Guest article by Jennie Schultz

I awoke with a heavy sadness clinging to me like the humid, tropical air around me. I’ve had vivid dreams before, but this one had felt so real. In the dream I was forced to say a final goodbye to my dad over the phone from 10,000 miles away. In real life, my dad had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer eight months previously, and we had just found out it was inoperable, making his diagnosis terminal. We already had plans to return to the States to visit, but that was still three weeks away. Not only that, we were currently visiting friends on a remote island an overnight ferry ride away from our home.

After breakfast that morning, I stole away to my friend’s second story open-air living room, the only place with phone reception on the property. I called both my parents, and my heart sank as each of the calls dropped. 

 I then resorted to texting my mom, seeking answers to the burning questions I had: “Is there any new information that I don’t know yet?” 

It felt maddeningly isolating to be so far away from family and feel as though I had only half the information about my dad’s condition.

 Tears began to flow as the responses trickled in. It was worse than I had thought.

 “You might want to consider coming once you’re done visiting your friends.”
“No way to know how long he has.”
“We’ve talked about final arrangements.”

By the end of the day, we were on the overnight ferry headed back to our island. After packing a single suitcase for all four of us, we flew to the capital city to start our international journey. Within the first twenty-four hours home, I broke our self-imposed COVID distancing precaution and ugly-cried on my dad’s shoulder. It was such a bittersweet relief to be physically with him.

Fast-forward about a month, and things were looking better than we had dared hope. He was told he could have anywhere from nine to twelve more months with continued treatment. My husband and I began to talk about our plans for returning to our island home.

Then, with one phone call, our five-week visit turned into an indefinite “special leave.” I was diagnosed with breast cancer. The shock and grief were joined by feelings of displacement. Our lives came to a screeching halt, or so it felt. Half our hearts were half a world away, along with our home and ninety-five percent of our belongings. But the lifesaving treatment I needed was right here in Boston, which is where God had us for such a time as this. 

I happened to be studying 1 Samuel at the time, alongside a handful of amazing ladies scattered around the globe (WhatsApp Bible study, anyone?). I began to identify with David in a way I had never been able to before. Have you ever noticed how circuitous David’s path to the throne was? For me, I guess I had taken it for granted. He was anointed, yes, but then had to wait for God’s perfect timing before taking the throne. Talk about displacement—he was forced to be a fugitive for no fault of his own and even flee to enemy territory to be safe from Saul, never mind all the hideouts in the wilderness for stretches of time. Very rarely does any story in Scripture (or in life) progress in what we think to be a logical, sequential order. There are detours, hardships, wilderness wanderings. How often did Paul write about his desire to go to a particular city or visit a certain church, only to be detained elsewhere?

With all that has happened in our family over the last year, you’d think I would just be grateful to be here in the States to receive the care I need and to have precious bonus time with my dad. While I am grateful, it isn’t so simple when you have two different homes in two different countries. However, the trouble comes when I start to elevate one of those homes above the other, thinking I am only able to please God when I am living in a particular place. 

When will it finally sink in that place has never been a requirement? 
It’s always been about a Person.

David didn’t need to be sitting on that throne to feel that God was pleased with him. He knew without a doubt that God was with him and for him wherever he happened to be—with sheep, hiding in caves, acting the fool in enemy territory. Not only was he comforted by God, but he also treasured Him. He wasn’t pining for a place or anything else because he knew he already had the ultimate inheritance in God and His promise of a true and forever-reigning King:

 “Lord, you alone are my portion and my cup;
you make my lot secure.
The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
surely I have a delightful inheritance” (Psalm 16:5-6 ESV).

John Piper paraphrases the sixth verse in this way: “Your sovereign goodness has fenced me in to God himself. The borders of my life are boundaries around where God is.” 

As I write this, I’m not sweating on my couch in our host country but wrapped in a heated blanket in a chemo infusion chair. I’m currently “bound” by a medical diagnosis and need for treatment which I am privileged enough to receive. God isn’t over on our island waiting for me to return so that He can resume working in and through me. How delightful that He, by His goodness, is right here with me, inviting me to be satisfied in Him alone. The hope remains to return to our home, but my location in no way influences my value to God, and I shouldn’t let it affect how I value Him either. No matter where I’m living, I want to be able to say with David, “the boundary lines have indeed fallen for me in pleasant places.”

What are the “borders” of your life? What circumstances brought you to a certain place, either physically or emotionally? Do you find yourself pushing against those boundaries, or do you see them as pleasant? 

This guest article was written by Jennie Schultz. Jennie currently lives in the Northeast U.S. with her husband, five-year-old son, and two-year-old daughter. Their island home is in Southeast Asia where they help run a tree-to-bar chocolate business. When she isn’t birding on nature walks with her family, you can find her curled up with her kids and a pile of library books, eating all the cheese, bagels, and berries. You can follow along with her cancer journey and cross-cultural life on Instagram.