In June 2018, just two months after moving into a ‘doer-upper’ (a renovation project), my husband asked me what I thought about moving our family to South Korea for four years.
“Errr…” I responded. “When?”
“September,” he replied. “I could possibly push it to December.”
Cue a flurry of house renovating, a flood, more house renovating, and finally, in December 2018, after our last Christmas in the UK for a while, we got on the plane.
I was not new to traveling and living overseas, but this had not prepared me for the most alien place I had ever been to. When we arrived, walking around the Korean capital was a sensory overload—the 12-lane highway running through the center of the city, multicolored signs that I couldn’t read, unfamiliar food, a language I didn’t understand and couldn’t even attempt to guess at.
I wondered how I was going to cope for four years when just going to the supermarket took me all day and afterwards made me feel like I needed to lie down.
With so little immigration to Korea, we stood out like sore thumbs. Our young children, in particular, garnered a lot of attention wherever we went—regularly being offered sweets on the subway and occasionally photographed. We had to apply for an Alien Registration Card to enable us to set up the basics like a bank account and were known as 외국인 (waygookin) ‘foreigners’. In a city of nearly 10 million people, we were proper outsiders. It was scary.
To be human is to be interdependent—we thrive through connection.
To be human is to be interdependent—we thrive through connection. Yet in the face of unfamiliar and unsettling circumstances, my introverted nature tempted me to retreat. It would have been easier to shut the door on the unfamiliar—on people, customs, and experiences—than deal with the constant unknown I encountered.
Many expats (temporary migrants) cope this way: seeking out fellow expats, going out of their way to find familiar foods, and striving to recreate daily life as it was back home. This approach becomes a kind of cultural barrier, a shield against the constant demands of adaptation. And I’ll admit it would have been easy to do the same.
But God created us for community (Genesis 2:18). He invites us into His family (John 1:12–13), and he calls us to love people who are different from us (Leviticus 19:34). I recognized that I needed people. Not just my own tribe, I needed to make mistakes and be laughed at. I needed to be taught. I needed people to take me to places and show me things. I needed to be vulnerable.
Over time things began to change—a Korean teacher taught me some of the language and I began to be able to read Korean script 한글(Hangul). I began to say "Hello" and "Thank you" to the people at the little convenience store down the road who I started to get to know.
A server at a local coffee shop knew my coffee of choice was an 아메리카노 (Americano) and the 70-year-old lady who ran the local sweet shop started to (try to) chat with me in Korean. My diet subtly switched as after-church meals took us to Korean restaurants and I acquired a craving for Korean spicy food and their world-class rice (yes, rice can definitely be rated—ask any Korean).
I slowly became more aware of the humanity of those so different to me.
Plonked in a culture so different to my own, I slowly became more aware of the humanity of those so different to me. People who had once been a 13-hour flight away in a country I knew little about now became friends, I admired their style and their food.
I was challenged on my own cultural views and why I did things in certain ways. And, miraculously, a culture that wasn’t my own began to become entwined with my own. I invested more. Things were less scary, and I began to feel at home in a country that had felt so alien to me at the start. I began, somehow, to fit in.
In a world of 8.2 billion people, it’s easy to feel small—to retreat into the safety of our own familiar bubbles. But in the chaos of our busy lives, we need connection more than ever.
It’s only through the God story that we begin to grasp the value in every human being. And it’s only when we step outside of our comfort zones and share life with those who are different from us that we recognize what we have in common as human beings—and are richer for it.
Now back in the UK, I have a much greater appreciation of all the challenges involved in setting up life in a new country, especially if you do not speak the language. And my first-hand experience of being the outsider helps me now to relate to people of all different backgrounds, not just those from a different country.
St Augustine said, “Since you cannot do good to all, you are to pay special attention to those who, by the accidents of time, or place, or circumstances, are brought into closer connection with you.”
It’s in our nature to connect.
So, next time you meet an outsider like I was, invite them to do something together—you might be surprised by how much you have in common, and both walk away seeing things a little differently as a result. After all, it’s in our nature to connect—that’s what makes us human.
Originally published by Being Human. Republished with permission.
Heather Carruthers is the project co-coordinator for the Evangelical Alliance's Being Human initiative.
The Evangelical Alliance in the United Kingdom is made up of hundreds of organisations, thousands of churches and tens of thousands of individuals, joined together for the sake of the gospel. Representing our members since 1846, the Evangelical Alliance is the oldest and largest evangelical unity movement in the UK. United in mission and voice, we exist to serve and strengthen the work of the church in our communities and throughout society. Highlighting the significant opportunities and challenges facing the church today, we work together to resource Christians so that they are able to act upon their faith in Jesus, to speak up for the gospel, justice and freedom in their areas of influence.
