Home

Sometimes I really hate the saying, Home is Where the Heart Is.

Yeah, I get it. I know.

But what about when someone’s heart is in a million different places? How do you find a home

then?

I left a piece of my heart in the Amazon jungles of Peru in ’99. It still runs around the city of Iquitos in the form of precious street kids who melted my heart and made my world bigger than I had ever dreamed possible.

I left yet another piece at

an orphanage in M

anagua, Nicaragua. That piece was ripped out of my chest when several little girls took my hands and asked me to dance in a circle with them. We giggled together as I tried to talk to them in Spanish. They politely corrected me, and then we giggled some more. Priceless.

And yet another, perhaps larger, piece is still in Indonesia…in my former students, friends, and the wonderful people of that country. I miss them every day.

There’s a piece of it, too, in Minneapolis with some dear friends. They invested in a friendship and loved us even though they knew we’d be leaving. We love them and miss

them.

And I guess the rest of my heart is here in C’ville with me. I mean, I hope it is!

I’ve been wrestl ing

with being “home” lately.

We moved into this house last summer.

It was a gift from God, and we know that and are so, so thankful for it. We had looked at several houses that were just…ick. They were small, needed a lot of work, and were in neighborhoods that we wouldn’t have enjoyed. Then we walked in the front door of this one.

We looked at each other and when our eyes connected, we knew.

This was home.

And now the very idea of home is being threatened again.

I wish I could say I was ok with that. That it’s ok with my heart to pick up and move again.

But I’m selfish, and I don’t want to. I love our house. I love our neighbors.

I love the view of the river from our kitchen window. I love the dreams I’ve let myself dream of our little girl growing up here.

I love the idea of being settled…of being home.

And yet, with all of my heart, I know I need to hang onto the idea of “home” very loosely.

We were settled in Minnesota, too, and God said, No, I want you to go.

So we sold it all and went. It was heart-wrenching, difficult, and I cried more tears than you can possibly imagine.

Five years later, again, He said, Time to go again…this time, to a new place.

And I cried even more tears.

Everything in me wants to be home. To paint the walls and hang things up and know that it’s for good.

And sometimes it’s so hard for me because I know this world isn’t my home. We all know the song, and I bet half of you have it going through your heads right now. You’re welcome. 😉

How do I keep my hands open with something I want so, so badly?

How do I trust that things are going to work out when I can’t even imagine a place I would love half as much?

I don’t know… just where my heart is today, I guess.

Thanks for reading. And for praying.