March 3, 2012



It´s not what I thought it would be
This leaving my heart on foreign soil.
I expected to have my heart change & I embrace that.

But this Immigrant Child of mine
Has a foreign stamp on her I hardly recognize
She´s him and me and...
...and something else
Something vaguely familiar
(Because I have lived in many places, too.)
But it left a different impression on her
A mysteriously ethnic mark on her soul...

It´s beyond her “native speaker” ability in the language
That is way too obvious & simple
It´s ways of thought, values-based decisions (on values different from mine)
Relational patterns, things held dear, things subconscious
Something colourful & mystical to me.

Sometimes she feels completely other-worldly 
She doesn´t fight my causes, defend the same things I hold dear,
Get motivated by the things I do,
Or cheer for the same teams as I.

And though I thought I wasn´t nationalistic about my home country
When she attacked it
I defended it!
I didn´t anticipate that.

She is her own world, her own person
And she´s making her own life with her God.

So I lay things at the altar I didn´t expect to;
There are many of them.
And when I lay down the right to understand her as her mother
It is a holy moment.

It is a holy moment of sacred surrender,
And of a tender trust in the One who loved her first.
In the One who completely understands her.

Her destiny is still unclear.
But as I release my right to understand her
Tears begin to fall...
And I decide, I make a choice
To open-handedly and open-heartedly celebrate
My Immigrant Girl.


  1. LOVE IT. thank you. :)

  2. Pam, this is beautiful. It brought tears to my eyes.

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  4. Pam...incredible. Brought tears to my eyes, too. Thank you so much ....Love ya!

  5. Absolutely loved this! I can definitely relate to it. My journal is full of stories and thoughts similar to your poem.

  6. I left a comment on this post in Women of the Harvest but loved this post both as a TCK/MK and as a mom who raised TCK's. Amazing.

  7. This is so winsome and so very reminiscent of dynamics between my parents and I -- thank you. (:

  8. Boy, I feel the pain in this poem. Beautiful, purposeful, God-ordained pain. Thank you for sharing and letting those of us who follow learn the way of the open hands.


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