TO BE A MISSIONARY'S KID

Hello! My name is Hannah. I’m the oldest daughter of Jake and Leanne Huussen, and we are presently serving as missionaries in Holland. We’ve been on the mission field since November of 1995. I was 7-years-old when we left to come here. Let me tell you my story as I remember it.

Dad had gone ahead of us to find a house. Then he came back to the United States to get us. Lots of people from our home church, Southeast Bible Baptist Church, saw us off at the airport. I remember sobbing as my favorite teacher and others I loved said good-bye. My cousin, Jason, and I hugged each other fiercely, not daring to let go. Our faces were red and tear-streaked. He was my best friend, and the thought of living without him was unbearable. In my childish mind, I couldn’t comprehend leaving everything I had ever known. I couldn’t grasp that there was a big world beyond my own little world of home on Angean Drive, my school, church, friends and family. But soon it would all be gone. Everything familiar was slipping from my grasp, and I felt as though I was walking in a bad dream. I was terrified of the plane. To me, it was a huge monster that was going to swallow me up and steal me away from all that I loved. Surprisingly, I did survive the trip. J In a way, it became an adventure, the airports and strangers all around. It was like nothing I had ever experienced before. But I was glad to have my family close by. Finally, after a long flight, the first rays of morning light began to stream into the little plane windows, and the pilot announced that we would soon be arriving at our destination ~ Amsterdam, Holland. I don’t remember much of that final drive from the airport to our new house. I have a vague recollection of standing at the bottom of the narrow staircase that led upstairs. I hesitantly began to climb them, wondering just what would greet me. Once I reached the landing, I turned left to peek in the first room. I assumed it was Lydia’s and mine. The room was empty except for a little night-light, two cots that stood lined up along the wall, and a large window at the opposite end of the door, where I stood. I was keenly aware of how close the neighbors’ row houses were. I wasn’t familiar with the crowdedness of Holland. I had been brought up in the suburbs of Rochester, in a ranch house smack in the middle of a yard the size of a soccer field. Besides the memory of seeing our room for the first time, I remember when we walked to a nearby snack bar (fast food shop) to get our dinner. The dark night was blanketed with a thick, almost suffocating mist. I remember thinking that I would soon wake up to find this wasn’t real. Soon I would go home... home to America. Soon everything would go back to normal. But it didn’t, of course. That was the beginning of a different life. Now, looking back, that little girl seems like a stranger. It was a difficult time, but God was faithful, as He always is.

My dad’s unsaved aunt and uncle had cleaned the house for us before we arrived. They set cots up in bedrooms, placed their lawn furniture in the living room and kitchen, and gave us some kitchen supplies. Our crate of belongings wouldn’t arrive until two weeks later. I don’t know what we would have done without their help. God provided for the needs of His servants through the lost! The very first priority of a missionary is to get settled in, and that’s what we did. The first few months were spent setting up house, buying light fixtures and curtains for the bare windows, becoming familiar with our surroundings, and getting acquainted with the neighbors. We were indeed strangers. One day I attempted to communicate that I wanted to play ball with the little girl across the street. She looked at me as though I came from outer space, which frustrated me. I couldn’t even communicate! Her mother was very opposed to her child playing with “the foreign kids”, and they therefore avoided us. (Now, 11 years later, those same people are our favorite neighbors. God is good!) One day a little girl was crying outside. Lydia (at age 5) ran to tell my dad, who asked, "What was she saying?". Lydia responded, "I don't know; she was crying in Dutch." Cute! Then came the interesting part of getting familiar with the language. Frankly, I didn’t like the sound of Dutch. The people always sounded like they were angry when they spoke with each other. As we played with the neighbor kids, we slowly picked up words, then broken sentences. I never took a course to learn Dutch; I learned from what I heard and later from Dad’s preaching in Dutch. I remember that we went all over the neighborhood stuffing doors and mailboxes with tracts. That was the beginning of the missionary work we had come to start.

