A Citizen of the Heavenly Kingdom
Children of immigrants in the United States have been stuck in an unusual paradox for generations. The story goes a little something like this: the parents of the children move to a new country to escape the hardships of their homeland, the children are either born or raised in their new homeland, and the children of these immigrants face many new social hardships. Is this sounding familiar?
Well, this just so happens to be my story of growing up Pakistani in the United States. My mother moved from Karachi, Pakistan to the United States 22 years ago with a dream for her future and her family. A few years later my father relocated to the U.S. from South Korea to be with my mother and me as our family continued to grow.
My father is a missionary to Pakistan, but he lives in the US and goes back twice a year. Being a missionary’s kid meant not only hearing A LOT about missions, but also getting to see the behind-the-scenes work that goes into training and preparing for missions. This experience gave me a deep appreciation for all the amazing work that missionaries do.
However, this also left me with an unanswerable question. I often get asked, “Abby, what would you consider to be your homeland? I mean, what do you like better, Pakistan or America?” First of all, when did so many people become The Riddler? Secondly, this question has haunted me for almost 20 years and the answer is a bit more complicated than just Pakistan-or-America.
While I was born and raised in the US, I have always been surrounded by Pakistani culture. Growing up among white Americans, I was ashamed of my culture. I hated bringing my cultural foods for lunch to school because they were apparently “smelly” and made people fake vomit. (I distinctly remember begging my mom to buy me Lunchables for field trips.) I hated my “ethnic looks” and longed for the straight, blond hair of my friends. I hated the fact that kids used to look at me weird whenever my family would speak Urdu. I really hated being Pakistani.
On the other hand, I was not Pakistani enough for my family. If I refused to eat the food my mother prepared for dinner after school, I was losing touch with my culture. If I asked for an allowance, I was being ungrateful for the work my family did to get here. I hated being American.
As you can see, it’s a win-win situation.
I dealt with this back and forth for many, many years. As I grew older, I became much more appreciative of my Pakistani heritage. I appreciated the time and effort my parents put in to keep our culture alive for my brother and me. I appreciated the love that my father had for Pakistan and his willingness to train pastors and deacons to make a change in their country. I appreciated the values of South Asian culture and applied them to my own life.
As I continue to grow in my walk with Christ, I appreciate the fact that I don’t have to choose my homeland here on this earth. I appreciate that no matter my citizenship or culture in this world, I will always be a citizen of the Heavenly Kingdom. Philippians 3:20 states, “For our citizenship is in heaven, from which we also eagerly wait for a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ.”