT! I would NEVER be able to have my grandchildren so far away!"—Rule #1 is Don’t hit them! Rule #2 is Pull out your ever-ready photos of your family and begin to tell how proud you are of your children and that they will be able to rejoice with you on that day described in Revelation 7:9-10: "After this I looked and there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and in front of the Lamb. They were wearing white robes and were holding palm branches in their hands. And they cried out in a loud voice: 'Salvation belongs to our God, who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb.'"

--Susan, a POM mom

Willing to Be Made Willing

When I was a young mother with five little ones, I believe the Lord even then was preparing me for my children to be missionaries. Our fifth child, a son, was born when my husband had finally finished his master’s degree, had a new job, and could spend time with his family. This son was special to my husband because he had been able to see all the little "firsts" that babies do.

At church when my son was three and a half, a special speaker challenged me: "Are you willing to give everything to the Lord, or are you willing for the Lord to make you willing?" I thought, I'm sure I have given all to God, but a little voice inside said, "Even Rick?" All my children were precious and I loved each one, but this son had been a special gift from God, with a difficult pregnancy and almost disastrous delivery, and my husband so delighted in being with him. As I contemplated this, I said, "Yes, Lord, I'm willing to be made willing."

The next morning, my son was hit by a car; the driver couldn't see him coming out into the street between two parked cars. I saw his little body fly up over the auto and come down on the pavement. In the short time it took to reach him, the words of a hymn ran through my head: "Lord, keep my trusting Thee, day after day, trusting whatever befall on my way. Sunshine and shadow, I take them from Thee, knowing Thy grace is sufficient for me. Trusting Thee more, trusting Thee more, may every day find me trusting Thee more. Cares may surround me and clouds hover o'er, but keep me, Lord Jesus, still trusting Thee more." When I got to my son he was crying, but I knew he would live, and I was thanking God for that.

Years later, my son and his wife went to South America as short-term missionary teachers. It was a dangerous time where they were, with bombings and rebel activity. When they came home safely after two years, I was mildly surprised that they came home alive—I had given my son to the Lord so completely that I halfway expected him NOT to come home!

Meanwhile my daughter had married and God sent her and her husband also to South America as missionaries. To keep in touch with my grandchildren, I tried to write faithfully and send packages of "goodies," but I also went to visit during Christmas break (my husband and I were both teachers) in the middle of their four years on the field, so that I could let my granddaughters know that I wanted to be with them as often as possible. On one furlough, they all stayed with us for that year they were home; that was a blessing to me and my husband! When the Lord took my son-in-law home in 1993, I was very deeply grieved, but surprised? Not really. He was like a dear son to me, and I had also given him to the Lord as I did my own, so when God allowed him to be killed for his faith, I accepted God’s will for us all in such a loss. Now his daughter and her husband and their two little ones are serving the Lord in the place where she grew up as a missionary kid. And I? I am thankful for e-mail and blogs and digital cameras and all the ways we can keep in touch with each other—it is so INSTANT compared to what it used to be.

As each child, grandchild, and great-grandchild has been born, I have prayed they would receive the Lord Jesus as their Savior, and then I've given them to God to be used according to his perfect will, know from experience that I can trust him, that as another old hymn says, "Whate'er my God ordains is right . . . "

--a POM mom

Long-Distance Repair for a Yo-yoing Heart

The following story by a POM has been accepted for publication in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Celebrating People Who Make a Difference. Congratulations, Rose! (Names in the story have been changed.)

© 2007 Rose Jackson. Used by permission.

On tiptoes, I strained down the concourse to see my son Pete’s waving hand as long as possible. Karen and I fell into each other’s arms as her daughter Paula, my son, and our two-year-old grandson sped away in the crowd of travelers, eager to begin their work and studies halfway around the world. Part of me wanted them to succeed and find joy in their work, but if I probed my heart honestly, part of me hoped they’d spend a few months in Asia, change their minds, and come home to perhaps teach at a university.

