The day started with bed covers being pulled off aggressively, hair remaining in the high top bun it had been the previous night, and a less than thorough 20 second tooth brushing before cramming gear into packs and shrinking a few centimeters as we hulled them onto our backs.
The driver showed up more than two hours before our scheduled 9 a.m. pickup. Thus, the day begins.
And then I sit. Backseat of a maroon 1994 Toyota Camry that is caked in red dust. Time to travel to visit a new team. I am once again in transition.
The driver is chatting busily in the front seat with another passenger he has picked up. I only understand one word of their gossip; Christian. They whisper it to one another and look pack over their shoulders at us with untrusting eyes. Buddha sways side to side from the rear view mirror.
The car labors up a bridge and the view hits me at the top. The sun is climbing over the water. Fighting, it reaches it rays like arms up into the morning haze and pulls at the thick clouds, gaining altitude. Apartments line the river. Sailboats pierce the horizon. I am half a world away but a feeling of familiarity overwhelms me and drags me into the world of memories.
I am once again back in Jacksonville on one of my favorite bridges crossing over to the beach. My best friends chat happily in the front seat. I can still hear the word “Christian” but this time it is not an accusation. We are going to eat at our favorite restaurant, Angie’s Subs. I will get my regular, the seven inch six dollar with no onions and add crunchies (bbq fritos) and then douse that in Peruvian sauce. With happy bellies we will head down to the beach with our giant Styrofoam cups of sweet tea with lemon. Just like so many times before, we will laugh and make graceful arcs in the sand with our feet like ballerinas as we skip along. Contrary to what our mothers taught us, we will not put on sunscreen and our shoulders will burn and new freckles will emerge on our noses. We will feel beautiful.
The memories are piercingly clear, just like the nasally dialect being exchanged in the front seat that pulls me back into the reality of a sunrise over a busy river-port in Cambodia. My heart sinks. It will be more than six months before I can dance on my native shores and laugh with my best friends as we make fun of our own stupidity, rubbing aloe into each other’s skin. Six more months until I hold the baby I love and see for myself all he has learned in my year away. Six more months until I look into eyes that look just like mine, and smile into the faces that know me better than anyone in the world.
My IPod, once again on Holy Spirit shuffle, switches to a new song and the single ear bud in my left ear (the only one that works on the cheap set I found on an airplane to Hong Kong) buzzes. My ears alert my heart to pay attention to the importance of the current transmission. The message fills my ears and heart with a sweet melodic truth that will never change:
“Your presence is all I am longing for, here in the secret place. Your nearness is all I am waiting for, here in the quiet place. Here in the secret place. My soul waits for you alone, just like the watchman waits for dawn. And here I finally found the place, where we’ll meet Lord face to face. I finally found where I belong. I finally found where I belong, in your presence. I finally found where I belong; it’s to be with you. To be with you. ”
–Where I Belong (Matt Gilman, Cory Asbury)
I am half a world away, literally, but one thing remains; His love. A love that will never leave me nor forsake me. A love that says with open arms, “Come to me all ye who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest.” A love that promises to go with me, even unto the ends of the earth.
So here I am, at the ends of the earth. Where I belong… home.
