My reentry story began with an unplanned return in the midst of COVID-19. I wasn’t the only one—it turned out to be such a common experience. But at the time it seemed like just about the worst thing that could happen to me.
I loved my life overseas. I felt called to it. I found God there, amongst the power cuts, heat waves, dirty streets, and endless needs. Amongst the palm trees, rain clouds, frangipani, and deep sense of purpose.
We had scheduled a regular furlough that year but ended up leaving early, convinced we would be able to fly back to our Cambodian home in a few short months. Paperwork and the pandemic had other plans. And when our overseas life fell apart, I did too.
Pain permeated everything. It was in my heart as I bid farewell to a country and a beloved community without actually saying goodbye, without hugging people and crying in person. But it was in the hearts of others, too, as their lives were similarly uprooted, whether by relocations, pandemic restrictions, or tragic deaths. Why was an all-powerful God allowing such pain?
This God seemed responsible for the anguish and upheaval in my life. I was angry with him, and in my anger, I refused to speak to him. At different points during the next couple years, I even considered the idea of not believing in God anymore. If I no longer believed in the Person who caused my pain, the pain would go away, right?
But shutting God out only served to cut me off from my main source of consolation. I lost access to God, to my spiritual life, to processing through writing (an inherently spiritual activity), even to some of my most supportive relationships—all avenues that could have helped pull me through the pain—all because I turned inward instead of outward and upward.
Losing access to God meant losing access to myself, to the person God created me to be. I became a different person, but because I wasn’t in touch with my soul, I didn’t have the insight to understand how much I had changed. It was only obvious to those around me, those close enough to know the real me and this new, altered version of me.
It was no wonder I was so unhappy. Not only had I lost the country I loved, I had lost my relationship with God and my relationship with myself—for we find our true selves in Christ.
I had developed a close relationship with him on the field. I’d always loved God, loved worshiping him in song, loved thinking and talking about spiritual things. But on the field I needed God so much more desperately than I ever had before, so I began growing a dedicated morning routine to meet with him and receive from him.
My relationship with God was so strong in Cambodia, stronger than it had ever been, that these two things somehow became intertwined in my mind. Cambodia was where I sought God, knew God, loved God. When Cambodia was taken away, my understanding of who I was with God and in God also disappeared. I wouldn’t have verbalized it that way—and it’s not what I would have said I believed—but it’s how I lived.
Perhaps if I’d had someone guiding me through the process the way Shonna Ingram and her Re-entry Experts guide people now, I could have found a way to hold onto God. Perhaps the pain still would have been too much; there’s no way to know for sure. But we were in the middle of pandemic chaos, and though it was nobody’s fault, I think in some ways I fell through the cracks. No one except the people I lived with truly knew how much I was struggling.
At different times I received counseling, coaching, and debriefing, and to some extent they were all helpful. But they didn’t focus on my relationship with God the way I probably needed. And I couldn’t seem to direct my attention back to God on my own. I couldn’t seem to be honest with God about what was going on inside me.
I look back now and see that my reentry journey could have been smoother if I’d held onto God. I reflect on those times with sadness—but also with hope, for I know now that God was always holding onto me. Even when I didn’t want to believe in him or speak to him. Even when I blamed him for every bad thing that was happening. Even when I thought ignoring him would relieve my pain.
It took years, but I was able to recultivate my relationship with God. Our relationship isn’t the same as it was before. It’s more sobered, more surrendered. I’ve been through more suffering. I’ve learned that faithfulness isn’t a fairy tale. I’ve also learned that God is still here, waiting for us, when we return to him. Even if we turned away on purpose, even if we turned inward and tried to save ourselves. Even then, God’s love for us never wavers.
Whether planned or unplanned, reentry can really shake the foundations of your life. You were living one life, believing God had called you to it and was equipping you for it, and now you’re living another life. You may not understand why the location of your call has changed. You may not understand why God feels distant or seems silent.
But God is not just in one place, in one country. He is in all countries, and we take him with us wherever we go, wherever he leads. His existence is the one constant in a life full of change. And Christ’s presence is still our hope in life and death—even in the times we refuse to acknowledge him. He holds us even then. We may loosen our grip during the immense pain of reentry, but our God never does.
If you have gone through reentry, what has your relationship with God felt like?
Elizabeth was part of a panel of women discussing their reentry journey. It is included in the Re-entry Retreat, along with teaching from Danielle Wheeler, a retreat guide, and more! Check it out here.
