tug-of-war – Jerry Lout ⚬ Writer ⚬ Speaker ⚬ Mobilizer

Puzzling or Amusing, which is it? Both perhaps. . .

Cross-cultural workers meet up with any number of puzzlements, leaving one off balance enough to keep the journey intriguing.

The slight-of-body PhD scholar smiled sheepishly as he related a kind of tug-of-war he was in with their nine-year-old daughter.

“Jerry, you know that Bible for children, the one with many pictures that you gave us?”

Noting my nod, Mr. Tang went on. . .

“Well, my daughter and I, we fight over it. She finds the book very interesting, and so do I! So, when she is reading it, I want to read it, and also the other way around.”

For those like me, not raised in a society where the world’s most popular (international best-seller-book ever) is virtually a banned product, the reaction is astonishment.

It is remarkable really. How could a brilliant scholar with multiple degrees to his name find such a widespread piece of famous literature nearly inaccessible?

The entrance of your word gives light*

At Mr. Tang’s tug-of-war description, I couldn’t help smile. The mental image of a distinguished petroleum engineer husband and father pitted in a feisty back-and-forth with his fourth-grade daughter over the Holy Bible. Amusing to be sure. Yet, moments later the weightier, more sobering implication settled in.

Here is nine-year-old Angie, brought by her warm-hearted and, yes, atheist parents to the Land of the Free.

Angie (perhaps from simple curiosity at this point) yearns to take in the stories of God and Jesus. This, while her mother and father – grappling with the thousand adjustments called for in adapting to a new land and culture – carry their own yearnings. Daddy himself nurtures an appetite of some kind or other sufficient to sneak in bits of Bible reading during moments when his daughter isn’t on guard.

Can this household – others as well – be gently introduced to further samplings of the life-giving Word? Lead us, Father.

Funny how conditioning works – not that of the hair treatment variety.

A person flies off to another land and settles into the things of life and work. Some years later, having grown conditioned to her adoptive culture, the person returns to her homeland only to find life disorienting.

Depending on how deeply entrenched he has settled into that ‘other life’, the reentry and reorienting process for the returnee may leave him reeling. I’m clearly a misfit, he reasons.

Such a person may feel more at ease in the company of the clerk tending to the nearby Asian or Latin-run convenience store than with many of his acquaintances of an earlier time.

It happened with me at the intersection of Sixth and Birmingham. Where aromas of Indian Curry and Chinese dumplings hung in the air.

ISI’s area director Jim Tracy had reached out, inviting me to accompany him on his rounds – connecting socially in informal friendship with international students hailing from lands abroad. Malaysia, Venezuela, China, the Middle East. . .

I fussed with upside-down feelings day by day as I routinely shadowed Jim, venturing along from one apartment dwelling to the next. Where we happily sipped hot chai offered up by our gracious, momentary hosts. (But wait. Aren’t we. . . us ‘Yanks’. . . meant to be hosting them?)

I grew mildly surprised sensing how the needle of my social barometer tilted in uncommon directions. Feeling less at home within my own mainstream American culture than with the young college students coming from places far, far away. I had hardly begun to know these ‘outsiders’ yet an easy kinship felt more in reach.

For a while this tug-of-war left me unsettled, musing over my ‘space’ and my identity (aren’t I the same red-blooded American fellow who merely relocated for a while those years back?).

In time I made peace with befuddling but pardonable reality. I had changed.

Change had happened on the inside of me. Living in Africa for a couple decades among people groups of varied customs and languages had ruined me – in the best kind of way. Components of my worldview had shifted, broadened. My preferences on many fronts had tweaked. In short, I had taken up a strange and intriguing and somewhat messy cross-cultural identity.

This new normal, it’s going to need some time.

Tag: tug-of-war

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