overseas life

What the Psalms Have Taught Me About Safety

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In the summer of 2008, I spent two months in Pakistan. My time was focused on discipleship, through training teachers at a local Christian girls’ school in English and leading Bible studies among nurses at a local hospital, primarily. When I first arrived on a muggy Sunday morning and was retrieved by the airport by a Pakistani driver via a sign that read “Bethany Simpson,” I watched in fascination out the window from the back seat of the car for the 2+ hour drive at the new world in which I found myself. A few hours after arriving at my new home, after a short nap and changing into a shalwar kameez, I accompanied my hosts to a local wedding reception. Upon arrival, we saw a group of men celebrating by shooting guns straight up into the air, and my hosts explained that this was a cultural celebratory tradition, regretfully sharing about the unfortunate deaths that occur from falling bullets.

I lay in bed that night, and listened to gunshots in the distance, and fear seized my heart. I could die here in this place, of all things, from celebratory falling bullets. Oh God, I prayed, I’m so afraid of falling bullets, of all things, in this place. I drifted into a fitful sleep, and awoke to the call to prayer at dawn, realizing God’s protection of me and his sovereignty over my life. In that first week, and the weeks following, the Lord worked in my heart to show me anew of his sovereignty over the events of my life. On June 21, 2008, I wrote in my journal, “I think fear hit its peak for me last week when I realized that it is possible that I won’t see Ben or my family again…this is a very real consideration, but not one to dwell upon. And then I felt a quiet confidence…that I will indeed see them again. If nothing else, most surely in your presence. But I pray that I will be able to return home.” And a couple of months later, by God’s grace and according to his perfect will, I did.

One of the most frequent questions we got about our plans to move to South Africa was regarding our safety, asked out of a place of love and concern for the wellbeing of our family. We typically answered it something like this: Yes, there are real dangers in South Africa. There is a high crime rate. There is HIV. There are many deaths each year from car accidents. But there are dangers in the United States too; different dangers, no doubt, but danger the same. Ultimately, we entrust our lives and the lives our daughters to the Lord, and believe that He is sovereign over our lives.

So, while many of you have likely heard that response, I wanted to take a few minutes to unpack that a bit further here, and share what the Psalms in particular have taught me about safety. Understanding God’s sovereignty over our lives and deaths is applicable not only to cross cultural workers, but after all, to anyone who belongs to Christ.

To begin, we first must recognize that God as our Creator has both given us life and determined the length of our days:

“For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb… my frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.”

Psalm 139:14a, 15-16

In his sovereignty, God has both given us this life and determined the number of days we would live on earth. He already knows the day of your death; it will not come as a surprise to him. If your life is rooted in the salvation of God through Christ, you have the great blessing of knowing that you are secure in Christ in both your life and your death! We are able to trust him with both. It is not for me to worry over my safety, or the safety of my husband, or my children, because his love for them is far superior to mine and he sovereignly cares for them.

Secondly, we can entrust our safety to God because he has promised to be our protector. Psalm 91 says:

“He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say to the Lord, “My refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.” For he will deliver you from the snare of the fowler and from the deadly pestilence. He will cover you with his pinions, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness is a shield and buckler. You will not fear the terror of the night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in darkness, nor the destruction that wastes at noonday”

Ps. 91:1-6

Here we can understand several key points. God is the only one who can deliver us; all other illusions of safety are simply that, illusions. He has promised to be our shield, our refuge, our fortress; truly, only he can protect us against the many dangers of this world. One of my favorite passages is found in Psalm 3: “But you, O Lord, are a shield about me, my glory, and the lifter of my head… I lay down and slept; I woke again, for the Lord sustained me” (v. 3, 5). I literally cannot find peace from the danger of this world in any other secure place than in the Lord – who sustains me, day in and day out.

Not only can we learn about God’s promised protection, we can also see how the psalmist demonstrates the active placing of his life under the care of the Lord. He “dwells in the shelter of the Most High” and says to the Lord, “my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust” (v. 1,2). This psalm continues on, “you will not fear…because you have made the Lord your dwelling place” (v. 5, 9). There is action on the part of the psalmist, a cognitive step of choosing to put his trust for his life into God’s hands; of rejecting fear, because he is dwelling in the Lord. We can trust God with our safety, in the night, by day, in the darkness, in the noonday sun. At all times, through all our days, he is trustworthy.

Finally, we see that only in Christ is true safety found:

“Because he holds fast to me in love, I will deliver him; I will protect him, because he knows my name. When he calls to me, I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble; I will rescue him and honor him. With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation.”

