A Better Inheritance than Stability

As I write, the warm glow of the fire fills the room. Through a crack between the curtains I can see the dark outside. As is to be heard on the lips of many an Irishman at this time of year (amidst other colloquialisms regarding the general discontentment with whatever weather patterns exist on a given day), “The evenings are fairly drawing in!”

We’ve just tucked the kids up in bed, read them their Bible story, said “I love you lots like jelly tots” (to which they respond, “I love you too, like Creme Egg goo”), kissed them goodnight and sang “Jesus loves me, this I know” as we leave the room. After a sleepover at Nanny’s house last night, they are tired. It appears it ought to have just been called an “over” instead. Though we enjoyed a day out as a couple yesterday, it’s good to have them back with us. Their monkey-business, joy, and love fill our hearts. We love our kids, and we love the home we’ve made with them.

And yet, in a few short weeks, this place will no longer be home. Hopefully we will instead be in South Asia, though even if that is delayed, the house that we rent is being sold, so we would have to move on regardless. The routine that the kids enjoy with school, with extended family, with church on Fridays and Sundays, and various other things during the year, will be gone. Just tonight our daughter was talking about having Christmas here this year, and when we told her that we’d hopefully be having Christmas in South Asia, she was a little put out. We’ve had some of the happiest memories filling our house on Christmas day, with international friends who don’t have family, feasting, laughing, playing games, and sharing the story of Jesus. The kids won’t have that just the same this year. This year, we will be the ones without family nearby.

One of the hardest things about following the Lord’s call overseas is the impact that is has on the children. Now, don’t get me wrong, even on a basic level, I think that children having cross-cultural experiences and learning to live in different ways, is very healthy. And studies suggest that Third-Culture Kids (TCKs) do very well in adapting to things in life in general. Yet there will be many hard things. The missing of family, the sicknesses that we are not used to, the witnessing of incredible poverty, the feeling of being an outsider in both Asia and Ireland, the lack of roots anywhere.

A phrase that I have heard from the mouth of missions agencies, other missionaries, other Christians in general, and in books etc., is something to the effect of, “Remember, the children did not sign up for this, you did.” The sentiment expressed is normally in the context of making sure you are providing for your children in every way possible for the future. And boy, don’t we feel it. We’ve been privileged to grow up with incredible education here in Ireland. You don’t come by it easily in every corner of Asia. Our children will not have the same education. We are the ones who have counted the cost and seen Christ’s call, and the spreading of the gospel as worth the sacrifice of leaving the ones we love. Our kids will face that, though they never asked for it. We have chosen to move abroad and potentially never own a house for the rest of our days. Our children did not sign a dotted line to become nomads. Already, thoughts about whether or not we’d have to return for their future education creep in. There’s no easy answer. We long for the best for our kids, in practical ways.

But. (The greatest word in Scripture. Why? Because it halts our minds on their incessant trailing off down a path that has no end in sight. It forces us to see both sides of the coin). But, there is more to the story. As I was teaching through Hebrews 11 this week, I was expecting to be encouraged by Abraham concerning our imminent departure. I knew (or thought I knew!) the passage well. Abraham went out, not knowing where he was going. Yes, he is the prime example of faith, and for us to go out in faith is to but plug ourselves into the long line of pilgrims in history. Yet it was not this that caught my attention in the passage. Something else jumped out and demanded ponderment.

“By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to go out to a place that he was to receive as an inheritance. And he went out, not knowing where he was going. By faith he went to live in the land of promise, as in a foreign land, living in tents with Isaac and Jacob, heirs with him of the same promise. For he was looking forward to the city that has foundations, whose designer and builder is God.”

– Hebrews 11: 8-10

Abraham had got a grasp of the unseen. Here was a man from Ur of the Chaldees, not all that far from Babel. Though separated by a couple of centuries, Abraham’s story begins in the Bible immediately after the story of Babel. Babel. That place where man sought to make a name for himself. Where a city was designed and built by man, so that man could reach God. What a preface to the story of Abraham who would leave that land, clearly not satisfied with the cities that man could build but would rather look for a city that has foundations, whose designer and builder is God. A city that will one day descend to earth, God coming to man, rather than man trying to make his way to God. A city that is sure and unshakeable, while the cities of this world crumble. With a vision in his mind of this city, is it any wonder that Abraham took up his suitcase, loaded it onto a camel and said goodbye to the “settled” life? He was promised a future inheritance. And he would live as a man waiting only for that.

But look again at the passage. He dwelt in tents… as did his son and grandson. They didn’t ask for that. Isaac didn’t sign up to be the odd-one-out as a monotheist in a culture of polytheists. It was Abram and Sarai who had decided that. He didn’t ask to never own a plot of land (except for a burial site). Would he have been vexed when he had to move yet again, while the tribes around had their allotted territories? And what did his parents say? “One day we will receive the promise, though it be not in this life”. The father had grasped the unseen realities, the pilgrim life flowed from his faith in those promises. But it also flowed into his children and grandchildren. And regardless of what speculation would bring to our minds, we know one thing for sure from this passage; Abraham’s progeny caught onto the eternal realities as they dwelt in their pilgrim father’s tents.

Abraham caught the picture of far-off glory, so he led a nomadic life. His nomadic life was experienced by his offspring, and as they grew in that, they too latched onto the reason behind it. They became heirs with Abraham, as they dwelt in tents like he had.

Despite the many challenges that missionary life will bring to our children, I am encouraged by this aspect of Abraham’s life. We don’t know exactly how it rubbed off on his kids, we don’t know exactly at what point they understood the true nature of the pilgrim life, and how it related to a promise yet unseen. But what we do know is that the sojourning faith of a future-gazing old man impacted his children to follow in his path and inherit the same promise. I pray that it may be the same for my children. Sure I desire certain things for my children, but ultimately I love them so much that I want them to latch onto the same glimpse of future glory that has gripped our hearts. And it may just be the nomadic life that causes those sparks of faith to fly.

Not all of us will be missionaries, or even physically nomadic. Yet if we live as pilgrims, waiting for the new heavens and new earth to really put our roots down in, then it will mean lifestyle changes to the norm. Our kids will have to go without certain things, or be considered weird by others. But make no mistake, it is that very life that will point them to the ultimate hope of glory. Let us be careful lest we become like the wandering Israelites who would not enter the promised land because they feared what would become of their children. They did not enter, but their children did. How sad a story. May we rather follow Abraham, who had they joy of seeing his son and grandson become inheritors of the same promise, as they embraced the difficult life that he was called to live.