Coming back to the United States wasn’t easy. In a way, I never came back.
At least, if by the “I” I’m talking about is the me who got on a plane in Chicago in August 2008. That person didn’t come back to the United States. No, on the island of Ebeye, she was transformed into the person who got off the plane in Chicago in May 2009. And that affected everything. Twelve days after I came home to what felt like the coldest summer on record (it wasn’t), I headed to my summer job: camp. Now, I had worked at camp the three previous summers, so what would be different? I had been warned about reverse culture shock and so I expected to happen, but it was mostly easy to ignore it or not recognize it. Why? I was surrounded by people who knew I had spent the last ten months out as an SM (and who kept commenting on my tan and weight loss). The girls’ director had also just returned from the islands as well. (We commiserated about how cold it was.) Still, little things ended up bugging me. Once, I irrationally snapped at another staff member while we were cleaning the girls’ bathroom. Why? She’d removed a toilet paper roll that still had paper on it. Halfway through me saying, “Why are you wasting that?” I realized that I’d been thinking that we needed to use all we could of the toilet paper because, on Ebeye, it was super expensive. I ended up explaining and apologizing. Despite the experience of the three previous summers, it felt like I was starting all over again. All my friendships had changed, mostly because I had. But it was a lot of work. I had spent ten months on Ebeye with the same group of fifteen to twenty people, all working toward the same goal of running the school and reaching out to the community. Now I was in the middle of a staff of forty-five, still united with the end goal of reaching campers. My world had basically doubled in twelve days. I had to re-learn how I fit into the staff, and how I related to the other staff members, especially those who had known the previous me. But I worked through the difficulties and made it through those first weeks and months back. Five years later, I am still adjusting because, like I said, I never really came back from Ebeye. Part of my heart is still there, and I returned as a different and better version of myself. I am not a former student missionary, I am a returned student missionary. When I returned to Southern Adventist University, I ended up making the friends who are now my closest friends. The experiences I had overseas ended up paying off when I was unexpectedly promoted to director of the crafts and ceramics department in the middle of that first summer back. A few years later, my camp director and his wife told me that the best decision I ever made was being a student missionary. I couldn’t agree more. By Ashlee Chism
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A few years ago, this article was published from Adventist News Network. It highlights the very real and common challenges of re-entry through some personal experiences of a few returned student missionaries.
As I have talked with former SMs–who served from the 70s, 80s, 90s and beyond–many of the symptoms of re-entry are the same, no matter the decade or century. I’ve also found that some return SMs don’t like to be labeled in a category of “reverse culture shock,” and tend to think it only has to do with getting used to shopping malls and traffic. But I think the process of re-entry and adjusting back to life at home often has a lot more to do with relationships–feeling lonely, displaced, misunderstood, and a bit left-behind. You could experience some of the same feelings if you’d just dropped out of school for a year and returned, but it can often be intensified by your mission experience because it ran so deep and few are willing or able to take the time to try to understand that. And similarly, you might have a lower appreciation of the changes that happened at home because you were off having your adventures. Eventually, you find your middle ground with new shared experiences, and even a few people who enjoy your mission stories. Until then, you can know you’re not immune, and you’re not the only one. Whether it’s easy or hard, fast or slow, everyone gets to go through some adjustments. But the same God who brought you through your mission experience will not leave you now. You just got settled into your classes, and that far-away land and experience that once was home is starting to fade as time marches on. Some try to keep it alive as long as possible, but as they say, time stops for no one. Then an email shows up, or your cell phone rings, and someone is asking you to help with missions week at your school. You take a break from test-cramming, and start digging through your stuff, looking for all those must-have souvenirs or gifts you were supposed to give away. You pull a few of your favorite (or random) pictures together in a slideshow, and try to get the wrinkles out of your “native costume.” Depending on your SM experience, this all can be traumatic or exciting. It either allows you to finally re-live your most incredible life experience, with permission to open your mouth about it, or forces you to relive some extremely tough times that made you grow, but which you’ve avoided remembering or sharing.
