I was six (and my sister was five) when my parents sat us down in the living room of our Swedish eighth-story apartment. It would be an evening of decision-making as our family considered our first major move. Popcorn popped in the kitchen as my dad laid out an atlas book on the coffee table, opening to the pages on North America. My mom and dad told us they were thinking and praying about moving our family to a foreign country—the United States of America.

“What do you two think about us potentially moving?” Their question was gentle and genuine. Only later would I look back to appreciate the vaults of trust it took for my parents to present life plans in this way.

My six-year-old mind raced, “Does America have electricity and running water?”

To be fair, my only overseas experience had been to visit my missionary grandparents in East Africa, which I would learn is a bit different than the USA.

My Swedish tongue would grasp English and, one day, Arabic. My family would make a few more earth-shaking moves—this time around North Africa. Same story, same popcorn, same questions, maybe Google Maps instead of an atlas. Sometimes I wonder how much agency my sister and I actually held in those conversations. After all, we were so young—we hadn’t been developed by decades of conviction and knowledge that brought my parents to pursue missionary work. We were kids. What would’ve happened if we had staunchly resisted the idea of another move or replied, “No way!” when our parents asked? Would they have dragged us kicking and screaming overseas?

See, the significance of those family meetings was not that my parents just wanted to know our feelings (or get our advice) about a potential move. The value was that we had come to expect the same depth of those conversations from my parents in everyday life. Mealtimes, for example, were sacred in my family; over a Tuesday breakfast or a Thursday dinner, we were often invited into the challenges not only of ministry but of life itself—discipleship in its truest form. No doubt, we were protected from situations, opinions, and knowledge that would have harmed us. But, in general, my parents erred on the side of inviting my sister and me into the nitty-gritty aspects of life.

We also had fun. My parents prioritized me and my sister receiving unique experiences. The one-year anniversary of the revolution in our North African country? You already know my dad and I hit the streets to enjoy the frantic local celebrations! Family road trips to the unseen corners of North Africa? Check. Visiting the restaurant whose name ripped off an American chain? Sabway? Absolutely.

Life by no means revolved around us kids; we learned that from a young age. At the same time, we felt like valued members of the family whose voice should be heard and whose needs should be prioritized over the needs of the ministry. This built a foundation of trust that carried us through the transitions. When my parents sat us down to talk about a potential move, the conversation was already grounded in a deep trust for our parents. I trusted that what God had placed on their hearts was not a whimsical fresh thought, but a seed rooted deep in God’s desires for our family. Why should I not say yes?

Now as an adult, working in the mission sphere, I encounter parents considering life overseas with their family. They often ask what my parents did for my sister and me to "turn out this way"—a compliment, I suppose. After all, there are numerous stories of TCKs who lose all interest in missions, or even the faith altogether, when they move back to their passport country. The questions often center around my parents’ “tips” or “tricks” to ensure we’d turn out okay. But the truth is, the answer wasn’t in tips or tricks—it was in the congruency of their lifestyle, a congruency that aligned our family’s internal commitment with our external missional vision.

The same parents who asked so much of us were the same parents whose hearts broke for the unreached. My parents were so confident that the gospel of the kingdom was good news—not only for me, a child growing up in a Western country with all its benefits, but also for the distant North African who might never meet a follower of Jesus. I would become profoundly influenced by my parents’ love for immigrants in Sweden, for next-door neighbors in the U.S., and for friends in North Africa, a love I would take up as my own.

In addition to building a foundation of trust, my parents cultivated a global vision in me from a young age. I deeply believed that my family had a role to play in God’s glory among the nations. Without that conviction, I think I would have been dragged overseas kicking and screaming, or even worse, with a quiet whimper. Instead, it was a joyful act of obedience. On one level, I was obeying my earthly parents; on another level, I was joyfully following my heavenly Father.

I guess this is the baffling mystery of parenthood. Parents might do all the “right things,” and still watch as kids walk away from the faith. Parents might knowingly or unknowingly harm their kids, only for God to redeem the brokenness and write a beautiful story! What?!

At the end of the day, earthly parents are stewards of their children, entrusted with precious gifts to be nurtured. Children’s hearts are seeds in rich soils that parents must cultivate through intentional, daily discipleship. This is the first line of ministry—built-in disciples! Still, it is the Holy Spirit who “makes things grow” (1 Cor. 3:7).

As my wife and I dream of moving overseas to an unreached people group, we desire to be a family who places God at the center of it all: mealtimes, rest times, fun times, and hard times! We want to be a family who demonstrates vulnerability and humility. We want to be a family who finds joy in the mundane. We want to be a family who raises in worship the gift of marriage and children, who refuses to sacrifice one another on the altar of ministry. In short, we will attempt the daunting task of marriage and parenting overseas, a task only made possible through the one whose “power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor. 12:9).

May the Lord give you the gift of joyful obedience. May he show you the way, not of ease or passivity, but of Jesus’ humility and intentionality. When your closest teammates thrive together, unity and honor in ministry will be second nature.