“Home”

Home. I’ve wrestled with this word during the past two weeks of being back in America. Over the last couple of months, as my squad prepared to return, we all talked about going home, how we felt about it, and what it would be like. It brought up a wide range of emotions and responses. Some were excited and expectant while others wished to avoid it. 

“Home”. How can four little letters have such a resounding impact? What does that word even mean? Is it a location? Is it living in proximity to certain people? 

Good ol’ Webster’s defines it in a few different ways. 

1. One’s place of residence

2. The social unit formed by a family living together 

3. A familiar or usual setting

4. A place of origin

As we neared the end of our Race and experienced the inevitable exhaustion, I think my squadmates and I have used that word in all those senses. After traveling around the globe for 11 months, we looked forward to reuniting with friends and family in a place of rest. We were ready for something familiar and usual. 

And yet, now that I’m back, none of those definitions quite fit… 

I can relate to the Pevensie children as they stumbled out of the wardrobe only to find time had nearly stood still back on earth. Peter, having just experienced the world of Narnia for years, looks up at the professor and responds to his question of why they were in the wardrobe, “You wouldn’t believe us if we told you, sir.”

That’s what it has felt like since stepping off the last plane. I’ve returned home in all senses of those definitions. I look around and my surroundings are the same as when I left, but I’m not. I’m with my family in my place of origin. It’s familiar. Yet, somehow, isn’t. In all honesty, I feel a little lost right now. Like a puzzle piece trying to fit in the wrong puzzle…

I’ve always heard, “Home is where your heart is.” But, what do you do when your heart has left pieces of itself all over the world? Worse, when your heart is set on an eternity beyond this earth? How do you find “home” then? In Christianeze wording, how do you live in this world, but not of it? 

I don’t know. This blog isn’t a pretty, wrapped up, and tied with a bow answer. It’s my raw questioning. 

Hmmm. The more I think about it, maybe I’m asking the wrong questions… 

Maybe I don’t need a traditional home to do what God has called me to do here on earth. Maybe it’s not four walls with a welcome mat and beloved smiles. That’s a scary thought for this home-body. I love having my own place where I feel settled and secure. A steady place and people to which I belong. 

Maybe it’s more. What if I can have a “home” in many places? Maybe it’s not about one location or one group of people. Which, going off my track record over the last few years, changes pretty frequently, and looks like that won’t stop for a while longer. 

Maybe God has given me the challenge of making a home wherever I am for the season He calls me to be there. Maybe I can carry this strange combination of belonging, security, and wild adventure with me. Maybe I can share it and create a home for those around me. 

Maybe, just maybe…home is simply a perspective. One my heavenly Father can use to show me He is with me and I belong to Him wherever I go. 

 

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I like to say I’m a silent verbal processor. I don’t typically speak my thoughts out loud to someone, but writing them definitely helps. Thanks for reading this far and sticking with me! If you have any thoughts or tips that might help as I continue to process this and transition back into American life, please comment below or contact me. I’d really appreciate it! 🙂