Does "Home" Exist?
Honestly, it's been a struggle to put words to all the emotion, memories, stories and faces that have swirled around in my heart and mind since I graduated from Discipleship Training School nearly three weeks ago. Even for a girl who has kept a journal consistently since she was seven years old!
The sadness I felt at leaving the best friends I've ever had, the giggles I just barely (not really) stifled when I heard a Southern accent for the first time in six months, the excitement at starting a new season back in the States, the heartache as another season came to an end. Confusion at no longer having to mentally convert pounds to dollars, restlessness walking around a quiet house after leaving a bubbling community, trying to stop using UK English words. Overwhelming is an understatement!
Ending DTS and coming back keeps bringing to mind a question one of my DTS leaders posed during debrief week. "What is home for you?"
When I first heard the question, I really had to stop and think. For so many, I felt like the answer was easy.
"Where my family is."
"Where God has called me."
"Where my heart is."
"Where I live."
"Where people I love are."
"The place I miss most and wish I was at when I'm away."
That last answer was the one I finally landed on. But even that answer didn't seem quite... conclusive. It was more like an answer I wished was true for myself. But if I am honest with myself, what, and where, is that place? The place I miss when I'm gone. The place I wish I was at when I'm sick and exhausted and desiring rest. The place full of people I love. Sometimes I think I'd have more luck finding home if I spun a globe and threw a pin.
For years, I called the sunny, beautiful state of Florida home. I was born there, grew up there, and made my best friend there. When I reluctantly moved to South Carolina, I adamantly insisted that while I "may live in the South, I'm not from the South. Florida is my home."
After eight years, I slowly began to make friends and memories in South Carolina. But the CSRA was always like a cute, but ill-fitting pair of shoes. Charming in their own way, but the second I get enough money and time to buy another pair, they are out!
Then I moved to Northern Ireland, where I repeatedly and succinctly had to answer, "Where are you from?" Quickly, and against my own will almost, I was "the girl from South Carolina" with a cute little accent, fielding questions like, "Why do you guys love guns so much?" and, "What's the deal with the Confederate flag?" *cue covering my face in embarrassment as the result of my state's bickering scrolls across the news banner on a ferry headed to Scotland*
But still, in my heart, South Carolina didn't feel like home.
Immersing yourself in another culture is an incredible experience. Nothing compares to the thrill of learning new accents, words, and cultural dos and don'ts. Often, I would hear my teammates discussing how Ireland, Scotland, or England felt more like home to them than any other place they had been. Somehow, in their hearts, they knew the second they arrived that God had called them home.
Internally, I huffed enviously at these revelations, wishing I could feel that warm, fuzzy sense of belonging. That I could somehow just "know" when I was home.
Don't be misled. There are several places I visited and served at while in the UK and Ireland that I would love to call home. I could all too easily envision myself settling with "these people" and in "this country" for years. But that was the problem. I could stay here or I could stay there, but I was clueless on where I should stay. Is it too much to ask for a crystal clear word from God on where I belong?!
And then I came "home." Or rather, I came back to the U.S. The place that everyone seemed to think was my home. But still, no answer.
Because if home is where the people I love are, that could be anywhere from California to Europe. If it's the place I miss, that could be Rostrevor, Edinburgh, Oban, or Orlando. If it's the place God has called me, then that would be wherever I currently am. How's a girl to know where she's "supposed" to be?
I assume stories like this are supposed to end with the "Aha!" moment, but life rarely seems to work like that.
Maybe God has given me a wanderer's heart for a reason. Maybe I haven't discovered "home" yet. Or maybe home won't be dropped from the sky into my open arms. Maybe it's something I create. Maybe it's the place I decide to invest in, build relationships in, and commit myself to. Maybe home is the place where I finally feel at rest, at peace. Maybe no place on this earth will ever truly be home.
"What is home for you?"
The place where I find peace. Rest. Belonging. So... I guess I do know where home is... or rather Who home is.
And for now, that's enough.
To all who prayed for me and supported me while I was on this crazy, amazing adventure called DTS, I cannot say thank you enough. I'll never be able to tell you how much you were a part of changing my life. God used each and every one of you and for that, I'm so thankful.
