Homesick

I have been asked several times over the last few weeks how I'm doing with the transition and if we're settled into life down here. My response is always an overwhelming yes, affirming that we are so blessed to have our little home and are loving ministry at our new church. Both of those statements are completely true. It feels so wonderful to know with such certainty that we have followed God's call on our lives, and I can so clearly see the fruit that is already coming from that decision. I am also enjoying the change of pace in my own life, as I have limited my involvement at church to supporting Matt and have made a larger priority of taking care of my two little ones. And if I'm really being honest, here, I have also found an inappropriately large amount of joy from just knowing I can go to Target whenever I want. =)

But over the past few days I have also realized that in my enjoyment of some of life's changes over the last 6 weeks, I have totally ignored the enormous, gaping hole that now exists in my heart. I think I actually convinced myself for a while that it didn't exist.

I know what revealed the hole to me so clearly. . . Matt has a workshop up north next week and I suddenly have the opportunity to spend 24 hours visiting friends and checking up on our house. At first I was just so excited for an opportunity to visit some of the people that I spent a lot of time with during our 4 years there, but as I've thought more about it I am completely and totally terrified.

Terrified because I am finally facing the reality of what I left behind almost 2 months ago. A house that we labored over and loved; students who touched our lives as much as we touched theirs; friends who brought joy, laughter, support, encouragement and more life-change than I could have ever dreamed to experience.

I knew, and still know, that leaving was the right choice. But in the midst of affirming the rightness of that choice, I have shielded my heart from thinking about the hurts of the reality that came with it. My heart is aching for the friends that walked with me through the first few years with my kids and the culmination of my 10-year-long wait to get baptized.

And yet, I am so excited and overjoyed at the prospect of what the coming years have for us here. While I have yet to develop deep, strong bonds with anyone here yet, I know that it will come. God has always been faithful to provide dear friendships that have sustained me and encouraged me.

No matter how much it might hurt to move on and leave behind such amazing and significant people, God has orchestrated both their entrance and their exit from my daily life. In His great plans He has something for us all here and now. . .

And of course, it always helps to remember that neither place is actually my home. We are wanderers and vagabonds on this earth, moving from one temporary dwelling to another until our Mighty God eventually calls us home. When I think about how much I long for my friends up north, I am reminded of how that should pale in comparison to how much I long for my Savior. . .

For instance, we know that when these bodies of ours are taken down like tents and folded away, they will be replaced by resurrection bodies in heaven—God-made, not handmade— and we'll never have to relocate our "tents" again. Sometimes we can hardly wait to move—and so we cry out in frustration. Compared to what's coming, living conditions around here seem like a stopover in an unfurnished shack, and we're tired of it! We've been given a glimpse of the real thing, our true home, our resurrection bodies! The Spirit of God whets our appetite by giving us a taste of what's ahead. He puts a little of heaven in our hearts so that we'll never settle for less. 1 Corinthians 5:1-5 (the message)