On the Road isn’t Home

Life as a traveler.

I love traveling. The other day, I was reading Tamera’s
World Travel guide book. As I flipped through her book, I made a list of all the countries I would want to go to when I’m done with the World Race. I know that might sound ridiculous, but I just couldn’t help it. I love traveling. At the same time, I’m having a hard time embracing travel as a lifestyle.

 

The week we came to Botswana, I realized that I had slept in three different countries that week. In the last two months I have slept in more places than I can count. The first six weeks felt like a summer mission trip, but now I’m starting to realize that I signed up for a whole year of this.

 

The issue isn’t being away from home, the issue is not having one place to call my home. Last week I was crammed into the back of a combi, when a man in the front seat started blowing kisses at me. The woman in front of me graciously decided to defend me,so naturally she starting yelling at him in Tswana. The whole combi, minus me and my fellow World Racers, understood the entire loud exchange. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to crawl into a dark hole. I looked at Brady sitting next to me,

“I just want to go home.”

“Which home?” she asked.

“I don’t care.”

 

I think home equals a place of safety, place of security, place of warmth, place of consistency.

The inside of my tent is starting to feel like home. But while it might feel like home, some days I just really wish I had some walls to decorate, and some furniture to rearrange.

Yes, I have tried to decorate my tent, but it’s just not the same.

 

I think the real problem is that I want my home to have four walls. There have been days when I have been to mud huts, and wished I was staying there because the hut had four walls and a roof.

 

I think God is teaching me that my home can’t be made up of four walls. My place of consistency and security has to be with Him. After all this world is not our home.