That didn’t happen; they were excited to discover their new city and immerse themselves in a new culture. After three or four months I congratulated myself that my yo-yo attitude rose more frequently to “I can be genuinely happy for them” than spinning near the ground at “Maybe the plumbing will get to them yet” —at least until one evening’s webcam session, when Pete enthusiastically affirmed of their colleagues, “Yeah, they’re just like family to us!” The string snapped and my yo-yo attitude crashed to the floor. My rational self acknowledged they needed good friends in that challenging place, but family? That’s what WE were. Were other people taking our place? My heart objected that I’d been replaced—or at least seriously elbowed aside!

I knotted the string of my attitude (“They’re adults—you’re an adult— get over it”) and wobbled along emotionally till one week short of the anniversary of the day they left. At 29 weeks into her pregnancy, Paula’s water broke and she, our son, and grandson were air evacuated from their city to a hospital in Hong Kong equipped for such emergencies. Twelve hours after our son’s anxious phone call, I was flying to Hong Kong, too.

Pete and Paula didn’t know anyone in Hong Kong, and neither did I, except for Lin, the mother of my friend Chu Li, whom I’d briefly met several years earlier. Jet-lagged, worried for Paula and the baby, and anxious that I’d soon arrive alone in a strange country, I fingered Chu Li’s wedding photo in my passport folder. Pete couldn’t meet me, so I planned to wave the photo frantically once I reached the lobby of the Lantau airport, hoping Lin would recognize it and see me. I was powerless to change the situation, depending totally on a friend and on God

In the clamor of passengers greeting loved ones, I spotted Lin’s small waving hand holding a sign with my name. She hugged me—like family —and whisked me through the airport, onto a bus, under the harbor, into a taxi, and down a narrow street where up ahead I saw Pete holding our grandson and waving to me in the night. Relief mixed with humbled gratitude welled up within me.

I felt those emotions over and over during the six weeks I stayed in Hong Kong. That first night Pete related how their friends back in their “home” city (one of whom was pregnant herself) had fed our grandson, taken dinner to Pete and Paula in the hospital, and helped pack the three small bags they were allowed to bring on the air evac flight. Other friends came to Hong Kong with more clothing and items Pete couldn’t bring in their hasty exodus. Angela, a Hong Kong colleague of Pete and Paula, rushed into action and found an apartment we could rent for a month so we didn’t have to spend $200 a night for a hotel. Another friend whose husband was recovering from a serious illness in the same hospital with Paula and our granddaughter brought food, cleaning supplies, clothes and toys for our grandson, and later helped us find another apartment.

“Friend” was too glib a word to apply to these people. They sacrificed, gave, journeyed and helped despite their own lives, schedules, and needs. Sacrifice—that’s the kind of love you find in family.

I returned home with a new common bond with our son and daughter-in-law: their friends became like family to me, too. Now I’m genuinely thankful they care for and mean so much to each other. I don’t need to knot the string of this attitude any more. I haven’t been replaced; I’ve been supported. Yes, I’d like to be there to help when my children have needs, but realistically I recognize I can’t be—at least not quickly! Thank God for the loving people He’s placed to meet each other’s needs when their families are far away. I include them in my prayers now, because they’re part of our “family” in Christ.

I never was good at spinning a yo-yo, but I guess you could say that in Hong Kong I finally learned how to do “Around the World”!

The Whole World Is Our Neighborhood

It has been thirty-six years since I prayed for a son, but only if he could be a man of God. So, in a sense, I gave him to God before he was ever conceived. He was in junior high when he began to express an interest in missions. In high school, he began making plans to be a missionary. In college, he met a young woman with a desire to be a missionary, and they married and combined their commitment to missions. After years of preparation, our home congregation took on their support in the mission field.

When our son and his wife went overseas for language study, we were undergoing many changes in our family--we had a daughter teaching missionary children in Central America and another moving from our home to Michigan. I had a lot of grief that things would "never be the same." That caused me to deliberately revamp my life view. I gave up thinking of family in a home as a place of forever love and security, and I began to think of life as a journey toward our eternal home where all of our longings for eternity will be satisfied. No lifetime is as long as the duration of the journey, so our task is to pass our faith to those generations who must continue on the journey when we pass on. For a time, we may enjoy having our children close by on the journey, but it's only for a time, whether they are missionaries or not.