I'm going to, or rather, the plan is to start trickling stories from outreach and other adventures onto this blog, so stay posted! Love you all. God bless!
The sadness I felt at leaving the best friends I've ever had, the giggles I just barely (not really) stifled when I heard a Southern accent for the first time in six months, the excitement at starting a new season back in the States, the heartache as another season came to an end. Confusion at no longer having to mentally convert pounds to dollars, restlessness walking around a quiet house after leaving a bubbling community, trying to stop using UK English words. Overwhelming is an understatement!
Ending DTS and coming back keeps bringing to mind a question one of my DTS leaders posed during debrief week. "What is home for you?"
When I first heard the question, I really had to stop and think. For so many, I felt like the answer was easy.
"Where my family is."
"Where God has called me."
"Where my heart is."
"Where I live."
"Where people I love are."
"The place I miss most and wish I was at when I'm away."
That last answer was the one I finally landed on. But even that answer didn't seem quite... conclusive. It was more like an answer I wished was true for myself. But if I am honest with myself, what, and where, is that place? The place I miss when I'm gone. The place I wish I was at when I'm sick and exhausted and desiring rest. The place full of people I love. Sometimes I think I'd have more luck finding home if I spun a globe and threw a pin.
For years, I called the sunny, beautiful state of Florida home. I was born there, grew up there, and made my best friend there. When I reluctantly moved to South Carolina, I adamantly insisted that while I "may live in the South, I'm not from the South. Florida is my home."
After eight years, I slowly began to make friends and memories in South Carolina. But the CSRA was always like a cute, but ill-fitting pair of shoes. Charming in their own way, but the second I get enough money and time to buy another pair, they are out!
Then I moved to Northern Ireland, where I repeatedly and succinctly had to answer, "Where are you from?" Quickly, and against my own will almost, I was "the girl from South Carolina" with a cute little accent, fielding questions like, "Why do you guys love guns so much?" and, "What's the deal with the Confederate flag?" *cue covering my face in embarrassment as the result of my state's bickering scrolls across the news banner on a ferry headed to Scotland*
But still, in my heart, South Carolina didn't feel like home.
Immersing yourself in another culture is an incredible experience. Nothing compares to the thrill of learning new accents, words, and cultural dos and don'ts. Often, I would hear my teammates discussing how Ireland, Scotland, or England felt more like home to them than any other place they had been. Somehow, in their hearts, they knew the second they arrived that God had called them home.
Internally, I huffed enviously at these revelations, wishing I could feel that warm, fuzzy sense of belonging. That I could somehow just "know" when I was home.
Don't be misled. There are several places I visited and served at while in the UK and Ireland that I would love to call home. I could all too easily envision myself settling with "these people" and in "this country" for years. But that was the problem. I could stay here or I could stay there, but I was clueless on where I should stay. Is it too much to ask for a crystal clear word from God on where I belong?!
And then I came "home." Or rather, I came back to the U.S. The place that everyone seemed to think was my home. But still, no answer.
Because if home is where the people I love are, that could be anywhere from California to Europe. If it's the place I miss, that could be Rostrevor, Edinburgh, Oban, or Orlando. If it's the place God has called me, then that would be wherever I currently am. How's a girl to know where she's "supposed" to be?
I assume stories like this are supposed to end with the "Aha!" moment, but life rarely seems to work like that.
Maybe God has given me a wanderer's heart for a reason. Maybe I haven't discovered "home" yet. Or maybe home won't be dropped from the sky into my open arms. Maybe it's something I create. Maybe it's the place I decide to invest in, build relationships in, and commit myself to. Maybe home is the place where I finally feel at rest, at peace. Maybe no place on this earth will ever truly be home.
"What is home for you?"
The place where I find peace. Rest. Belonging. So... I guess I do know where home is... or rather Who home is.
And for now, that's enough.
To all who prayed for me and supported me while I was on this crazy, amazing adventure called DTS, I cannot say thank you enough. I'll never be able to tell you how much you were a part of changing my life. God used each and every one of you and for that, I'm so thankful.
I'm going to, or rather, the plan is to start trickling stories from outreach and other adventures onto this blog, so stay posted! Love you all. God bless!
Comments
Post a Comment