I haven’t given it much thought in a while. From time to time my mind wanders to life in a small town, life with many trees and running water as the norm. Life where I know the rules and speak the language and drive a car. But for the most part, I remain where I am and for that I’m thankful. Instead of thoughts of a life more comfortable, I can grow accustomed to riding the train and crossing traffic like I’m playing Frogger and learn the words and melody of this new language. I am less likely to compare.
For a few months I’ve feared what it would feel like to return to the changing colors of the trees and bonfires with family and sweaters in the cool mornings. But as the time approaches, I know that God is present in this moment. God will be present in the moment I kiss my husband goodbye for the week and the moment I board the plane. His Spirit will fill my heart when the tears of joy fall as I hug my Dad and will guide our words on the long car ride back from the airport.
I know now that He will also be ever-present when I go back to the airport to get on the plane again and return to the land of sweet mangos and traffic, long stares and gentle smiles. I know He will hold my heart as He holds the stars in their place and the tide as it caresses the sand. He holds me in the palm of His hand and that is to be my home, above a place and above people.
I’ll start packing in a couple of weeks. In my suitcase I’ll put gifts for my family and coffee beans to grind and clothes to wear when I’m not borrowing them from my sister. My heart will ache with anticipation of a month of missing my dear friends here, and will be filled with joy for the embraces of family and friends. I’ll cuddle my pug who will be fed by caring hands in our absense. I’ll cry some goodbyes, if only for a month now. In the tension of all of the emotion, in the midst of the sadness and the joy, will be my home, my ever present God: Creator of the colorful leaves and sweet mangos, the love from deep rooted friendships and the cuddle from a little pug.