We Hold This Truth…

“What is the capital of the United States?” my Year Three teacher, Mr. Boss, asked the lot of us.

I shot my hand up and waved eagerly, sitting up on my knees as the rough carpet dug into me. I had this. None of these jokers were American and besides, I was going to fall over if I didn’t get picked soon. My father was a United States Air Force officer – I certainly didn’t get more American than that. Mr. Boss pointed at me.

“New York City!”

A pause. I’d gotten it wrong. I realized it in the twitch of his face and the polite smile. There wasn’t any condescension, we were kids after all and getting our facts wrong was expected at our age. Even so, humiliation burned my cheeks.

“Not quite. Good guess. Anyone else?”

One of my Aussie classmates shouted out, “Washington D.C.!”

My zest and excitement were replaced by embarrassment and self-doubt. I hadn’t even heard of Washington D.C. (what was a D.C. anyway?), but New York City…that was in everything. Movies, television, books…I was an American for Pete’s sake!

For all my shame in being caught with the incorrect answer, it wouldn’t even cover a fraction of the foot-in-mouth I experienced several years later when I wanted to borrow a “rubber” (eraser) from a girl sitting next to me in my South Carolina fifth grade class. At least my Aussie friends didn’t laugh uproariously because I blurted out New York City.

Twenty years have passed since I sat in a classroom that rattled when the planes from the nearby RAAF base flew overhead. I still prefer pavlova over apple pie and I muddle my spelling on occasion (I didn’t know until college that one wrote a “check” and not a “cheque”), but for the most part one would find me as American as fried Twinkies and fudge brownies.

However, for all the time that has elapsed since I repatriated in 1992, I have not been able to shake the “other”-ness that I feel. I have found this to be common among other grown Third Culture Kids. A displacement as we listen to jokes and miss the humor because while those around us were watching The Goonies we were on a plane to West Germany. An awkwardness because despite our deep appreciation for meat pie, our mates know we’re not from around here. A loneliness because at the age of ten, no one from “home” wants to talk about how frightening the world is – at least not until 9/11.

I exist in this dichotomy. My feet have traversed the world and I have struggled with the idea of origin and home. I continue to wrestle with my unsettled nature and I am constantly being taught that my passport doesn’t define who I am.

Today my peace is found in that I celebrate not my earthly citizenship, but the common grace the God has extended to us. The U.S. is not a Christian nation though the principles on which we are built were birthed from faith. It is a good thing to be able to live with liberty. It is a good thing to rejoice in the honor and nobility of those that would serve with distinction – my father being first in my thoughts followed by numerous friends.  On holidays such as this, I contemplate these virtues in light of a Savior, a King, who reminds us that we must be ever vigilant – not for our rights – but for Him.

“For here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come.” Hebrews 13:14

“So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Christ Jesus himself being the cornerstone, in whom the whole structure, being joined together, grows into a holy temple to the Lord. In him you also are being built together into a dwelling place for God by the Spirit.” Ephesians 2:19-22

“Because we have no government, armed with power, capable of contending with human passions, unbridled by morality and religion. Avarice, ambition, revenge and licentiousness would break the strongest cords of our Constitution, as a whale goes through a net. Our Constitution was made only for a moral and religious people. It is wholly inadequate to the government of any other.” John Adams (Letter to the Officers of the First Brigade of the Third Division of the Militia of Massachusetts, 11 October 1798)

Unexpected Freedom

My heart was pounding and my palms were sweaty. I was sweetly terrified and bitterly excited as I stared at my lavender Huffy bike, newly rid of its training wheels. Dad was holding it up, a pile of metal and plastic beside him, the remnants of my safety net. Unlike my trusty Big Wheel of old, there were only two wheels. How was I supposed to ride something with only two wheels?

“C’mon,” my dad insisted.

It was impossible. There was no way I’d ever figure out how to balance. I wanted to. I wanted to so very badly. I saw the freedom that came from having a bicycle so maneuverable. Two wheels were graceful. Four wheels were safe. At the moment I preferred safety.

“I’ll hold you,” my dad promised.

I couldn’t argue with such logic, so I gingerly flung a leg over the middle bar and settled myself on the seat. Dad held me with a firm, sure grip.  I would be okay…I would be okay…I would –

“Start pedaling.”

So I did.  Then his hands were gone and panic replaced the confidence created by my father’s presence. Despite having ridden a bike with training wheels for ages before, I couldn’t remember the basics of guiding my Huffy.

I hit a telephone pole. Not as hard as I thought, as I was able to drag myself up. I walked my bike back across the cul-de-sac and my dad sighed. I hoped he wasn’t going to make me try again.

“I think that’ll be good for today,” he replied, unwilling to subject me to anymore potential injuries. He methodically replaced my training wheels so that I could at least ride my bike.

Disappointment permeated my thoughts, but with training wheels in place, I was safe.  And safe is how I remained for weeks after. My parents finally settled on a bribe.  The day I learned to ride a bike with no training wheels I would get the ever-coveted boom box.

I kept my training wheels.

Round and round I went. Dizzying circles on a warm summer’s day.  Boldness as only brought about by comfort set in and my bike would dip low to the side as I rounded our small court. One day, I came so close to the ground, I had to look down.

My training wheels were so far up, they were no longer touching the pavement below.  My mind was puzzled.  How long had I been riding without the support of my trusty extra wheels? I faltered for only a second before coming to a complete stop.  I stared until finally I laughed.

With joy, excitement, and pride I rode back to our driveway (on two wheels!), leaped off my bike, and ran inside to tell my parents the good news: freedom was unexpectedly mine.

Even the Stars Fade

The autumn air was cool as I crawled from the back of our white Ford Taurus. My mom was getting my younger sister out on the other side and I stared up into the inky black sky, bejeweled with stars. I wanted to be an astronaut when I grew up. I had daydreams of flying into the endless expanse or jumping from one star to another.

“That’s the Southern Cross,” my dad explained as he pointed to one cluster in particular. He’d noticed my upward gaze. “You can only see it in the southern hemisphere.”

I tried to wrap my mind around the fact that there existed people who had never seen what I had seen. From that point forward, each night that I could, I would let myself be drawn to the only constellation I knew.

Then one day, orders came. Our house bustled as plates were carefully packed and pictures were taken down from the walls. It was November and summer was starting already.

“We’re going home,” my mom told me.

I’m already home, I thought.

I stared at the Southern Cross on the final night.

I had seconds as I was ushered from one place to the next, but a weightiness stayed with me. I was nine years old and my life was full of possibility. Would I ever see my friend again? Would my feet stand on Australian soil? Worry consumed me as I feared for the eventual fading of memories.

My heart was crushed that first night as I searched the skies above South Carolina. My companion was gone. The stars above me seemed so ordinary and yet so strange. The air was too cold mid-December to contemplate the empty sky for long. Not that it mattered.  The heavens reflected my reality…I was utterly alone.