Home.
The dictionary defines home as “the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household”.
Before the race I called a lot of places home; the house I grew up in, the college town grew up (for the second time) in, even my church felt like home to me. People can be and are home to me. Home is a comfortable word. A familiar word. A safe word. A word I have so been longing for since I first left in January.
The Lord reveals a lot of to a lot of people while they are on the World Race, and really every season of life wherever you are, and for me, He really showed me how much “home” means to me. I don’t mean the walls and the roof that make up a building, but the deeper meaning of home. I love feeling safe and rooted. Rooted by community, whether that be the 3 others I shared chicken with at a kitchen table growing up, for the 300 I shared communion with at His table in church. Roots are important to me. And I grew up with incredible roots, that I would not for anything trade. I love my home and the (many) people who comprise it. And that’s what makes this reality hurt even more now,
Home scares me.
Returning back to life in the United States really intimidates me.
For the last few days and weeks, my thoughts about returning home were not the best. I was afraid that I would no longer fit into the puzzle that was my life before the race. I thought I wouldn’t re-enter to American life “well”.
I started thinking, what does it mean to re-enter well? Does it mean that I jump right back into life smoothly with no bumps? Does it mean that I act as if I ever left?
These questions made me nervous and anxious and made me dread going home. A lie was planted in my head that I would do it wrong.
Now that began a cycle of thoughts that trapped me a little bit: I am so excited about home so why am I fearful? Am I already doing “home” wrong? I want to be home but don’t want to do it wrong, so what do I do?
I had placed unrealistic expectations on myself. I did that. No one put expectations on me, I did that on my own. But then I was beautifully reminded that all I had to do was be me. Just me. Not a me who does everything perfectly, not a me that re-enters “well”. Just me. The me who God created and called beautiful and very good. This is a truth that I knew but I had forgotten.
The very next day I went to church.
Before the Race I didn’t understand when racers said they missed church. If you’re working with a church and we are the church, aren’t you in church everyday? While that is true, there is something so incredible I cannot even put into words being in a church where you understand the language and can freely worship how you desire instead of what’s expected. And I got that. We found an English speaking church in Chiang Mai that is predominately made up of missionaries, both American and otherwise, and it was so good. There were children running around, and families, and (I cannot stress this enough) ENGLISH. I looked at some of the girls I was with when I walked in and said “I think I’m going to cry today”.
I was right.
Just a few minutes into the first song we sang the line of:
“You are God You are God of all else I’m letting go” and that’s when the tears came.
Being anxious and worrisome about the future, about home, was my way of telling God that He is in fact not God, and I was. It was my way of holding on to control and that’s the one thing He was asking me to let go. In that moment, I decided to stop being worried or scared of home. I decided to be joyful in the exact place I am while still looking ahead joyfully at the next season to come.
I’m letting go of control and fear. Fear is not my leader and does not control me. I just need to be, and be without expectations.
So home, I’ve got something to say to you:
Yes, you scared me a little and made me a little bit nervous, but I know you are good. And I cannot wait to see you.
