Living Between Two Cultures...

My gift and my struggle, my passion and my grief is this life between two cultures. As far as marriage, I love it. As far as friendships, I consider myself doubly blessed. As far as travel, food, worldview, and experience, I wouldn't trade it for anything. I have learned to identify completely to two different cultures. I have learned to live completely emersed in both cultures. I have learned to appreciate the good from both and have been shaped by both. I consider this my gift. At the same time it is a calling and a great responsibility-I am called to be a bridge between cultures.

Being a bridge is not easy. In fact, it is very painful. Sometimes the gap between the American and Honduran world seems so great and my bridge to cross so small. My heart has been hurting and my soul crying out to God for this gap to be breached in missions. I have been so heart-broken by how the American culture in missions has hurt Honduras. I have had a couple different conversations recently with Honduran Christians about American missionaries that really broke my heart. We, Americans, did not only bring the gospel here, but we brought our culture and tried to change their culture. We didn't adopt their music, we tried to change their music. We didn't adopt their style of church services, we tried to change them with our "better" western style. We didn't understand their perspective, but tried to change their perspective to be more like ours. We didn't learn from them to be like them, but tried to change them to be like us: American. Yet we didn't even live among them, we didn't sacrifice our privacy and lifestyle, but, in fact, we separated ourselves from them and lived in our fancy houses. I realize this is not everyone, but it is a general truth. Honduras needs the gospel, but it doesn't need the American version. It needs the Honduran version. This is something I have been dealing with since I was little--such a great awareness of these two clashing cultures in my midst. It is so painful. I can't STAND the constant comments I have to listen to and the lack of understanding that so many Americans have of the Honduran culture--there is one word I have in my mind: ignorance. I hate it when I hear an American "educate" another American about the Honduran culture and get it all wrong. I have come to believe that Honduras does not need any more American missionaries. Honduran believers are much better equipped to reach their own-at least they are sure able to love their own a lot better. Yet, even though I believe this, I recognize that God cannot be put in a box-He can call anyone and use anyone. He chose the foolish of the world to shame the wise, and His plans are not always our plans. At very least, American missionaries should partner with Honduran believers instead of base their understanding of missions and cultures on other foreigners perspectives. I don't mean to offend, yet this is the truth that I cannot hide from. I love Honduras and I love the culture. It is a culture that always has room for one extra person, a culture that loves to help and loves to give. There are so many things that we can learn from them as Americans. I hate the assumptions and generalizations made about Hondurans. They are real people with real hearts, with real minds, with real potential-my friends, my family, and most importantly, my husband. Yet...America is still my home country. I love my people, and I love my culture as well. While I humble myself and accept the blunders of my people, I know the good of my people as well. I know the hearts of the many missionaries that serve and sacrifice. I know the prayers and faith that accompany their work. It is so hurtful to hear generalizations made about my people as well. I can't stand the comments. I hate the assumptions. My culture is also such a giving culture. God has definitely used so many willing instruments for His glory that came out of my culture and is still doing so today. These people are my family, are my friends, and my brothers and sisters in Christ, and oh how I love them so fiercely.

This is my gift and this is my struggle--to live as a bridge between cultures. Most are too prideful to cross the bridge for the truth is that it is humbling to cross the bridge. Jesus humbled himself though when he became like us to reach us.

God is the God of all cultures. He is not American. He is not Latino. He is not Indian. He is not Asian. He is not a God of just one ethnic group. He is the God of the universe. I am so thankful for my loving husband. God is so gracious to me to have allowed me to marry such a loving Honduran husband, a husband who embraces me and my culture. We are so blessed with such a great unity. Our prayer is to be one with each other and one with the Lord. That was Jesus's prayer for the church--that we be one just as He is one with the Father. Can we please be one in Him church?