Ps. 91:14-16

Here the psalmist is expressing God’s words of salvation, which we now understand has been revealed in Christ, who is our ultimate deliverer and in whomGod will protect him who “knows my name,” here on earth, and in ultimate eternity. For those of us who have trusted in Christ for our salvation, our eternity is secure, and this is our ultimate safety. All kinds of dangers may fly around us, may threaten our earthly lives, but because of Christ’s redemptive work on the cross, we are forever secure in him. What glory! What peace!

And so, we can confidently and wisely entrust the safety of our family in South Africa to our loving Father. This does not mean that we will be unwise in the daily things; we will still buckle our children into car seats, we will still be cautious in going out at night, and we will still take extra precautions on the road. But this does mean that though we seek to be wise in these daily things, we realize they do not promise safety, but God promises his love to us and his best for us.

It is also important to understand that by entrusting the Lord with our safety, we are not guaranteed long lives; in fact, in his sovereignty, he may see fit to end my earthly life sooner. This is not a failure on his part to “keep me safe,” but rather a part of his good plan, according to his ultimate purpose, one we may not understand on this side of eternity.

But whether our years are twenty or ninety, there is wisdom in acknowledging the shortness of our lives:

“O Lord, make me know my end and what is the measure of my days; let me know how fleeting I am! Behold, you have made my days a few handbreaths, and my lifetime is as nothing before you. Surely all mankind stands as a mere breath!”

Psalm 39:4-5

In obedience to God, we can truly rest in his sovereignty over all the days of life and the day of our death. And then, we are able to pray in earnest with the psalmist, “so teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom” and “let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us, and establish the work of hands upon us; yes, establish the work of our hands!” (Psalm 90).

Yes, Lord, establish the work of our hands!

for a beautiful musical rendition of Psalm 4, listen here, by the Psalms Project

originally published on Feb. 24, 2017

When Home is not Homey

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After a long, 42-hour trip with my two youngest, after yet another delay Stateside (this time we can all blame the same thing, no?), after grappling with the grief of leaving yet again, I climbed out of the car, and stepped through the door into my home – to find it smelled, felt more cramped than I remember, and distinctly did not feel like my home. Wait, my mind stalled right there at the door, is this really my home?

This was definitely not the feeling I was anticipating; usually, after a long (or even short) trip anywhere, I love the satisfying feeling of returning to my space, to resettling with my people in our own nook in the world, to the peace and joy and content that comes from just being a place of our own, together.

I suppose, in that moment, there were a couple of possible reactions to my disappointed arrival home: I could conjure all the homey feelings I know deep inside somewhere, and “put on a happy face” until I make it. I could go crawl in a corner and sit in my mournful melancholy for awhile (my reaction of choice had I not four eager children). Or, and what I did, I could unpack all the bags I had brought in a mad rush and attempt to quell the mental storm with the restoring of some small sense of order. Control what I can control, anyone else? Cleaning and organizing always seem to help regulate whatever emotional rush I am currently battling. In the following days, I tackled the deeper cleaning, the washing of all the things, and the random decluttering, and within a week, this house began to feel again like the home I had been anticipating settling back into. I saw with fresh eyes the beauty throughout, the peace and goodness we seek to cultivate within its walls, the potential for love to reign here, in the midst of grief and evil and suffering.

While there are a lot of elements that played into the overall disappointment of that particular arrival home (namely, the use and abuse of our home by others while we were gone), the concept of home has always been a complicated one, particularly for those of us who live outside our passport countries. For Ben and I, we have lived in six homes, in three different countries, over the course of our marriage, and we now can say, after five and a half years, this is the home in which we have lived the longest. There is the struggle that none of these homes we have owned, unlike most of our peers at our age and stage of life.

Even in all of that moving and resettling and renting and non-owning, each of those homes, in their own seasons, have been havens of rest, shelters for us from the raging of the world, and spaces we could open and into which we could bring others. Each new home has called me into a deeper sense of how? can this work for us, for our family, how? can this be a space where love reigns, peace is pursued, and goodness and beauty abound, and how? can we use this to share the love and peace and goodness and beauty of God with others? That challenge – of bringing forth in a space its best utility, and natural beauty, and cultivated peace – has been one for which I have gratefully accepted the transitions.

And for those seasons where I feel rootless, when home does not feel homey, when I wonder when it will be our turn to own, truly own, our unique piece of land in this wide world, I am leaning into the age-old promise that our true home is not found on this earth. That all of this good work of creating homes this side of heaven is a reflection of the Creator who has a home waiting for us – one filled with beauty beyond measure, filled with perfect peace and unending goodness.

In the meantime, you may find me cleaning again, or organizing something. Making our little house a home all over again, thanks to the goodness of God, until someday, we will be truly, forever, home.

On Shadows and Home

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The situation in Afghanistan has been heavy on my heart these weeks, for those who must stay and for those who must leave. For the uncertainty, the danger, the chaos. Perhaps it’s heavier for those of us who live outside of our “home” countries, for those of us who have experienced some level of uncertainty, of danger, of chaos. But then, we know these things can ensue anywhere, no matter your location. The shadows of this world are powerful.

