Suffering is part of the human story—and it comes in many forms. Sometimes it’s sharp and overwhelming: loss, trauma, illness, injustice.
Other times it’s quieter, the kind of ache that builds over time—loneliness, daily frustration, small disappointments that pile up like paper cuts.
Those living cross-culturally often experience both kinds. There are moments of intense pain, and there are the thousand little griefs—missed milestones with family, misunderstandings across cultures, or the constant strain of feeling out of place. We can be tempted to downplay our own pain when we compare it to the deep suffering we see around us, or to chase comfort instead of letting God meet us in our sorrow.
But what if suffering—large or small—is a sacred space where Christ meets us? What if the invitation is not to measure or minimize our pain, but to bring it honestly before the One who has suffered with and for us?
How have you experienced both the “big” and “small” forms of suffering in your cross-cultural life?
One Response
I’ve since come back to my passport country, but moving overseas cost me my family (who thought the whole Christian thing had gone too far, and already hated Christians, etc.). The misunderstandings between me and other cultures was a difficult process, one that both strengthened and saddened me. Looking back, I see how tight the bonds of fellowship was, though, and grieve that loss as I struggle to rebuild community here. I am, slowly but surely, but it is a much different process than it was overseas, and has taken so much longer. The state I left is not the state I returned to- another form of loss as I struggle to adapt to a place that feels like a very different version of “home” than it once was. But in a way, I am thankful for that. If it was so very familiar, would I carry with me the changed version of myself, who returned totally different? If it all was so familiar, would I remember that I am still a pilgrim, on assignment from a much more important Kingdom? Back in my passport country, I want to remember what I learned overseas- that transient, ethereal feeling that this world is not my true home. Every trial and loss points me back to where my heart truly belongs- in eternity, not here where I am physically. Losing that sense of home has brought grief, anger, sadness, denial…and finally, acceptance and peace. It was never my home to begin with. My home rests where nothing can destroy it, awaiting a day yet to come.