My refugee friends are teaching me what it means to seek the well-being of the city that has become my home.

People often ask what foods I miss from my home country. There are some I miss, such as Colorado’s green chili. However, after living in three different countries, the food I miss most may not come from my home country. . . which leads me to cherry juice. 

While living and working overseas, it’s normal to wonder at times, “Is it worth it? Does what I’m doing matter?” Recently I have been assured that the answer is, "Yes!"

I dedicate this blog to all the amazing educators who, with little or no advance warning, have stepped up to remotely teach the world’s children. The stories I share below barely scratch the surface of what I hear and see among the educators here in Jordan as well as across the globe.

I've heard it many times. When people learn that I work overseas they say, "You're living my dream." That may be true. People dream of the adventure of travel and living in a new place. I get to live in Jordan, a fascinating place with a long history, friendly people, and delicious food. But I've learned that those who last the longest overseas have ...

I am an optometrist living and serving in the Middle East. I examine refugee patients at two humble clinics situated within two local churches. I primarily see Syrian and Iraqi refugees.

Spending Christmas far from home, away from friends and family can be hard. And it can feel a bit surreal celebrating Christmas in a country where it’s not an official holiday. Yet, this distance means that unexpected signs of Christmas turn into precious gifts. Some of my favorite Christmas memories come from living abroad.

If you have ever read " Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day" by Judith Viorst, you can sympathize with Alexander’s woes of waking up with gum in his hair, not being able to please his teachers, discovering a cavity at the dentist’s office, and losing his best friend to someone else. 

Recently I realized I’ve learned another language. No, not Turkish, French, or Arabic, although I’ve learned each of those to varying degrees of proficiency. I guess it’s not actually another language I’m learning, but a dialect I call Expat.

I recently experienced culture stress. The situation: the purchase of a new refrigerator and the fact that it took two weeks for it to be delivered, which meant two weeks of storing my food at my neighbors’ house and two weeks of rearranging my schedule to be available on days the refrigerator might be delivered. This ordeal led me to think about culture shock, ...