A month ago, South Africa experienced the worst violence, the worst unrest, since the fall of apartheid in 1994. The bulk of it centered in our province, in which our city is central. At the height of it, Ben and I looked at each other, and realized that even if we felt like we should try to leave, how could we? Where could we go? Our highways were closed, all COVID testing centers were closed, most gas stations were closed. We had thrown our essentials into backpacks – you know, the documents, the charging cords, the single change of clothes for each of us, one stuffy per child. We looked around our house, our home of the past five years, and imagined the real possibility of just leaving everything if we must. It was disorienting, it was chaotic, it was awful. And we did not even need to leave in the end.

And even though we did not need to leave in the end, my mind and heart began the process of grieving our life of the past five years. I took photos of every single page in our family photo albums, knowing that an emergency evacuation would mean leaving those behind. Ben and I quietly decided which stuffed animal or doll each child would need most. We looked at our cat, our Turkish rugs from his parents, the quilts and guitar from mine. Of course, these are just material things, and yet they are the things that have made up our home. We thought of our friends here, our community here, the staff and students whom we love, this place that has become home to us. The fact of our citizenship and the privilege associated with it brought guilt; we could leave, but what about those who couldn’t? It was complicated. The idea of leaving it all, of leaving everything, was so overwhelming.

It was taste enough of the anxiety, grief, and trauma that can come with suddenly leaving your home, or suddenly losing your home, with the added complication of losing your country, your work, your community. We are still processing, a bit more fragile on this side of it, more compassionate toward those who live in the midst of this kind of uncertainty regularly, and deeply moved for those who have had to leave like this.

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A few days ago, as I sat with my children during our daily morning time, we discussed this idea of home. One said, “South Africa is my home, this is where I have mostly grown up and where my cats are,” always the animal lover. Another child replied, “but I love America, that’s where I was born. I think that is where my home is.” I explained that the answer to that question is not even straightforward for me, even though I’ve spent most of my life in one country. We ultimately agreed that home is where our family is, that even the little farmhouse we occupied for a month during our home assignment felt like home while we stayed in it. “And,” I added, “I think there is a part of us that will never feel completely at home anywhere in this world. We will always feel a bit split between the people and things we love here, and the people and things we love in America, because neither of these is our true, forever home.”

Our true forever home. We sat a minute in that thought, the glorious idea that one day we will not have this longing for one place or another, that one day all things will be made new, that tears will be no more, that death will be no more. Some days, it’s hard to reach for the hope through the fog, isn’t it? We remember what Tolkien’s loyal and wise Sam Gamgee once said, “But in the end it’s only a passing thing, this shadow; even darkness must pass.”

On some level, we all know the pain of loss and longing for home. Perhaps those of us who’ve lived in worlds unfamiliar feel it a bit more strongly, yet it’s part of our human experience. We all seek to make our place in this world, our house into a home, our acquaintances into friends, our own little communities of which to be a part. But to keep our hearts rooted and grounded in Christ, rather than in a particular place, is to be at peace wherever in this world we find ourselves.

And so today, I am opening my hands again to this life we have here, this community and this home. I am hugging my children close, snuggling under quilts and soaking up our calm, keenly aware that it is fleeting, and this is not all we have. I am asking God to give peace to those who find themselves in the shadows of the world. And as been my habit these years, I turn my face upward toward the light, to be reminded that even the darkness must pass.

Planted

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It may be that you are planted where you get only a little [sunshine], you are put there by the loving Farmer, because only in that situation will you bring forth fruit to perfection. Remember this, had any other condition been better for you than the one in which you are, divine love would have put you there. You are placed by God in the most suitable circumstances, and if you had to choose your lot, you would soon cry, “Lord, choose my inheritance for me, for by my self-will I am pierced through with many sorrows.” Be content with such things as you have, since the Lord has ordered all things for your good. Take up your own daily cross; it is the burden best suited for your shoulder, and will prove most effective to make you perfect in every good word and work to the glory of God. 

Charles H. Spurgeon

Believer, do you find comfort in this truth? 

The reality that God sovereignly ordains our days can be both a source of great turmoil and one of great comfort. If you are in turmoil over the place in which God has placed you, ask yourself why. Is it because you wish your life had gone a different way? Or because some situation did not turn out as you had expected, hoped, dreamed? Or because you find this current daily grind so monotonous, dreary, difficult? The truth is that God cares most of all about your process of sanctification, that way in which he is making you more and more like himself. Yes, he cares about your comfort, about your dreams and your desires. But mostly, he cares that you are transformed into the image of Christ and he will lovingly orchestrate your life in order to bring about this Christlikeness in you. 

