I carry an American passport, I have an American name, I live in an American state, but inside I have always struggled with who I am. Most of you know that I was raised as a Third Culture Kid. (Definition: Being raised in your formative years by one parent of one culture and another parent of another culture, living in a completely different culture from the two parents.) The other day I was crying out to God in my state of confusion because I’ve been wondering if I stick out like a crazy American here in Rjazan, Russia or do I blend in. As I wrestled with God over this subject one morning I was all ready to say, “Ok, LORD, I am an American. I should just embrace the American flag and take the US into my heart.” Later that evening I was having a conversation with my friends and this very subject came up. I don’t know why and I don’t remember what prompted it, but the subject did not begin with me. I was all ready to figure out how to be more American.
“So, do you see me as an American?”
“You know, it’s funny. I look at you and know that you are an American but you are not American.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re not really American in all your ways.”
From a previous conversation. “You know if you were able to learn the language, you would fit in quite easily.”
And so my struggle continues.
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