Furlough

One of the biggest challenges for missionaries is neither cannibals, grub worms nor tropical fever. One of the biggest challenges for missionaries is furlough, that odd cross between vacation and temporary layoff. In theory the furlough provides much-needed rest for the weary missionary and an opportunity to reconnect with enthusiastic supporters back home. In practice, the missionary family races from point to point across the country to speak to people who may not even remember their names. Furloughs further reinforce the strange sense of social dislocation felt by people who attempt to make their home abroad. With all their years of trying so hard to adapt to a foreign culture, they suddenly discover that they no longer fit into their own.

Imagine a hypothetical missionary who lives in a country where cats are consumed for food, as they are in parts of Peru. At first he is repulsed by dead pets on the dinner table. Yet with time and effort he learns to accept, then appreciate, then actually enjoy felines for supper. Just when he has developed a taste for the finer flavors of “gato a la brasa” (Bar-B-Q cat), furlough comes along and drags him back to civilization. Here he must speak in all sorts of venues like the Women’s Missionary Society, meeting today at the house of one of the agency’s biggest supporters, the matronly Mrs. McGillicutty. As the hor d’oeuvres are served, our missionary absent-mindedly pats the hostess’ aristocratic long-haired Persian.
“Oh, do you like cats, Mr. Schmidt?” Queries the animal´s sophisticated owner looking down her spectacles at him.

“Yes, Ma´am” he says, not quite meaning the same thing as she thinks.

“Oh, I do too, I absolutely love them! Tell us, what kind of cats do you like?”

“Oh, breaded and fried, boiled, my favorite is roasted on a spit…” His voice trails off as he sees the horror in face of his hostess’ and the entire Women’s Missionary Society.
It takes weeks for him to explain to headquarters why their support suddenly plunged. Upon returning to the field his stipend is slashed in half, he is reassigned to the most primitive and isolated mission station in the country, and he is refused that request for a vehicle, having instead to ride on camels and donkeys for the rest of his career; all because of Mrs. McGillicutty´s kitty.

Clothing also poses a problem. I recently heard of a female missionary who lived for years in North Africa where the total veil called a “burqa” is worn by local women. Because the black burqa covers everything, women do not have to worry about dressing up when they go out. It had been years since the missionary bought anything new to wear. Upon returning to the United States she realized that her entire wardrobe was decades out of style. In fact, it had been so long that her bell bottoms had already become chic again.

Missionary children also face unique challenges, as they may identify more with the foreign culture where they appear out of place than with their own culture where they outwardly seem to fit in. A tall, blond-haired missionary kid moved to the States to attend the university. Growing up in the Amazon rainforest with an indigenous tribe, he was one of the few foreigners who spoke fluently the complex indigenous language. Furthermore he was skilled at hunting, fishing, house-building, and as well-adapted to jungle life as any native. Though he spoke English, was educated at the mission school and looked like an all-American boy, this young man saw the world through a totally different lens.

After arriving on campus, he discovered the local second-hand store nearby and with his limited income bought what he thought were great deals. In the tribe when clothing was worn at all, it was vivid colors that they esteemed most. Thus he proudly donned his bright polyesters, slightly resembling a cross between a clown and a homeless person. Only the advice of his more fashion-conscious roommates saved the boy from a humiliating first semester.
His friends came to the rescue again when he was walking between classes.
“Man, stop holding your books like that. You look like a girl!” scolded his buddies.

“What?” the missionary kid asked incredulously, “You are playing a joke on me. Do you mean to tell me that you people actually have a different custom for male and female book-carrying?”

His friends pointed out that all the women on campus did indeed hold their books pressed in front of them the way he was doing. The men, meanwhile, hung their books down at their sides. The missionary kid conformed. The friend who told his story said the young man eventually learned to fit in and went on to become a successful engineer.

Sympathetic friends make all the difference. However, even in their absence the eternal perspective must be kept in mind. Shortly after the First World War an elderly missionary returned to the United States via London after a lifetime of service in Africa. While on that “dark continent” he had buried his wife and children. Now he was sailing back to spend his final days in his homeland. On the same ship sailed President Wilson returning from his historic post-war meetings. Upon arrival, a huge crowd awaited the president with marching bands and a motorcade and a loud parade. The missionary had to wait with the other passengers for the president and his delegation before they could disembark. At last the elderly man descended slowly down the gangplank to the now mostly empty dock. He walked a few blocks down the sidewalks strewn with confetti. Then he put his suitcase on the curb, sat down and tears welled up in his eyes.
“Lord,” he prayed. “This man is gone from home for a few months, lives in luxury the whole time, and when he comes back the entire nation welcomes him home like a hero.”
“You know Lord that I left my home decades ago and have not been back since. My family and I lived in poverty, suffered terribly and everyone I love is now dead. I am not complaining about any of it Lord, it is just that there was not a single person here to say, “Welcome home.””

He sat miserably for a few minutes on the empty sidewalk and then said that he heard the voice of the Lord speak the following:
“Son, you are not home yet.”
It was all he needed to hear.

TEBBE REPORT
With all that I probably need to give some updates on our family. Our first furlough has not at all been forlorn. Our family, friends and church all received us warmly and wonderfully. We are enjoying lots of fine southern hospitality (which is “fine” precisely because it is accompanied by southern cooking). Friends from church provided us our old house to live in and generous donations made it possible for us to survive in the midst of rising prices.

Now socially, I do not know if we were ever fully adapted to my own culture, even when we lived here for years. Yet if we have made any major breach of taboos, no one has told us. (There was one incident very similar to the first story above when my son Bracy shocked a librarian telling her that we eat guinea pigs in Peru.) Other than that our behavior is fairly inconspicuous.
The Peruvian writer Mario Vargas Llosa once remarked that expatriates make the greatest patriots. We have certainly found that true in our own sons, whose devotion to all things American (and Texan) is intense. Their year-long dream of fishing is indulged every weekend. Bracy would like everyone to know that yesterday afternoon he caught three large bass which we ate for lunch today. He boasted, “Now I am putting meat on the table, Mama.”
For her part Amelia has been able to rest and renew; homeschooling the boys and keeping house quietly. The down-time has been the greatest of blessings for her. One major reason for our return was Amelia’s visa which must be reissued every ten years (can you believe it has been ten years?) We have an interview with Homeland Security at the end of March and we should receive the visa sometime afterwards. The United States government certainly does not get in a hurry.

Our flight back to Peru was scheduled for March 8 however we postponed the trip indefinitely until our paperwork and finances permit our return. Our goal is to pay off the plane tickets and raise adequate financial support before we go back to Peru. There is so much we could do there if we had the people and resources. I will be sharing more in the days ahead but let me mention two things before we close.
First, we are publishing our first book. My talented and hard-working sister compiled all our newsletters from last year into a single volume. She has done a marvelous job of layout and graphic design and is about ready to send them to the printer. I believe the cost will be around $10 for about a two hundred page volume. I will alert everyone by e-mail once they are available. The proceeds will support our work.

Secondly, I am available to speak about Peru, both the country and our ministry there. If you know a church, a Sunday School class, a missions committee, a small group, a club, a Christian School, a volunteer association, an aristocrat with long-haired cats, a family or any hospitable individual (especially those specializing in southern cooking), then feel free to recommend us to them. Our contact information is listed below.