I am sitting here bundled up with a cup of tea next to my Christmas tree, feeling a strange mix of contentment and homesickness. I have just spent a beautiful morning starting with my husband and kids doing our Jesse Tree devotions, bundling up on a great rainy and cold day, followed by joining with people from all over the world at our Sunday morning worship service, listening to lovely Christmas carols in Korean and watching a Bollywood dance number. Then we enjoyed a good lunch with incredibly dear friends with whom we have the privilege of sharing life here. And, now, I sit here, sipping tea and enjoying the sound of a light rain and the chill and a quiet moment in my HOME.
My heart feels so full.
Yet, there are the pangs as I open facebook and see the pictures of a beautiful girl we've known since she was a little girl in her wedding dress, surrounded by her incredible family and so many others we love so dearly. Then there are the photos of other very dear friends and family members holding their children who I know only through pictures. There are extended family gatherings and traditions, which my children will likely never experience. And, I feel the sting of the loss.
The expression goes that "Home is where the heart is." The truth of that statement is that home isn't really a place at all, and for those who have moved away from family and cherished friends, it leaves the heart feeling torn and scattered, sometimes all over the globe. My heart is in Iowa and tiny little Morgan Township and Gary and Bethel College in Indiana and in Los Angeles and in Bhaisepati, Nepal and little pieces scattered with friends and family all over the world. It is not possible to physically be where my heart is.
I am always and never at home.
My heart feels so full.
Yet, there are the pangs as I open facebook and see the pictures of a beautiful girl we've known since she was a little girl in her wedding dress, surrounded by her incredible family and so many others we love so dearly. Then there are the photos of other very dear friends and family members holding their children who I know only through pictures. There are extended family gatherings and traditions, which my children will likely never experience. And, I feel the sting of the loss.
The expression goes that "Home is where the heart is." The truth of that statement is that home isn't really a place at all, and for those who have moved away from family and cherished friends, it leaves the heart feeling torn and scattered, sometimes all over the globe. My heart is in Iowa and tiny little Morgan Township and Gary and Bethel College in Indiana and in Los Angeles and in Bhaisepati, Nepal and little pieces scattered with friends and family all over the world. It is not possible to physically be where my heart is.
I am always and never at home.
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