A Lament for Returnees and their Organizational Ouches

“They Love Me, They Love Me Not”

Our current month’s theme in 2HC is seasons of life and grieving losses. The following lament represents a synthesis of many voices of those who, for various reasons, return to their passport countries after years of cross-cultural service. It captures what many feel emotionally when treasured community, once centered around an exciting cause, can no longer exist without that cause. The loss is real, as is the longing for a community where unconditional love is nurtured and supported. The author here expresses what all laments contain: pain, anger, and hope.

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They love me, they love me not.

They love me, they love me not.

I serve their agenda: they love me.

I rest: they love me not.

I affirm their narrative: they love me.

I ask a question: they love me not.

I vanquish the foe: they love me.

I suffer defeat: they love me not.

I present my shadow: they love me.

I muster the courage to show my true face: they love me not.

I’m overseas: they love me.

I’m home: they love me not.

I pay my organizational assessment: they love me.

I become an inconvenience: they love me not.

I sing in unison: they love me.

I try a little harmony: they love me not.

I make them feel good about themselves: they love me.

I rock the boat: they love me not.

I stay the same: they love me.

I change: they love me not.

If this is how your children treat each other, God, I’d hate to see how the reprobates behave.

But wait, I’ve met those reprobates. No, I’ve lived among them. I never affirmed Muhammad’s narrative, but I couldn’t get him to stop trying to hold my hand as we walked down the road. I don’t remember paying Rafik an assessment of any kind, and now I’ve gone and lost track of how many times he’s made me dinner. Samir doesn’t seem to mind what country I’m in: I’m greeted to a WhatsApp message from him when I wake up each morning either way.

Does it bother you, Lord, that I never quite learned what conditional love looked like until I crossed paths with your zealous ones? Something seems off about that.

There was a time when they loved me. But now they love me not. There was a time when I couldn’t keep up with the invitations and requests. Come train us here. Come speak there. Come inspire us. Come tell us the stories we want to hear. Come make us feel like we haven’t wasted our lives playing the roles we’ve played: convince us that it’s all had a healthy return on investment.

But nowadays, the phone doesn’t ring as much as it used to. In fact, I can’t remember the last time anyone called.

Wait … I take that back.

Muhammad called yesterday. Rafik the day before.

I suppose I'll have to satisfy myself with being loved by them, by those who don't yet possess the good sense to make their acceptance of me conditional, by those silly, dangerous reprobates who love me without any "they love me not."

Image by Carlotta Silvestrini from Pixabay