I feel like I
have been living in almost a yearlong interim time. I applied for a position
with the General Board of Global Ministries in early February, got an initial
response in March, interviewed in April, got approval to move forward with
medical clearance on Memorial Day and the final approval letter on June 29th. I finished working at the church at the end of November and don't leave until the end of January. And these past 9 months has a painful
discernment period in which I had to decide if I was really supposed to uproot
one life I loved so dearly for another one that I had dreamed about for 10
years. Suffice to say the tears have
flowed freely on many days and I have often wondered what is so great about
being the courageous brave person anyway. Some days (like today as I face an
entire house that needs to be packed up when it feels like I just moved in) I
really think that being comfortable might have been the better option. But I
know (I hope) that feeling will pass.
In August, when
I was just getting used to the idea of leaving, Harvey comes and goes, wrecking
havoc on the city and taking my childhood home with it- the walls that
witnessed my physical birth and every important milestone of my childhood; the front
door that I was certain would continue to welcome me home from Brazil just like
it has on every other trip I have taken, softly whispering, “its good to have
you back. I’ve been waiting for you.” Mom and dad didn’t want to rebuild at
their age and they were very fortunate to be in a position where they could in
fact move to a new home. For that I am very grateful. But at the time, I
couldn’t exactly express why I just couldn’t stop crying in those first few days
after the storm. It’s just a house. It’s just material goods. Everyone is safe.
It could have been worse. All true facts (although perhaps not the most helpful
facts when your parents are left mucking through and throwing out 40 years of
memories). All I knew was that my anchor of knowing exactly where home was that
had allowed me to fly free for so many years had been cut off and I felt like I
was flailing. Where is my home now if not on Penelope Dr.? Had the storm happened when I was not about
to move to the other side of the world, I think it would have been easier, but
alas, timing is nothing if not ironic.
As I processed
through this question of, “where is home now for me?” I continually remembered
the cliché saying “home is where the heart is“ (I hate it when cliché sayings
turn out to be true.) And in those first few weeks of seeing the bare bones of
the house with its pulled up floors and the non-existent walls, I would stand
in the living room and close my eyes and start to remember what the house
looked like as a child. The sound of the back door closing when dad came home
from work, all the ways I loved to rearrange my pink bedroom and twin sized day bed, the
living room where my sister and I and all our friends would make up dances and
have sleepovers, the old brown corduroy type couch where I would find my dad
sitting as he played the 1812 overture to get us out of bed
whenever we had company over. As I mentally walked through each room of the
house, I smiled and laughed and cried and grieved, and then I realized, no
matter where home is for me moving forward, no matter what door welcomes me
back from Brazil, no one will ever be able to take those memories away from me.
They are mine. They are home for me now. And I will carry them with me inside
of me and that sacred and safe place will live tucked away in my heart for the
day when I find myself on the other side of the world with no idea where I am
going, feeling a little lost and flailing about. And I will remember that the question to ask is
not necessarily “where is home?” anymore but “what is home?” And
that is a little bit easier to answer.
When I left
Brazil in 2013 to come home from internship, I came across this quotation from Oriah
Mountain Dreamer that could not have been more perfect for me then, and I think
even more so now…
“This is what home is: not only the place you
remember but the place that remembers you, even if you have never been there
before, the place that holds some essential piece of you in trust, waiting for
you to return when you go out into other places in the world, as you must.”
May this
essential piece of me be held well until we meet again…
