The countdown is 10 days.
10 days until I land in LAX.
Maybe someone should pinch me.
In my mind, I can see how arriving back in the US will play out. When we land, the announcement will be in English, and I’ll leave my seat, bright green daypack on my shoulders. I’ll joke with my squadmates as we exit the plane, single file. Unlike a lot of other places, America understands lines [though I wish we called them queues, because it seems fancier] and we’ll wait our turns.
We’ll leave the aircraft. Laughter, small talk, last minute things to say. We’ll have to shuffle through customs, stand in more lines. The questions will be in English, in accents that we understand. They’ll ask us questions, which we shall dutifully answer while wishing they’d just get on with it and let us leave.
And then there will be that moment. The one I look forward to. A moment when I am sure I’ll exclaim “YES,” grin big and maybe do a fist pump.
They’ll look at my documentation, look at me, look back down, say “Welcome home” and stamp my passport.
It’ll be official.
Welcome home.
It seems almost unreal and untrue that I’ll be back in America before the end of July. The 27th is marked on my calendar with bright letters. Strange, that I’ll once again be back in a place that’s ‘normal,’ though I know that such a thing doesn’t exist. “Normal” hasn’t existed in a long time.
But I’ve heard that home is where the heart is. And my heart has been expanded to contain more places than I thought it would, or even could. There are now pieces of my heart all over the world, in different cities, different countries, on different continents.
God’s heart has infiltrated mine. And my concept of “home” has completely changed. There’s a part of me that thinks I’ve been homeless for years. This whole “I-live-out-of-a-backpack-for-11-months” thing didn’t seem that crazy to me. It’s probably because moving, changing, and relocating has been a part of my life for years. Last summer, I didn’t sleep in one place for longer than two weeks – from May, until Launch in September I was moving around like a crazy person.
I don’t really have a home. Or at least, I didn’t think I did. And then came the Race, where “home” quickly became wherever I was at the moment. Wherever I was currently residing, wherever my team was, wherever my pack was – that’s my new home. It could be my tent in a field, our house in Moldova, or what Beauty for Ashes dubbed "the clubhouse" in Nepal. It varies.
Tents at training camp July 2011
Our house in Moldova
Our Clubhouse in Nepal
This squad has become home to me. These people have seen me cry, laugh, curse, pray, preach, sing. They have been my family and my home this year. Being around them is comfortable and familiar. And “home” is now found in many different houses all over the world. I realized that it doesn’t need a title, or a big explanation, because it’s a lot simpler than I thought. Home isn’t necessarily the house I grew up in or the place I’m currently sleeping.
Whenever I’m welcomed into the house of a believer, that’s home.
Whenever I’m surrounded by people that care about me the way Jesus does, that’s home.
Whenever I find community and honesty and love, that’s home.
I’ve found that home is simply where I find Jesus.
No, I don’t really have one other than that. But I don’t need a different one. I don’t belong to this world anyway, so it’s fine with me. As long as I have Jesus, I’m home. I can find him everywhere, and it doesn’t take much for me to be happy these days. The Bible says that we're citizens of Heaven, and that Jesus is not of this world. If we've been adopted into God's family, then our home is his home. We aren't of this world, either. We're in it, but we aren't supposed to be of it. Home, I find, is a much looser term than I used to think it was.
So, true, I’m coming back. And believe me, I am beyond excited. I am ready – ready to see what God has for me, ready to see friends and family. Mark it on your calendars. Bake me something delicious and surprise me. Ask me out for lunch. Hang out with me. I would love to see you.
If home is where the heart is, and my heart is His, then my home is wherever He is.
I’ve found home. And I’m coming home. Booyah.
