Living on Embassy Ground

When Sarah Chen moved to the American embassy compound in Amman, Jordan, her father explained something she never forgot. "This ground beneath your feet," he said, tapping the tile floor, "is American soil. We live in Jordan, but we belong to another country."

Sarah grew up navigating two worlds. Outside the embassy walls, she learned Arabic, ate mansaf with neighbors, and respected local customs. But inside those walls, and in her heart, she carried a different citizenship. She voted absentee. She celebrated the Fourth of July. She knew that one day, she was going home.

Some embassy kids lost that sense of belonging over time. They forgot where they came from. They stopped speaking English at home, stopped caring about the country that had sent them. A few even surrendered their passports.

Paul writes to the Philippians with that same urgency. He weeps over people who have traded their heavenly citizenship for earthly appetites, those whose minds are "set on earthly things." But then he reminds the church of something breathtaking: "Our citizenship is in heaven, and we eagerly await a Savior from there."

You and I are embassy people. We live here, we serve here, we love our neighbors here. But this ground is not our final home. The Almighty has planted us in foreign soil with a mission, and one day, He is coming to bring us home. Stand firm. Remember whose passport you carry.