Three months after our arrival Dad started a Bible study with three people an hour’s drive away. Two years later we started our first church from that little Bible study. It was a slow start, but eventually people became curious. I remember the neighbor who lived to the left of the community center that we rented as a church who used to strew nails on the brick walkway leading to the church. His intent was to pop the car’s tires as we drove up to unload the sound equipment. This happened every week, but he never succeeded! We saw many people saved at that church, and a group of people from Amsterdam drove over an hour to attend the services every Sunday. They were on fire for the Lord, and asked Dad to start a church in Amsterdam. He told them to wait a while and see if they agreed doctrinally. If they proved to be faithful, and it was God’s will, Dad would be willing to do it. In 2002 we started our second church in Amsterdam. That was a difficult time, managing two churches. It was a total of 3+ hours driving every Sunday, so needless to say, Sunday was not a day of rest for us.

In 2003, Dad gave up our first church because the people simply refused to obey God’s Word, making us feel that we were wasting our time there, and Dad was eventually voted out as the pastor. We then put all our energies into the church in Amsterdam where we are presently working. The church is multicultural with an average of 40 people on Sunday. That may sound small, but the church is growing spiritually. It's amusing to listen to our people talking during the lunch/coffee time. You can hear Dutch, Spanish, English, French, and Papiamento, which is a mixture of Spanish, Portuguese, English, Dutch, and French, and mainly spoken in the Dutch Antilles. There is an atmosphere of love and concern among the people. We’re like a big family, which is how every church ought to be. Many are making life-changing decisions to serve the Lord, despite persecution from their families. It’s not easy to go against the deep-rooted, worldly thought patterns and rampant social immorality that plagues this country. We are here presenting old Biblical truths that have never before been heard of. Praise God! What a privilege! Even the smallest steps our people make towards doing right is exciting progress and makes the hardships of being on the field worth it all. I’m not saying it’s easy. Even after almost 12 years I still struggle with many things.

I want to take you into the inner chambers of my heart and describe what it’s like from my standpoint, as a missionary’s daughter. I don’t think many people, aside from having experienced it themselves, can really understand how a missionary often feels. I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining, because I do love being a missionary, but I’m not going to sugarcoat the very real hardships we face. To be a missionary is to give up your will to follow God’s will. It is to sacrifice your life for the lives of others. It is to lay aside your dreams and personal desires because there is a higher goal to attain to. For me as a teen, it’s giving up the opportunity to have friends my age and a more social life. This is how I sometimes feel as I watch the lives of others my age… Sometimes I feel trapped, as if encased in a glass bubble, as it were. I see friends moving on in life…graduating, getting a driver’s license, a job, going to college, and getting married. I see them, but I can’t join them. I feel as though I’m stuck in place, like the old record players. Sometimes I feel as if life is passing me by. I feel that my life is not my own to do with as I please. I am alive for one purpose, and that is to live my life for the benefit of others. I have this idea that one of these days I’ll “get my life back”, that someone will pop the bubble which is holding me captive and I’ll be free. Actually that feeling of not having control of my own life is true. My life is not my own! The Bible says, “What? know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own? For ye are bought with a price: therefore glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God's.” Imagine with me what it would be like leaving your home, your church, your school or college, your family, your friends, your country, the language you speak, and the culture you were raised in. Imagine turning your back on all that is familiar to you against your own will to follow God’s will. To be a missionary is to be emotionally torn between two countries, two peoples, and two cultures that you come to love and accept as a part of you. I often feel as though I’m caught in between two worlds. I love the land of my birth, my family and friends, and long to be with them, and at the same time I love our people here and couldn’t imagine leaving them either. My heart is divided. I can relate to Paul when he wrote to the Philippians saying that he was “in a strait betwixt two”. As Paul longed to depart from his earthly body and be with Christ, so I sometimes long to be with our family in the States. And yet, Paul said, “Nevertheless to abide in the flesh is more needful for you”. I realize the importance of our work, our very presence, in this desperately lost land. It is more needful to stay. To be a missionary is to struggle with feelings of deep loneliness. To never quite feel as though you belong anywhere, either in the country you left behind or the nation where you have been called to serve. I can testify that it’s a horrible feeling. Often when you go back home, you find that major events have taken place in your absence. You find that people you love have grown up, or moved away, or died, and have often times changed enormously. People forget you. The saying “out of sight; out of mind” has never been more true for a missionary. It’s painful and difficult. There is the language barrier. Though I can communicate in Dutch, I never feel that I can freely express what is deep in my heart. Though this country is certainly not as uncivilized as the jungles of Africa, there is a culture shock. Many people find that impossible. Let me give a few examples. Upon arriving in the airport, you can find men stone drunk and sprawled on benches, people freely smoking marijuana outside the airport, and the red light district openly being advertised on boat rides through the canals. Let me tell you a little about Holland and give you some interesting facts. Prepare yourself for a whole lot of jumbled-up thoughts... :)

