Home takes many different forms for me, and always has. The last 9 months though, I see home in a lot more things. I’ve seen my heart grow a lot. I’ve watched myself become a different person, completely new. I see home in lovely things. Here’s just a couple of the favorites.
I see home in F squad.
– Home takes form when you can see the floor bending as we dance and jump to the music of our latest party. It takes form when we play whirlpool together after jumping into the pool fully clothed, or forgetting Abigail upstairs in Louisiana when we played Hide n Seek. Home looks like deep dives on Friday mornings but it also looks like doing that hard conversation on speaker phone for moral support. It looks like your tent neighbor texting you asking if you’re okay because he heard you crying, and it especially looks like sitting on the toilet with 10 people surrounding you because there’s only one bathroom. It looks like knowing their deepest secrets before their favorite color. It looks like worship and tromping through airports together. It looks like holding your friends hair back when they get a parasite in the middle of the night, and it can even look like correcting them out of love. Home looks like F Squad. Home looks like Family.
I see home in a sleeping pad.
- Other than the squad, this is the constant. Plopping down on your sleeping pad and taking off your moldy shoes from a long day tearing down houses in Louisiana. Or turning over and feeling your hip dig into the ground after you wake up from hearing your friends giggling in their tent in Costa Rica. Home in this form looks like turning the moldy side of your sleeping pad over because you had two too many tent floods in Georgia. Home looks like giggling into the early hours of the morning with your friends in a field of cilantro in the DR. or climbing into your friends sleeping pad and bag because your hosts horse got loose in the middle of the night and you thought it was a bear.
I see home in a Baptist Church in Louisiana.
- Home looks like making 15 cups of tea in one night or having a table full of donuts on Sunday’s. It looks like bagged lunches that are way too fancy or singing “This Little Light of Mine” before breakfast at 6 AM. It looks like a grand piano in the lobby and hearing that we have restored what people previously thought the youth of America was (lol). Home looks like never being so tired in your entire life and hiding in the empty nursing mothers room to cry. Home looks like gaining a hundred new grandparents and parents.
I see home in the squad meeting point in Georgia.
- Home looks like worshipping at squad church or what we called, “squrch”. Home looks like cheering when you hear a storm coming because it means you get a break from the tent. Home looks like first team times and kissing the fish tank before bed. Home looks like talks in the porta potty line or spending way too much at the vending machine. Home looks like campfire nights and apology notes for being too loud. Home looks like hard hikes and pretty butterflies.
I see home in Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica.
- This one might be my favorite. Home looks like a walk to the beach thats always longer than you think. It looks like monkeys in the morning and steep stairs that everyone has fallen down at least once. It looks like lots of machetes and washing your mug after tea time in the kitchen at night. It looks like the circular table downstairs that you eat jello on, read your bible on, play cards on, drink tea on, and hang out with your friends around. It looks like pizza solo bueno down the road and a bus that you dont know will work until you arrive at your destination. Home looks like the bat that lives in your bathroom or the ceviche stand.
I see home in YWAM staff.
- Home looks like Jordy, Steven, Kisha, Sammy, Connor, Rasta, and Elsi. Home looks like WhatsApp texts when you’re no longer in the same country but it also looks like cheaper taxi rides because they’re locals. Home looks like laughing about mini bananas and staying up until 3 in the morning even though you have a parasite. Home looks like “Whats the Lord been teaching you?” and learning new Spanish words because they call you weird every day.
I see home in Lajas de Yaroa, Dominican Republic
- I see home in draining and cleaning the pool every week because theres no filter. I see home in sleeping next to a horse, a cow, chickens, and ducks, all on separate occasions. I see home in mafia under the lights or in hearing, “Hannaaaaa” from Miguel in the distance. I see home in walks to the basketball court or the sweet man at the Colmado who sells coke. I see home in Margo and her pancakes and I see home in screaming for toilet paper from the bathroom. I see home in Hope Mountain staff and feeding the guard dog with extra rice. I see home in doing drive through history class with Soli and writing thesis statements with Starr.
I see home in Grace Leuschner, Clayton Camp, and Kate Pogue
- I see home in the phrase, “world race best friends”. I see home in always knowing well meet back up in the bigger tent we call the “mansion” to hang out. I see home in bickering once the sun goes down and having conversations in our sleep. I see home in Clayton taking your leftovers, Grace loving “aqua de gas”, and Kate always finding a mountain to nap on. I see home in horse girls and nightly tea. I see home in generosity, in “whats mine is yours”. I see home in talking to them every day since September 2 and not running out of things to say. I see home in the third row on the bus and in sun poisoning. I see home in hammock sleepovers and in journal parties. I see home in holding hands and praying for me before Clayton baptized me.
Whoa. Thanks Lord for these places and people, that they reflect your love and comfort. Thank you for being Comfort and Love.
Thank you for Home.
