A POST BY: CHELSEA
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It’s been just over three months since we moved to Rwanda, and along the way I’ve sensed my hunch being confirmed:
Missionaries need permission not to have a honeymoon stage.
(At least, not immediately.)
Don’t get me wrong — my family is managing well, and we’re deeply grateful to be here, in all the bittersweetness that comes with a major transition! We even enjoy lots of things about life here (ask me about the weather, the coffee, the views, the new relationships; etc.).
But this topic is complex and, I think, worthy of discussion.
As we prepared to serve as missionaries in Rwanda, many individuals excitedly asked me if I knew about the stages of culture shock. Often I could barely get my “yes” out before they would go on to explain it to me anyway. So whether you’re familiar with the model or not, I’ll be guilty of the same, and explain it to you anyway:
A popular model of cultural transition suggests that people entering another cultural context typically go through
(1) a honeymoon stage, when all seems exciting and rosy in the new cultural context (think Rapunzel’s “BEST DAY EVER!” moments in Disney’s Tangled)
(2) a hostility stage, when reality “sinks in” and one begins to feel frustrated with and fatigued by elements of the new surroundings,
(3) a resolution stage, when one begin to come to terms with and accept this tension,
(4) an acceptance stage, when one can claim the new context as “home” (in some way) — delights, challenges, and all!
I do think this model is helpful, but I also think it shouldn’t be applied rigidly. The experience of each stage can vary tremendously from individual to individual, and the stages aren’t necessarily linear, either.
In short, while these categories may be helpful in lending vocabulary to the experience of cultural transition, missionaries need to be allowed to have a generous array of responses to their new context in their initial weeks and months. My personal experience entering a new cultural context (Rwanda) this time around has been markedly different from other times.
Some background:
When I completed an internship in South Africa during college, I absolutely fell in love with it. I could have melted into the very land. I soaked up everything and felt part of my heart break when departure day rolled around.
When I moved to Jerusalem after college, I don’t know if I ever really left the honeymoon stage during my two years in Israel-Palestine. That’s a bit naive to say, because actually, there were frustrations aplenty. But even the challenges of the Israeli-Palestinian context bolstered my love for the place and the people, and nurtured a personal sense of purpose. I still have an abiding love for the land, the people, the history, the longings for peace. Honestly, there was never a day that I wished I didn’t live there.
Rwanda has been unique. When I visited for the first time with my husband a year ago, I threw open the curtains the first morning of our visit, looked out the window, and thought with a slight sense of disorientation, “This could grow on me.” That was it. (And, by the way, it was a really lovely visit! Life is complex.) Rwanda was just a different experience for me. Beautiful — such lovely hills. Strange — so unfamiliar. Sad — no ocean. Serious — where is the laughter? Endearing — these people are polite.
(Encouragement for those discerning about mission: this can be your experience! Don’t feel bad about it. Keep seeking the Lord’s will. It will be fine.)
Back to the present: we are still so new here. My understanding of this place and the people here is far from seasoned. My husband’s experience entering Rwanda has been different from mine. I can’t speak for how I will feel in 6 months, 12 months, 18 months… But the experiences and feelings of the first three months have been so varied that, all together, they do not scream “honeymoon stage!”
To give some more tangible examples:
I delight in a crisp view of the hills after a good rain clears the air.
I admire how hard-working many of the people are.
I am puzzled by their quiet and serious demeanor.
I feel challenged by not being able to ‘read the culture’ and detect what others might be thinking.
I like the way some things are done here; I don’t like the way others are.
I am encouraged when a straight face dissolves into a smile and someone says, “Good morning!”
I miss Latino culture (and music and color).
I miss Israeli and Palestinian culture (and food and land).
I am grieved by economic disparity, and am sometimes uncomfortable with the level of privilege I bring.
I am touched by our pastor’s kindness in bringing us eggs and juice.
I am hopeful for new relationships, and
I am sad that we have increased the distance between ourselves and our family and friends in the U.S. — sad that Evie is growing up apart from those loved ones, and they are not getting to see her sing and dance and read books and practice jumping.
It’s really a mixed bag.
And the thing is, this isn’t bad. It’s not wrong for me to not be immediately infatuated with a new cultural space. It also wouldn’t be bad if I were (initially, at least)!
Simplifying the first phase of a missionary’s transition to a “honeymoon stage” risks doing a disservice to the complexity of the experience, both in terms of general understandings of mission and for missionaries themselves. Sometimes missionaries need time to grieve the loss of a more direct connection with other cultural contexts. Sometimes a particular culture makes your heart sing while another doesn’t. I think that life stage can play a role. Sometimes it just. takes. a. long. time. to get to know a culture.
To be fair, there are certainly times that a missionary does waltz right off the plane (or train or car or whatever) into a dreamy honeymoon stage, and that should be celebrated for the joyful connection it is!
But if they don’t, that’s just fine, too (and it’s probably equally valuable in less evident ways).
I think that at the end of the day, missionaries — like all Christians — are called to focus on faithfulness, and a honeymoon stage, whether present or not, is simply not the measure of faithfulness. Something much more important is at stake here — our relationship with the Lord and our obedience to him. There’s a wonderful amount of freedom in this.
For me, that freedom means my family and I will continue to debrief, at the end of most days, what was good and what was hard, and the main things we’ll continue to ask are: what is God calling us to, and are we being faithful?
Honeymoon stage or not, I believe it’s this question that will keep us on the straight path. We believe God guided us here to serve him and that he has a plan. And so, as we get to know the culture and situate ourselves within it, we watch and wait, asking what is in store. Our emotional attachment to the people and culture is included in this: we’re enjoying taking steps toward getting to know and appreciate our new cultural context, but we’re also asking the Lord to give us his love for this new place and people, because we want that to be the ultimate foundation of our love.
An application suggestion for all of us (I’m talking to myself, too): if you find yourselves speaking with missionaries who have just transitioned to the field, stick with open-ended inquiries. Instead of asking, “Isn’t it just a dream to be there?!” or casually referencing their honeymoon stage, simply ask, “How’s the transition been so far?” (“What’s been good and what’s been hard?” is also a good one.)
As I reflect on my transition to Rwanda so far, I’m grateful: I’m freely processing a LOT of thoughts and feelings — and not trying to fit them into a honeymoon stage. Because of this, the ways I am growing fond of this place and people feel even more special. For me, Rwanda is sneaking into my heart little by little. As that happens buhoro buhoro (slowly slowly, as they say here), I’m letting it take its own form. And I think this is good.
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What about you?
I’d love to hear others’ thoughts and experiences around the “honeymoon stage.” Drop me a note here or connect with me personally. Thanks for reading.
