Longing for Home ...

In the past nine months, I have moved four times. And before coming back to America in December, I will be moving at least once more. You would think by now that packing, unpacking, and settling into a new place would as routine for me as changing my contacts every 6 weeks. To be honest, I detest packing. Unpacking is even worse.

Of late, my thoughts have been wandering towards home more than usual. Home. Even the word itself stirs up feelings of longing. But longing for what? Longing for where?

Longing for what is most familiar to me; where I can understand everything that anyone says; where I don't have to always unlock a padlocked gate and a front door to get inside; where the flavor of the green bag of Lays chips is always sour cream and onion instead of seaweed; where multitudes of dogs are not allowed to roam the neighborhood freely, howling at the top of their lungs; where winding roads though blazing autumn woods are reality instead of pictures on facebook; where the air is turning crisp and the comforting aromas of pumpkin pies, pumpkin granola, and pumpkin lattes fill the kitchens; and that place where this handsome little man is learning new words every day and points to my picture when asked "where is Aunt K-K?"

Caleb William

But missionaries-in-training aren't supposed to have feelings like this though, right? I mean, confessing that I might be missing the comforts of home and family is bordering on breaking one of the "10 Commandments of Foreign Missionaries" that we tend to impose upon ourselves. That sounds so un-spiritual. Not the kind of stuff that you want to send back to everyone on your email update list.

Yet the fact still remained that the past week or so, I was wrestling with these feelings of just wanting to go back home, even as I sometimes wonder where home really is. It was only when I remembered the stages of culture shock that we had learned about it our Cultural Anthropology class, the light clicked on. I realized that what I was feeling was very typical for those who have been in a different country for an extended period of time. After the novelty and the new experiences of the first six months, you typically come out of the "honeymoon stage" and it's "Hello, Reality."

Instead of feeling guilty for feeling this way, it was reassuring to know that this is actually pretty normal. While it is okay to acknowledge and accept these feelings, I cannot stay there forever. And as only God can do, He has been using that aching for home to teach me more life lessons...

Even the very inner ache of the soul that we call longing is from Him. He created me with that longing for perfection, for reunion with my loved ones, for a place of total security and acceptance, for no pain and suffering and confusion -- that longing which will never be fully satisfied until I am truly Home. If I allow it to, this aching for home can loosen my clinging ties to this earth and turn my eyes toward Him. At this moment, He is preparing a place in Heaven for me, because His longing is to have me with Himself for eternity. In the meantime, He promises to be the fulfillment of all my longings.

On this side of heaven, I miss my home in America, but knowing full well that I already have a flight bound for the U.S.A. booked and prepared for my departure in two months. When I look at the people living in the garbage dump community or walk past the slum homes of the Muslim quarters of the city, I realize that these individuals do not have that privilege.

They are also in a foreign land, having fled from their own country of Myanmar to escape the vicious cycle of running from their homes or face the threat of death. They are strangers here, displaced and unwanted except for cheap labor in garment factories. Families have been torn apart, not seeing each other for years, sometimes not even knowing if family members are still alive. Then I remember, they have no ticket to go home. 

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Speaking of home... I have to introduce to you Bob & Charmaine, the lovely couple who opened up their house to Melanie & I for the first two weeks of our time in Mae Sot. Their British accent is simply delightful and their hospitality was as warm and comforting as the "cuppa tea" that they served us. 

For the first time in five months, I had my own room. Ah... the bliss of four walls, a double bed all to myself, and a door that closed. :)

Last Monday, Melanie and I moved into a guesthouse. We had been hoping to rent a small, furnished house during our time in Mae Sot, but after all the house hunting the past two weeks with no success in finding one within our budget or time limits, we are happy God provided us this room. We have a spacious bedroom with a small bath and kitchenette area that has a refrigerator. 

Unpacking in our new room

We even have a hot water shower!

To celebrate our move, we shared a bag of Combos from a package I had gotten from friends back home. I had been saving them for such a time as this. :) 

This final picture is of me with some of the street kids we met and fed during my "coffee fast" week. Their home is in a slum community of dilapidated shacks. 

Home. Someday, I will be Home for good. And that is something worth longing for... 

"Created for a place I've never known... 

This is home. Now I'm finally where I belong, where I belong. 

yeah, this is home. 

I've been searching for a place of my own

Now I've found it...

And I won't go back, back to how it was. 

This is home. "