Dear Home,
I miss you… a LOT. I just finished sweating a bucket load from hand washing my laundry and it is now time for me to ride my bike to ministry. The hot Cambodian heat beats down harder today than the three weeks I have been here and I had a thought…
Wouldn’t it be nice if I could just hop in a car, blast the AC, bring my dog along and take a drive to Chipotle for lunch?
But instead I sweat another bucket as I peddle a mile through town; while my dog is at home not sure why I’m not around.
But it is not just the comfort and the familiarity that I miss. I miss family dinners, I miss inside jokes with my brothers, I miss late night snack runs with my friends, I miss hugging my mom, I miss playing with my dog, and I miss YOU, Home, and all that you encompass.
And YET there will be a time when I am back in the states, back with my family, and missing THIS. Missing the sweat, the simplicity, the biking through a small town and the brothers and sisters around me who also call themselves World Racers. I will sigh at the AC in my car and how easy it is to wash my clothes and get the food I want and I will wish to be back in Cambodia. I KNOW it’s going to happen.
These are the things I battle with you, Home. I’m constantly wondering how to stay present and thankful for where I am at. I’m constantly wishing I was with you and at the same time wishing this experience could last forever. I’ve asked the questions Isn’t home with the heart is? Or or or… home is not a place but a feeling? Or home is whatever you make it? I feel there are a million cliches that I could attribute to this situation.
And here’s the thing, Home, I have no solution! I have no perfect ending to this letter to you, no ideal resolve at the end of a blog. This is just where I am with you. I could call it a love-hate relationship because I do love you, but the thought of coming back to you in 3 months is also terrifying. God has not shown me anything magical about this feeling and I certainly have not been given an epiphany of my transition back home.
Am I thinking about it too early? Not early enough? I struggle.
I simply just… struggle. I dream of English speakers and mom’s homemade tacos and a family game night, and yet I yearn for Jamaican food, Indian customs, and little orphans holding the tips of my fingers as I sing to them about Jesus.
I can’t have both.
Dear Home, I miss you, but I already miss everything that is my “home” in 11 other parts of the world. What do I do?