Something that helped our personal grief was buying a globe and making a conscious effort to call the whole world our neighborhood. The other thing that has helped us was to visit our missionary kids in the field. By doing that we have become a part of the mission.

When our son and his wife first went to the field, they had no phone or electricity and therefore they had no email. They had to drive eight hours to get to a post office, and it took a mailed letter a month or two to arrive in the US. When they made the eight-hour drive, they would call us if the phones were working. Our son said, "Mom, there is a reason these people are unreached." In the eight years they have been on the field, technology has improved and they now have a satellite telephone. It is expensive, but they are able to use it for email. That has been a big blessing.

It was during the days before the satellite phone and frequent email that I learned that even when the possibilities for communication were at a minimum, we had a connection through God. Once I dreamed that my son was crying. The dream was so upsetting to me that I cried through church the next day. Feeling silly, I sent an email to him, telling about my dream and my need to hear some reassurance from him. In a few days, I got a phone call and my son said, "Mom, you dreamed I was crying because I was crying." He told me they had finally gotten to a place where they could watch family video footage we had mailed them. The video was taken on the occasion of the birth of a new niece. They had watched it and wept at all they were missing not being with the family. That incident taught me that beyond any means of human communication, God himself connects us, and for that I am thankful. It is a blessing in many ways to have a son and daughter in law and three very interesting grandchildren in the mission field. I believe the blessings outweigh the sacrifice.

--a veteran POM mom

Prepared by God--and You

When my daughter and son-in-law made their decision to prepare to go overseas, I didn't realize then that families of missionaries need preparation too, but God knew. First, he worked to prepare us personally. In my life that meant using some hard situations to create a need for something more in my relationship with him and leading me to a women's Bible study where I found true friends, a way into the Word that really worked for me, and I began to get to know God after so many years of knowing about him. In addition he began to bless us with much healing as a family.

In these ways, God prepared me to embrace missions and be the mother of a missionary, but I still wasn't ready to say good-bye. God wasn't finished yet, of course, and when I finally admitted I needed help and started looking for help, he provided it.

I asked our missions minister about starting a group for parents of missionaries. She and the director of our counseling ministry had already been talking about the same thing. Soon three sets of parents were meeting monthly. The parent group provided a place for my true feelings to be heard and understood by others whose experiences were similar to mine. We listened to one another, cried together, and encouraged each other and ourselves. Progress was sometimes slow!

Events leading to the departure date began to show up on the church calendar. I dreaded them one by one, afraid my heartache would be on display, but I needed to go to be supportive. And I was glad I did. The special events help me understand that my church family could be a support to me and my family. People weren't always sure what to do or what to say, but I learned I could tell them what I would find helpful.

At Bible study, the women had stopped asking about my daughter and her husband as the missions events geared up. Then one night someone said how much she would miss hearing my daughter sing. There was an awkward silence. "It's OK to talk about her leaving," I said. After that we talked about it often.

My husband and I were invited to dinner with the shepherding group for our daughter and her husband. They wanted to explore how they could help us. Some of the things people said that night were not helpful, but I left the gathering strangely comforted. Simply by inviting us to meet with them the group had lovingly said, "We know this must be hard for you and we'd like to help."

The congregation's financial commitment for missions and the prayer commitment for our kids assured us that their needs will be well met. Our missions minister answered questions and wisely advised us to spend plenty of time together as a family. To those who prayed for our entire family--we felt and experienced the power of your prayers, right up to when we waved good-bye at the airport and through the weeks since.

As the departure date neared, I realized that we were not the only people at our church who were grieving. Our daughter and son-in-law have many friends here who will miss them very much, and some of them expressed their sadness to us. It was helpful to realize that our kids will not be forgotten.

On the drive home from the airport, when I wanted to hug my daughter again and could not, I realized that there is no hug long enough or strong enough for saying goodbye to a child you love so much. Instead, you just hug a lot whenever you can. Our church is a sending church, with several families of missionaries in the congregation now besides our own. We've been "hugged" by your support throughout this year, but I pray you will remember that no one hug is long enough or strong enough. By your honest words and caring gestures, by your missions giving and by your prayers--continue to "hug" all our sending families as often as you can.

--a POM mom