The first thought that comes to mind is that Holland is overpopulated. Everywhere you go you see people. There is NO getting away from them! This is something that often bothers me; I like my moments of peace and quiet. Bikes and trains are the main means of transportation. Often there will be hours of “file”, the Dutch word for a traffic jam. The streets are made of brick and are extremely narrow. People drive very slowly when passing each other so as not to scrape their cars up. With our big Chrysler van we have to pull over all together. People find it hard to believe that we can drive around for hours and not have to spend the night. The thinking here is small because the country is so small. We can drive to Belgium in 3 hours, and we sometimes make the trip to visit the larger stores there. You have to understand that all stores are small here in Holland. There's no such thing as a big Wal-Mart where you can get lots of different things all in one place. There are grocery stores, drug stores, post offices, sport stores, candy stores, and toy stores, but each is it's own individual little shop. So if you need to get a few different things, you have to visit quite a few different stores to get them! (Yes, girls, we don't really have malls here, but I've survived so far! Ha, ha! ) As I was saying, we can get certain items at far better prices and larger quantities in Belgium, so we drive there occasionally to get them. We also enjoy the drastic change is scenery. According to Dutch standards, we really should spend the night after driving for so long. I actually love driving; I find it relaxing. My dad used to take me on short drives when I was little and couldn't fall sleep. The movement of the car always did the trick. Kids ride their bikes to school and go home for lunch. Housewives do their grocery shopping on bikes...with a child on either end and! The houses are made of brick, and unless you’re very rich, you live in a row house. It’s not unusual for me to hear the droning voices of our next-door neighbors talking through the wall. We practically live on top of each other. The sardine-can conditions are still something I struggle with. You’re lucky if you have a garage (and we do, praise the Lord!). Fortunately, we have a “big” yard, according to Dutch standards. The Dutch “worship” their yards, cars and vacations. Over 50% of the country leaves Holland during the 6 weeks of summer vacation. Playgrounds last maybe a year before being totally destroyed by kids. Tormenting and bullying, for no legitimate reason, is a plague here. When we were kids we had rocks thrown at us in our own yard. Kids would mock us because we are Americans. It amazes me that children who don’t even know me will often give me dirty looks, say nasty things, and laugh at me in the grocery store. The youngest gangs to roam the streets are 7-year-olds. A young man across the street from us is getting harassed for no reason. He and his family have had their lives threatened by a gang that has been hanging around. Their house was attacked during the night, and with all this, when the police were called, our neighbors were told there was nothing they could do until somebody got hurt. The police have no authority!!! That’s a scary thing! The people, as a general rule, are unfriendly and act as though you don’t exist when you pass them on the street. A survey conveyed that 70% of the Dutch people are lonely, though they live in one of the most densely populated countries in the world. A few weeks ago we saw on the news that an elderly couple had died in their home and were finally discovered three months later. This is with neighbors living all around them!!! The majority of the Dutch look 10 years older than their actual age due to partying and sin. My mom, Lydia, and I are often stared at disapprovingly because of our modest clothing. You rarely see a woman who looks like a lady, as far as being modestly dressed. The women dress like teens, and the little girls dress like adults. It's very sad to see. In the States, even among the lost you can find ladies in dresses and skirts, but it's SO unheard of here. I believe that women especially feel the need to look younger and more attractive (not in a good way) to "measure up" to the pornographic billboards that line the roads and bus stops. I won't even go there; you don't want to know the trash that is shamelessly displayed for the public. 300 thousand people walk through Amsterdam’s Central Station per day; 3 million a year. The masses of humanity make Central Station the best place to reach lots of people all at once. They come in droves. This is where we evangelize twice during the week. The men preach and the ladies pass out tracts. The typical greeting among friends and family is 3 kisses on the cheek, which is practiced by both men and women alike. Dad had to preach about this subject in our church to keep the men from kissing the ladies. Oh, dear! Now only the ladies kiss each other (just a hug is fine by me! :), and the guys give a strong handshake. It’s proper to bring flowers and sometimes a gift when visiting friends or family. You can buy big bunches of flowers for low prices. Almost everyone has a dog, or some animal, and they are allowed in restaurants and sometimes even given water bowls. It isn’t uncommon to see animal ambulances more than people ambulances. (Be careful where you walk!) Illegal drugs are sold freely, but a doctor must prescribe the most basic medicine. My mom can have a meal planned, but go to shop and find the shelves empty. Sometimes it's days before they get restocked. Everyone has to pack their own groceries. Many people shop as they need food because there just isn't much room for storage. There is no such thing as built-in clothing closets. Our fridge and stove/oven are half to two-thirds of the size of the standard American kitchen units. Everything is miniature. You can even buy bikes that are collapsible so they can easily be transported. If you like dairy products, this is the place to be! I've never tasted milk, cheese, and yogurt that is so rich and creamy! Absolutely delicious! Holland is a land that was claimed from the sea. I’ve witnessed a city rise, as it were, from the water. It’s amazing. Dikes are the only "mountains" we have, and they hold the ocean at bay. The land is "as flat as a pancake", and it is always windy. I personally find the constant wind restless and unnerving. The seasons and temperatures are fairly mild. We get lots of rain and mildew grows quickly due to the dampness. We go through 2-3 kitchen towels per day; there is so much moisture in the air that they simply don’t dry. We experience cool winters and warm summers. We rarely get any snow during the winter, and a few inches is enough to shut whole cities down and become the “talk of the town”. Because we are so far north, it doesn't get dark until 11 p.m. during the height of summer and is light at 4 a.m. One of the things I miss about the States is the scenery…the open fields, the rolling hills, the red barns, the different colored siding on the houses, and the church buildings ”on every street corner”. You don’t see church buildings here unless they are the enormous, old, gaudy Reformed churches.

