On December 18, 2010, I embarked on a journey home. My expectations for all of the things and people were, I admit, quite high. I had a "Christmas bucket list" that I had been working on for a couple months as I thought about various things I wanted to do, places I wanted to go, and people with whom I wanted to reunite. This bucket list, was, of course, composed to fulfill my longings and make my three week stay in the States perfect.
Yet my time was not perfect (surprise, surprise). Don't get me wrong, I greatly enjoyed spending time with my family being silly. I loved being able to meet with friends and know that they understand every word I am saying. The time I spent with friends just being with one another was priceless. It was such a blessing for me to be able to return to places in which I had been molded and stretched. There were moments in which I just had to sit back and think, "Who would I be without this person or this place?"
And yet I found myself feeling somewhat out of place in certain circumstances. For instance, I missed things about Mexico that I have grown to love and appreciate. At the grocery store and Walmart, there is always music playing as I shop; it's like a party. I missed the sweet old men who load my groceries into my car for me and want to practice their English. I missed real guacamole. It seems as though Mexico has found a way into my heart in new ways that I had not anticipated.
Over and over again, as I navigated through reunions in Marietta and Athens, Georgia, and Columbia and Manning, South Carolina, I kept wondering to myself, where do I call home? My "home" in Marietta is comprised of my immediate family and dear friends with whom I grow up at church. My "home" in Athens is comprised of dear friends from church, school, and camp. My "home" in Chihuahua is comprised of friends from the mission and from church. And yet where do I belong? What place has my heart? In many ways, I feel at home driving from place to place all over metro-Atlanta. And yet my heart was about to jump out of my chest as I made my way down familiar country roads to Watkinsville to return to the church that I chose on my own. Furthermore, my heart was glad to return to sunny, bright, and warm Chihuahua and my cold little yellow house.
And so I have come to a conclusion. I do not have a "home" here on this earth that can be determined geographically with lines of latitude and longitude. In many ways, my home is where my heart belongs. Little pieces of my heart belong to so many people. There are pieces of my heart in Marietta, where I grew up and found community with a beautiful group of girls who really know me. There are pieces of my heart in Athens and Watkinsville, where I spread my wings and began to know and understand myself more. There are pieces of my heart in Chihuahua, where I embarked on a new journey and learned even more about who I am in Christ.
But ultimately, my home is in Christ. He holds together all of those pieces where I have sown my seeds. He is my home, because He made me. He knows me deeply and intimately. He is my home. And He is all I need. He is more than enough. He holds my heart.