That feeling you get when you’re HOME

This past year, I’ve been craving this sense of being home. In the beginning of the year, when I was back in Chicago, I knew my home where I lived all my life was no longer where I was suppose to be. While I felt comfortable having family and friends surrounding me, firmly established in the identity that God gave me, I had this uncomfortable feeling that sometimes you get when God is preparing you to move or transition to the next step that He has for you, yet you don’t quite know what to expect. It's like a little nudge inside that makes you anxious to start something new. I was looking forward to the next step…but what I was really looking forward to was having that sense of being HOME, at the place where God wanted me to be.

I have no doubt that I’ve been where God wants me these past 5 months and will continue to be for the next 1.5 years; however, uprooting everything familiar and what I understood that feeling of “home” to be didn’t equate to reality. Honestly, there were times – more than I’d like to admit – where I kept looking back missing what I understood to be the feeling of “home.” I’ve craved to have this feeling of being home – where I can be me without having to give background information.

Amazingly enough, God still gave me a sense of being home while working in other countries this summer - like He did in Guatemala and Africa on my first missions trips – however, they were so temporary and constantly changing that it felt like every time I left a place a piece of that feeling was being ripped away from me. Sadly, I learned quickly how to guard the last remains of this feeling called “home.” Allow people in only so far, don’t let the friendships get too deep or become too meaningful because it’s only temporary and once the plane takes off it’s back to square 1 again.

Looking forward to the next step in what God has for me, I hate to say it out loud but I mentally refused to allow myself to hope that I’d ever feel at home again. I wanted to preserve what was left of the already damaged sense of being “home.” However, like so many other times in my life whenever I’ve stubbed up, God softly yet firmly realigns my attitude...and most of the time it’s during a time of worship, and this time it was no different.

Sitting in an incredible worship service, my attitude griped and complained towards God about how I didn’t feel at home in worship. The time of worship extended throughout the entire service, making me feel less and less comfortable forcing me to not only to examine myself but also to openly share my frustration with God. I sat there on the floor whining at God about how I wanted to feel at home again, how I didn’t want my life to be a forever struggle in feeling at home, how I felt so alone and if only I had someone to share this with THEN it would be bearable! After I finished my sob story to God, it was His turn to speak.

He reminded me of Abraham and how he wandered and followed God without fault. Moving around constantly because Abraham knew that his home was wherever God was – a heavenly home – and that was wherever God was leading him at that time. For me, it’s no different of a lesson than this; however, since God sent Jesus into the world to bridge the gap between God and man, God isn’t contained to a location, a building, in the Holy of Holies, or anywhere else. God lives inside me, walks with me wherever I go. He sticks closer to me than a shadow. If home is wherever God is, then for me it’s no longer a place or location….home is in me! Home is an attitude of the heart now, and as long as I follow His leading and I’m transparent with Him then I’m home, and should no longer be craving this feeling of “home.”

It’s a tough concept to swallow – and I’m sure it’ll take awhile for it to sink in – but as long as I have the assurance from God and His promise that He’s never going to leave me, then this is what I have to hold onto. This is what I’m now looking forward to in this next step – having more hope and aspiration that home is where my heart is…and my heart is with God.

Banana, Band-Aides, and Beber

In 3 days, I went from Manchester England to Manchester Nicaragua - a barrio within the capital city Managua - the difference between the two was more than the Atlantic Ocean to say the least.

In Nicaragua, the Canadian team and I ran soccer clinics in an open campo right off of Lake Managua. Well, really the team did all the soccer - I can't play to save my life - so I stood by the side-lines cheering, passing out water, and occasionally being the field's medic. While I stood by the side-lines I had a little friend who kept me company. After numerous attempts of asking her name with no response/mumbled response, I named her my Chiquita Banana.

Chiquita Banana is an inquisitive 2 or 3 year old Nicaraguan that I met my first day on the soccer field. As I stood there with my mochila and a big black cow-boy hat, she came up to me holding the shirt she was suppose to be wearing in hand. She tugged on my shirt grabbing my attention and lifted her shirt up to me as if to tell me that she needed help putting it on. After that, I couldn't get rid of her :) She found my wristwatch and for an afternoon she stood there pushing every button imaginable over and over again. She'd wear sunglasses upside-down on her face and would walk right up to me with this big smile on her face - it didn't help that I wear glasses and she wanted mine in addition to the ones on her face. She also found the orange stackable cones and would sit right next to me stacking and unstacking them. She was my buddy, she was my pal...and the more I saw her, the more I called her Chiquita Banana to which she'd given me the UBERST of UBER smiles.

While I wasn't distracted by my Chiquita Banana, other little chicos were brought to me with cuts and scraps from playing too hard. The field - while an open field - had rocks, boulders, horse poo, broken glass, mud puddles, and creepy furry circular yellow centipedes (which I found crawling up my leg...GROSS!). Even with all these obstacles, it didn't stop these kids from playing at full speed and in their sandals or bare-foot nonetheless. Needless to say, all my band-aides were used and I was grateful I took First-Aid. And while I sat there with kids sitting on my lap covering up their cuts and scraps, 2 thoughts came to mind: Jesus saying, "Let the children come to me," and Jesus washing His disciples' feet. If putting band-aides on cuts and scraps demonstrated the love of God to these kids, then I'd go back - sweaty and all - and do it again in a heart-beat.

Field medic wasn't my primary responsibility though...I was the Aguadora (water lady)!!! Being honest, my first day as the Aguadora wasn't my proudest moment as a missionary. One of my pet-peeves is whinny kids...and being the one who holds the keys to the water, I got a lot of kids whining thrown at me. It didn't help that I could understand every word these kids were saying in Spanish. I couldn't be ignorant in thinking that these kids were just coming up to me to say hi or comment on my cow-boy hat, NO I had to sit there and hear the little water-monsters whine at me!!! Moving past my own issue, once there was more order, no pushing, or cutting in line being the Aguadora wasn't so bad...I actually liked my responsibility.

The week of soccer ministry was nicely packaged wrapped in the end with hosting a soccer tournament on an actual soccer field for 40 of the kids we worked with, sharing with the community the story of Jesus, and passing out 90 Book of Hope to the kids and their parents. It was a successful week to say the least...with Banana, Band-Aides, and Beber (drinks - like water).