But either way, it sometimes doesn’t hit you until you’re there, behind the table, at your booth with all of your stuff that represents an entirely different world and a huge chapter in your life. It sometimes doesn’t hit you until a few people wander by and half-heartedly pick up a carving, or comment on a picture. Maybe it’s not until you are in the middle of an excited conversation with someone who is genuinely interested in your experience. But somewhere along the line, it usually does hit you. A) What am I doing here? And/or B) What am I supposed to say? I remember coming back from my SM year in college, putting together the most awesome New Zealand booth ever in the Student Center, complete with a fake tree, a hammock, and some climbing ropes (not that you could lay down or climb, but it looked cool). But my experience had been hard, and I really didn’t know how to “recruit” SMs to go to my place. I could recommend Student Missions as a way to grow and didn’t regret going myself, but I could not recommend my experience. I could also recommend New Zealand, but not as an SM. There were still a lot of emotional tsunamis washing over my brain whenever I talked about my experience. Even when I later returned from a different experience that I completely loved and recommended, I found it difficult to explain to others. I learned–as everyone does–how to say things that people like to hear: to tell about the beautiful scenery and friendly people. But there was something in me that wanted to be 100% accurate and honest, but I didn’t know how to do that. And I realized later that it is not really possible. Because your Student Missions experience–well, you kind of just had to be there. It’s ok for people not to completely understand–because they haven’t been there yet. It’s ok that you don’t know how to explain it all–even if you did, they still might not get it. It’s ok if you are not totally enthusiastic about persuading others to go out right now. Because ultimately, most potential SMs go because they see a long-term difference in you, not because of the worship talk you gave. They go because they hear the stories tumbling out randomly throughout the day, not because of one high-pressured afternoon, or a busy week. These times of special missions awareness are helpful to get people thinking, maybe even to make some good connections to follow up on, but it’s the faithful, honest, and open you that makes people want to go. And one final word. It’s not all up to you. God uses a thousand ways to call hearts to service. You might be an important part of that, but relax and know that as you pursue authenticity in your relationship with God and others, He will use your story–the good, the bad, and even the ugly–to continue the story of missions in someone else’s life. At 18, I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life: teach. In fact, I had known this since 3rd grade, and could not understand how other classmates couldn’t decide on a major. But by 20, I was a General Studies major, with a nice collection of major-changes already under my belt. And then I left as a student missionary youth worker in New Zealand, and came back confident that I had it figured out this time. Pastoral Care. This was it. It was a brand new major, and I was a brand new me. Until I hit Greek class, which almost killed me that semester. So I changed my major again. This time the only question about which major to take was “Which one will let me graduate the fastest?” Which actually worked pretty well for me.
