Training Camp has come and gone, and I sit somewhere in the in-between. I am not sure of what the next weeks will bring. Tears, for sure. Uncertainty, possibly. Excitement, yes. I haven’t fully comprehended what I am about to be doing, going from one place to the next, leaving behind people I hold dear.
I know that I won’t be coming home, though.
I won’t be coming home because I won’t be leaving home. These past few weeks I have been from Fort Saint John, British Columbia to Gainesville, Georgia adding all sorts of new family to my heart. Amidst all of my going, my heart felt overwhelmed and little lost. I remember one day at training camp as I walked up the wooden steps from session to our squad meeting point in the Georgia heat, I spoke to the Father all of my lost feelings.
“Father, I don’t know exactly how I fit into this group of new people. I don’t know all of what is going on in my heart. I can’t believe I have to start over meeting a whole new group of people and figure out how to interact with them. Lord, help.”
As I spoke, Holy Spirit reminded me of my friend Zoe. Zoe had traveled from Haiti to Georgia and had not been home for two weeks. I was traveling back with her from a kid’s camp in Georgia in June as she told me how she made it through the past two weeks. She had one song that had been her anthem.
You’re My Home by Josh Baldwin. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oaNg_ZO9c-o
She played it to remind herself that the Lord was her home. He had all she needed. As I thought about Zoe and her song, I wanted to play that song for my lost heart but had no way of doing so. I just thought instead of the Lord being my home. A place to dwell and find shelter. Not just shelter but a place of comfort and rest, of identity and warmth. A place to be myself. Yes, the Lord is my home. Some days later in a session at camp, we were allowed some paper and paints with which to create. I so wanted to grab at the paints because I love painting, but Holy Spirit whispered that I should just try writing instead. So I just started writing and out came a poem. Here is a copy of it:
“What does it mean that you’re my home?
A place to go to hide, a shelter, a safe haven
laughter swells there
freedom governs
my heart is held
small whispers are my welcome
and your presence my embrace
you’re drawing me in,
it’s an echo,
come home
leave your worries,
come home
rest your soul,
come home
drop your cares,
come home to me”
As Relient K says, “If home is where the heart is, then my home is where you are.”
Jesus, You’re my home. So I won’t be leaving home in September. I will be following my home to the other side of the world and back again.