The sovereignty of God is the safe place for the believer. What a comfort, to know that God has planted me here, in this very place, with these very people, for his good purposes! Does this change your perspective? He knows your sorrows, your difficulties, and begs you to come to him for comfort. He knows your dreams and longings, and desires to give these to you, according to his good will. He knows the depths of your heart and he loves you the same. Praise him!

Be encouraged today, that God has given you the daily cross best suited for you, handcrafted for you, his beloved, for your good. Your lot in life, in this season and the next, is given you in God’s great mercy for your further growth and his ultimate glory. 


And remember that he who has planted you in this place will properly water you, give you sunshine, and tenderly care for your growth. God does not toss his children to fight for their lives in the weeds alone and in our own strength, but promises to never leave nor forsake us, to make perfect his strength in our weakness, to provide us with all that we need. Grace upon grace, how wonderful it is to be a child of the living God!

Acquainted With Grief

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A few weeks ago during a particularly honest conversation with my mom, in which we were both sharing about the grief we were experiencing as we are transitioning our family overseas, she shared this simple, yet profound thought with me, “Jesus himself is acquainted with grief – that’s what the Bible says.”

In eighth grade, I memorized Isaiah 53 in the King James Version with my video school Bible class (yes, there was such a thing back then – VHS and all!). We started out by reading the chapter every day, and then gradually were able to put the Bible down and recite from memory this rich chapter. There’s much to be gleaned from this prophetic passage detailing Jesus’ coming to and living on earth, for the essential purpose of being “crushed” by the Lord (v. 10) in order to bear our iniquities and account righteousness to us (v. 11). Amazing! And here is why we celebrate Christmas, in a nutshell – in great praise and honor for Jesus’ coming to earth.

Lately, I’ve been pondering this part of this passage:

“He is despised and rejected by men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: we hid as it were our faces from him, he was despised, and we esteemed him not. Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted.” 

Isaiah 53:3-4, KJV

Taking a quick look into this passage, we know that the suffering Jesus experienced on earth was that which results from sin – individual sin, corporate sin, a world marked deeply and irrevocably by sin. Jesus had full human experience, all the grief and the sorrow and the suffering we likewise experience, but yet he lived a perfect life. This is an essential part of solid doctrine on the incarnation – Jesus is fully man and fully God. In order to completely accomplish redemption for humankind, Jesus must have lived a human life. In order to completely accomplish redemption for humankind, Jesus must fully be God, because only God can accomplish such a task.

This world is marked by grief and suffering and sorrow, so much, we know, from our own lives, from the news, from the lives of our friends and family. Jesus likewise experienced these griefs, and his suffering accentuates the consequences that sin brings into the world, because he experienced this grief without even sinning. Even more so, he did not just experience our grief and suffering, he “hath borne” them – meaning, he took them upon himself, invited them into his life, “carried” our sorrows. This was not a passive experiencing, but rather a very active one, in which Jesus chose in full obedience to the Father to take upon himself the sins of humankind and experience all of the grief, sorrow, and suffering which accompanies it.

Lately, I’ve had these lingering questions: what do I do with my grief? Where do I put it? How do I do it well? What can I learn from it? There is much yet for the Lord to teach me about this process, but something I have been thankfully clinging to is this: Jesus is acquainted with grief. He knows these very feelings, he has felt these very sorrows, during his life here in this broken world where death comes to all. Grieving, because of distance, because of lost time, because of lost relationship, is not unknown to God, but rather very familiar to him. In my grief, I can sit at the feet of Jesus and know that he is a friend to me. I can look to God as my loving Father, dwell in his shelter and find a shield in his faithfulness (Ps. 91:1-6). I can take great comfort in the God of all comfort, “who comforts us in our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God… for as we share abundantly in Christ’s sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too” (2 Cor. 1:4-5). Not only this, but I can rejoice that through this grief “the tested genuineness of [my] faith – more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire – may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ” (1 Peter 1:7).

And while finding friendship in Jesus, resting in God’s comfort and shelter, and the refinement of my faith are unbelievable gifts, that’s not all. There’s also hope. Because, “out of the anguish of his soul he shall see and be satisfied; by his knowledge shall the righteous one, my servant, make many to be accounted righteous” (Is. 53:11). Because Jesus was acquainted with grief, because he bore the suffering of humanity and ultimately death on the cross so that some might be made righteous on account of him, we have much hope. Because he has already paid the penalty for our sin and in him we are found righteous before God. And because one day, he is going to make all things new. He has already said that he will right all that is wrong with this world: “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away” (Rev. 21:3-4).

And so, in this season where grief is pronounced, I am reminded that I can draw even nearer to the heart of God, for he is my dearest friend, my strong shelter, my ultimate comfort, and the source of my great hope. Merry Christmas to you!

originally published on December 21, 2016