We have a saying in English: You don’t know what you have until you lose it. It’s sad that we have to lose something important to realize its true worth. Since becoming a missionary’s daughter, I’ve come to realize that the United States of America is the greatest country in the world. I know America has its problems, but even being so wicked, it doesn’t compare to other countries. The gospel isn’t completely foreign, even in churches, as it is here. The last time we flew into Holland, and I saw the sea turning into land, I felt as I never have before. I felt as though I was returning to a land that is held captive by invisible bars of iron; I felt that I was returning to jail. I felt the spiritual oppression of evil forces of darkness. If we could see the spiritual activity that is going on, I can guarantee that we would see the claws of Satan as he clutches this nation mercilessly in his grasp. I don’t experience this feeling of bondage when we arrive in the States. I feel free from that oppression. There is a freedom that I cannot describe; I feel as though I have the wings of a dove and could soar to the very threshold of Heaven. For this reason I know that America is still a godly nation, and we must strive to do our part in keeping her that way! I’m more patriotic now than I ever would be having lived in the States. When I see my country’s flag, my heart beats a little faster. When I hear my national anthem, pride wells up in my heart. It makes me want to cry. American, don’t take your country for granted! Love her! Appreciate her! Pray for her! Know that you are blessed to live in so great a nation!

I pray that this has given you more insight about the life of a missionary. Obviously, with other missionaries being in different countries, the cases will vary. But there is something that is always the same. Wherever we are, we have one common enemy to fight and one goal to achieve ~ to spread the glorious Gospel to people who have never heard. There are many blessings and many difficulties. There is the culture difference, the language, the homesickness, and an overwhelming feeling of isolation at times. The devil’s goal is to make us think we are all alone in the battle, which is not true, of course. There are thousands all over the world who have committed their lives to the cause of Christ. There is opposition and hardship, but they will make Heaven that much sweeter, for it is the land that welcomes weary pilgrims and strangers of earth. All suffering, loneliness, and struggle will vanish away there. How beautiful Heaven must be! Great will be the reward of those who have answered... The Call.

“And Jesus answered and said, Verily I say unto you, There is no man that hath left house, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my sake, and the gospel's, But he shall receive an hundredfold now in this time, houses, and brethren, and sisters, and mothers, and children, and lands, with persecutions; and in the world to come eternal life.” Mark 10:29, 30

“He that loveth his life shall lose it; and he that hateth his life in this world shall keep it unto life eternal.” John 12:25

Exceedingly glad to be serving,

Hannah L. Huussen