“Sarah, we need to talk.” 

These five words in a voicemail sent chills up my spine. 

Anxiety-inducing chills. 

Our family, still reeling from a move back to the US after nine years of service in Indonesia, was working hard to build relationships in a close-knit, training campus community in mid-Missouri. Our neighbors had offered to watch our seven and ten-year-old sons while we ran some errands. 

With fear and trepidation, I returned her call. She got right to the point. 

“I think I know the answer, but was [insert son’s name here] ever kidnapped or tortured?”

“Uh, no. Why?” 

I continued the conversation, mortified that my son had lied to her four young, impressionable sons and weaved a narrative about how he was, indeed, kidnapped by masked men in the jungle. Oh, my. 

My neighbor, bless her heart, was gracious. She confronted my son about lying and gently reminded all the boys about the importance of the truth and how it honors God.

Afterward, I talked with my boy about his shenanigan. 

“Why did you lie?” 

His response was eye-opening and heart-wrenching. 

“Mom, when I tried to tell them my stories about what life was like in Indonesia, they didn’t want to hear them. It was like they weren’t interesting enough, so I made up a story, so they’d listen and care.” 

I hugged my son tight and assured him that I understood. Though I had never made up a “kidnapping story,” I, too, had often felt the pain of not being heard, not being asked about a life left behind. 

There’s much to be said for giving grace to those who love us on this side of the globe, who don’t always know what questions to ask. 

The struggle to belong is real for all of us, and it can become especially cloudy for those of us who serve across cultures. May we cling tightly to the truth that we are intimately known by our God. That He knows our thoughts from afar and is familiar with all our ways. 

Yes, son, you and your story belong with Him.