Re-Entry and Receiving Sojourners Well

I recently helped facilitate a re-entry Zoom call with people who are preparing to return to their passport countries after several years abroad. The particular circumstances of each person were different; some are leaving their host country permanently while others will only be away a short time. Regardless of the length of time they were returning for, each one was grappling with the complexity of calling more than one place "home" and how to communicate to those they would be returning to the tension of the joy and grief they're holding.

How do you respond to others celebrating your return when your heart is grieving what you've left behind?

What do you say to all the "Welcome Home!" greetings when you're not quite sure where home is anymore?

Is it possible to be honest about how hard this is and how sad you feel without making the people receiving you feel bad or rejected?

In every re-entry there is joy and grief, gain and loss. And while those receiving us may not always understand the depth of it, I do believe that most of them want to love us well upon our return.

The letter below was written for those loved ones back home that are waiting with open arms, anticipating a sweet reunion, but are perhaps unaware of the inner turmoil bubbling just under the surface as we prepare to embrace them. I pray this letter represents my fellow sojourners well in their times of re-entry, and gives those welcoming us "home" just a little more insight into the complexities of this transition. Ultimately for both parties—those receiving and those returning—I pray there is grace upon grace.

Dear Loved Ones Back Home,

I am returning to you. I am filled with joy at the thought of seeing you again. I am overcome with heartache at the thought of leaving this place I love. Please, let me feel both things, for I will not love you well if I do not grieve well.

When I return and am wrestling with deep sadness over the overseas home I’ve left behind, know that my grief for what I’ve left doesn’t diminish my love for you. Don’t read my grief over what I’ve lost as a dismissal of what I’ve gained. I need permission to grieve without being made to feel ungrateful.

I do not love you less because I love my home abroad. On the contrary, moving overseas increased my capacity for love. My heart has stretched wide, and I now hold so many more places and people in it. But you, my dear loved ones, will always be the first ones that took up residence in my heart. 

You may not realize it, but I’ll come back and everything’s changed. You'll call it "home" but it might not feel like it to me. I will need space and time and grace to learn how to find my footing in a place I used to know but that feels so different now. Perhaps, though, what’s changed the most, is me. I am not who I was when I left. My home abroad has changed me in so many ways. It will take me a while to figure out how to feel at home here again. When the cereal aisle overwhelms me to the point of tears, or the A/C makes me constantly cold, or the restaurant menu gives me anxiety, be gracious to me and remind me that this will get easier.

I want to share my experiences abroad with you. There will be things you won’t understand, things you won’t relate to, and that’s ok. Listen. Ask questions. Be patient. One of the best ways you can show your love for me is by caring about the places and people I love abroad. Some things I will be ready to share right away, others I need to ponder in my heart for a while first. Don’t give up on me. Be gentle with me as I figure out how to unfold the layers of my overseas life here in a land that now feels foreign. 

When I have days that I just cry for no reason, or can’t make decisions, or talk too much about my home abroad, show me grace. Even though I might not know how to say it, I need you. Even though you cannot understand all I’m going through, your prayers and presence matter. And even though I may always miss my home overseas, I will always be grateful for this one—my first home—and for you, my people, who remind me that I still belong.

Love,

Me