A global-worker friend from Nepal sent me a Marco Polo recently. She described a day of local handymen installing appliances in her family’s new apartment–with methods much to her chagrin.
My mind immediately tumbled back to the painter who striped our house different shades of pink and orange on the outside, so it resembled a box of rainbow sherbet.
Oh, you look so beautiful! I love that you’re still wearing makeup and your toenails are painted. I bet your legs are shaved too!
Ooh-la-la! Soak up those feminine vibes now, my dear. But don’t fret. As you lose your American shine, you’ll be gaining plenty in its place.
Enjoy where you are now, new missionary me. Be fully here.
BY CARL BUSER, RADIUS INTERNATIONAL ALUMNUSThat was the last straw. I’m done with this country. I’m ready to punch this guy in the face, I said to myself silently.
One more time, I spoke slowly–patiently, even–into the phone. “Sir, please, just make the sandwich like you always do. Except this time, just don’t put mayo on it, like I asked. It’s the same sandwich! It’s just that in the process, mayo won’t be added!”
“I am sorry sir, but we do not do custom orders. We do not accept returns or refunds either.”
Amy Medina writes compellingly of the seasons of overseas life. At the beginning,
the remnants of your old life stay with you for a long time. At first, keeping in touch with your friends back at home is a big priority. You get lots of packages in the mail. You grieve the loss of all that you left behind. But you are excited to be in this new place you dreamed about for so long, and that excitement keeps you going for a while. After the honeymoon wears off–which could happen in a week or a year–then it just takes grit. A lot of grit. As in, I’m going to grit my teeth and stay here even though I hate it.
Want to hear the happy ending? Guess you’ll have to click here.
We’re excited to welcome back global veteran David Armstrong. He’s set foot in 15 countries, and confesses that Crepes and Waffles in Bogota, Colombia is one of his favorite restaurants.
My kids spotted me as I rounded the corner two blocks from home–and started laughing and pointing. I was sporting the shortest haircut I had had since basic training. I tried to look confident.. I meant for it to be this short. I’m cool. Truth: I didn’t know how to tell the barber “too short”.
But it made me the winner of the “Most Mortifying Moment” prize that month–and paved the way for my kids to succeed. My too-much-off-the-sides demonstration: You can roll with this.
At Go. Serve. Love, we’re all about 