I’m currently sitting at my house in Honduras, baking the in the sun because we don’t have A/C. We live in the murder capital of the world, San Pedro Sula. So, we’re on “house arrest” and can only leave the house during the daytime and if we have our host with us. There’s ducks running around my feet because our host has pet ducks and I shower using only a cold bucket of water. I sleep in a bare, cinder-block room with five other women and I haven’t slept through the night in as long as I can remember.
The definition of a “home” looks very different in a third-world country than it does in America. Over the past ten months, I have lived in an IDP camp for earthquake survivors in Nepal, a tent in Rwanda, a preschool classroom in Thailand, and now in Honduras, I share a small house with more roommates than any fire-code would allow in the States. I’ve seen a family share a one-bedroom house the size of a walk-in closet in America and children sleeping on dirt floors under thatched roofs that hardly keep out the rain.
Over the past ten months, I’ve lived with locals in some of the poorest countries in the world. Over the course of this journey, the Lord has radically destroyed and re-defined “home” for me. Home is no longer the physical place I lay my head at night. It’s a state of being when my soul rests in my Father. Home is my relationship with the Creator. Intimacy with the One who created me is where I belong and that has nothing to do with physical conditions in this life.
My first week on the Race, we were in Uganda and I quickly realized that finding alone time on the Race is near impossible. I’ve lived in 24/7 community, both with my team and ministry partners, for ten months straight. I’ve learned to create space to seek the Lord amidst the chaos. I’ve lived in conditions that at times seemed unbearable. In Thailand, our team was in Bangkok. We lived on the third floor of a community center/school for refugees. We didn’t have A/C and there were times I thought I’d pass out from the heat. I didn’t sleep through the night a single time that month and I learned to create space to connect with God amidst the discomfort and sleep-deprivation.
Before I left for the Race, this is a concept God laid on my heart. I knew one of the reasons I was leaving my comforts for eleven months was to find “home” in my relationship with Him . My journey required me to leave everything I’ve ever known behind and dive, head-first, into the heart of the Father this year. I’ve learned how to have peace and rest in the Lord regardless of physical circumstances.
So, I’m never leaving home again. I’ve found home in the heart of my Father and there’s no place I’d rather be.