During your mission experience, you probably had time to think about the decisions ahead in your life. This is often a big reason why many SMs are SMs in the first place (including myself)–to buy some time to make some of these decisions. For some SMs, the question is answered–they had an awesome year of ministry or teaching, and are convinced that this is their life work. But others of us agonize about our major for awhile, frustrated that the year we took out to serve God was “in vain” when it came to making life choices easier. To the major-strugglers, here’s some encouragement (and those who think they have it figured out…you might be back here soon). Be patient with yourself. You are still young, even though it seems like life is passing you by at 21 or 24 years old. Think about it. Jesus didn’t start His public ministry until He was 30. Moses didn’t figure out his “real” job until he was 80. (Yes, there was Joash the boy king, but child prodigies are in another category). Remember how God has led you through other times when you felt blind–maybe this last year. Have you experienced Him coming through for you before? Hold on to those memories, and believe He will do it again. If you say you believe that God is leading in your life–or if you can only ask Him to help your unbelief–then you can be confident that He will not drop you off at the ad building and leave you after your SM year. This does NOT mean, however, that your journey is guaranteed to be simple. Some of us learn better by trying lots of things out. Don’t be afraid to change your major if you need to–learning lots of things is never a waste. However, I recommend taking your time to get back and settled in a little while before making any huge changes to your life plans. Sometimes things look overwhelming when you’re in the middle of transition, and you might be looking for something that isn’t really you. If you want, check out the career counseling services at your school. It may not give you all the answers, but can point you in a good general direction, or confirm where you’re already headed. Talk to friends and family, and hear them out. Whether you feel understood or not, they do care, and might have some insight about you that you don’t see. But most of all, keep the conversation going with God at all times. Learn how to listen for His voice–through His Word, through others, through circumstances. If you wait on Him, He will be faithful. In one of my career-questioning-crises, I ran across this quote that sums it up well: “Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.” – Rainer Maria Rilke “I know what I’m doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for.” – God (Jeremiah 29:11, MSG) Dear [Returned] Student Missionary:
You’ve returned. You’ve been called, you’ve gone, you’ve served, and now it’s done. You’ve come back changed, whether you feel like it or not. Now you run through Wal-Mart with the glee of a child at Christmas. Applesauce and peanut butter and ice cream and Taco Bell have never tasted so good. Toilet paper is exciting. Friends and family hail your return. But you’re back to real life. And perhaps, if you’re like me, life’s purpose eludes you. Reverse culture shock is real. Trying to fit back in with the lifestyle that once was yours is hard to do. In fact, it’s impossible. You can never fit back in exactly as you did before. Everyone tells you it’s because you’ve changed, and they’re right. Please, learn a lesson from me: You don’t have to fit in. You tried so hard to blend with your host country or state or school, spending months learning the nuances that determined visitors and foreigners from those who belonged. You found a niche and did your job there. But when you come home, don’t do it again. Don’t try to learn all the new habits and behaviors that make one a part of your home culture. Don’t struggle to fit in. I came home from my year away and tried so very hard to re-acclimate. To become the epitome of perfect PT student, to engage with others as any 23-year-old college student should, to wear my hair and my clothes and my makeup just so. To fit in with the crowd. To blend in where I’ve been placed. It’s taken me a year to remember that I left a home culture that I didn’t blend in with. I’ve never been “typical”. I’m not an average American. I never was very good at being the cool kid. I don’t often resonate with the characters portrayed in films and shows that are supposed to be just like me. I’ve never fit in… but it’s never bothered me. I always enjoyed life. I enjoyed it until I decided that I should care what others think of me. That I should find out what the social norm was and adhere to it. To fit in. To become average. To do the things that others did, because that was how life was supposed to work. But in becoming average, I’ve lost things. I’ve lost the freedom to go crazy, to cast off inhibitions in favor of embracing propriety. The ability to express myself as I know how, trying instead to shove my thoughts and emotions into neat Rubbermaid organizers, labeling each with a narrow assortment of emoticons. I’ve lost highs and lows – dynamics. My life feels stationary. I don’t feel like anything’s moving; I don’t dare believe I’m growing. So, Student Missionary: Remember what you were before you left, too. Don’t try to become someone you never were. Embrace who you became in your time as a missionary, but don’t cast away the foundation that led to your transformation. Remember who you were, and allow that person to be influenced by the place and the people with whom you served, but never forget who you were to begin with. You’ve spent a lifetime shaping your character, a character that God bestowed upon you so that you’d be ready to answer the call; don’t give it up. Student Missions gave you purpose – it gave you a place to live and a people to serve and a job to do. It became your life. When you come home, it’s easy to lose that purpose. Remember who you were. Embrace your former role and let it be changed by what you did last year. I am Jessica. I am a sister, a daughter, a classmate, a friend. I was a student missionary teacher. When I came home, I focused so intently on showing others how well I fit in that I lost sight of what makes me different, what makes me who I am. But now, I cast off every weight, pursuing a life beyond the cultural norm and living a crazy life for the One who set me apart from the beginning. By Jessica Stotz |
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