"...a M.K...." (missionary kid)

(pre script this is a part of a series see "...a girl...")

Here I'm about 10

The journey for my family started in the Pacific Northwest,  I was still learning to walk when my parents dared to believe God was asking them to live boldly.


My family moved to Europe when I was seven-years-old and returned when I was twelve. I would say most of my childhood happened in Europe. It was there I played in the park with my friends, mastered ridding a bike, lost a mouthful of teeth, spent cold days sledding until all feeling left my body. It was there I ran wild in summers, building forts and spying on boys.

We lived in a post-Communism country, poor but grateful to be free. The Communist had left there mark in the cities, in the "art" and on people's hearts.

We lived in a city that has buildings older then the country on my birth certificate.  I sat in halls of kings,  walked by homes of composers and drove by Roman ruins . Visiting a castle was a favorite family hangout spot.


The church we were apart of was made up of great grandparents, grandparents and grandchildren (my peers) but very few moms or dads because they had bought into the lie they didn't need God.  Everyone at the church treated me with love and patience as I learned my way. They displayed the importance of family, the family of believers, gratitude (thanking God for what they did have), and generosity (giving freely what they had).  They knew hard times, and time was still hard but they weren't bitter. They laughed and cried.

Also we grew up in the missionary community. We all lived away from aunts and uncles, grandparents and cousins. We were from everywhere but all there because God had told us to be there and His Crazy Love was the only thing that made sense ;) We prayed longing for him to step in on our behalf in a land were we had no voice. To heal sickness that we didn't understand.  To protect us as spouses and children were often apart and to provide food as every "paycheck" was a gift from someone who gave because they wanted too. We were continually surrounded by people who were clinging to their faith in God

 
When I was twelve we moved back to the "Land of the Free" we had very little shared history, I didn't know what Twinkies were, couldn't tell you the difference between 'N Sync and the Backstreet Boys, and had never been to Disneyland (this might sound childish but twelve-year-olds kinda are) 

I knew I wasn't from Europe,  they had pain and history that I hadn't experienced only felt the effects, but I didn't belong in the U.S. either, my world was bigger then theirs.

By the color of my skin I could fit into anywhere I've lived, I guess what I'm saying is because of everywhere I've lived my heart is it's own color.  (you might want to revisit "A Safe Place" )