My first time serving overseas, I arrived feeling like a boss babe—of course, the term hadn’t yet been coined. I was brimming with confidence and up for any and every adventure. I didn’t mind fumbling in my language skills, and I didn’t second-guess my ability to get the job done.
To my surprise, when we landed in our current country of service a decade later, that boss babe confidence didn’t arrive with me. As a young mother, I was just doing my best to survive and find enough energy to make it through the day. I began to second-guess myself. The voice of self-doubt spoke a little louder. Could I really do this? Am I equipped? Am I enough?
So often, I find myself hesitant to speak or to act, frightened of offending or rocking the boat. Initially, I blamed it on inadequate language skills to advocate for myself or my children, but even with a more robust language footing, I still find myself trapped behind this barrier of hesitation. Isn’t it easier for us to just “suck it up”? Isn’t life overseas supposed to be a little uncomfortable? Isn’t it these awkward moments that we’ll look back on and laugh?
When we first arrived, groups of teenage girls would rush my blonde, two-year-old daughter wanting to take selfies with her and smother her face with kisses. It was tempting to turn a blind eye and view it as a positive thing—a warm welcome, as it were—but it made us uncomfortable. More than that, it was clear that our daughter was overwhelmed by it. Even today, five years later, her main complaint of her local friends is the number of kisses they plant on her cheeks. In both situations, I have struggled to speak up for her boundaries. But I’m torn. I deeply want her to know that she can count on me, and yet I feel like I must tiptoe around so as not to offend. Is being adored such a bad thing? Am I allowed to stand up for us?
Recently, I found myself in another uncomfortable situation with my kids. The number of times I opened my mouth to advocate for boundaries and nothing came out was disheartening. I was disappointed with myself, unsure why this was so hard.
In this moment, I thought for the umpteenth time . . .
Sometimes, I want to be fierce.
The kind of fierceness that comes from the deep-seated confidence that the God who created me and called me to serve in this place—no matter how diametrically opposed to my personality the culture seems to be—will equip me to carry out the tasks he has prepared for me. When I hear the whispers of doubt about my capabilities, the Spirit’s voice would speak over those lies and remind me that he knit me together. He knows every facet of who I am. And he is well pleased with me.
The kind of fierceness needed to raise well-adjusted, God-fearing TCKs that know the depth and ferocity of God’s love for them. I want to have the confidence to tamp down my own anxieties and get out of their way, to allow them to spread their wings and thrive in this place they call home. At the same time, I want to show them that I will defend their boundaries and provide a safe space for them as they navigate their own cross-cultural journeys. I desire to model for my children a life lived courageously for the kingdom.
The kind of fierceness that allows me to boldly declare the Good News when opportunities arise. To remember that he did not give me a “spirit of timidity but rather a spirit of power and of love and of wisdom” (2 Timothy 1:7, NCB). To confidently take the opportunities to shine his love in the reality around me. To stand strong in truth, to dare to be different, and to know when to challenge the cultural norms with kingdom culture.
My mind often wanders to Moses, tasked with leading God’s people out of Egypt. He made it clear that he felt inadequate for the task, but that didn’t get him off the hook. In fact, the word fierce could be used to describe many of the depictions of Moses in children’s Bibles, standing with his staff raised over the parted Red Sea, hair wildly blowing in the gusts of the presence of the Almighty.
God did two things for Moses, and he does them for us. First, he showed Moses that he was merely the vessel that God had chosen to work through: it was the empowerment of God’s Spirit that led the Israelites out of captivity, not Moses’s own capacity. Secondly, God gave Moses a helper, his brother, Aaron, and he provides us with helpers: spouses, teammates, local friends, and faithful supporters back home. We are a part of a greater body, equipped and skilled in so many ways and facets. Together, God invites us into his work around the world, partnering with his Spirit and with his body to accomplish great things for the kingdom.
As we respond to God’s call to the exodus he has assigned to us, may we answer with the fierceness he has placed in each one of us to lead his people out of Egypt!
