home.

3 weeks ago I left South Africa with 75lbs of luggage attached to my body about to begin my long journey back home, or what I thought was home. 

Home, is it a relative word, or is it concrete with a single meaning? Is it a place, a person, a feeling? Is home overused? Is home idolized? Is home real, or will we forever be wandering this planet in search of something that only exists in the supernatural heavens? 

I found myself pondering the meaning of the word “home” on my 10hr flight from Johannesburg, South Africa to London, England. All snug in the middle rough of a double decker flight with my friend Tanner in the seat in front of me, after a failed attempt to sit next to each other. 

I was in recovery. I had just cheated death once again after being hospitalized in South Africa with a virus and DKA (diabetic ketone acidosis) a very dangerous sickness that comes with diabetes. I hurt all over, not just from the cramped seating, but my organs. My leg was still numb from a spinal cord injury from the virus, my breathing was faulty, and I couldn’t tell if I spent the last seven months treacherously. 

I had a sweet Portuguese lady beside me clinging onto my arm as she slept peacefully, and a pure blood American on the other side passed out from the three glasses of champagne resting in her system. There was no one to talk to, nothing to entertain me long enough, and at least 6 more hours till I’m on British soil. What’s left, but to daydream about what life will be like when I’m home. 

But, is it going to be home? 

My friends are at school, in Memphis and out of state. My family all has jobs, my dogs are older, my room has been made into the Christmas present wrapping sanctuary, I don’t have a car anymore, half of my clothes are missing…etc. 

This isn’t home. 

“I have no purpose”

“I’m now under my parents roof after being on my own for 7 months”

“no one understands”

“I don’t have a community” 

“Im tired”

“I’m depressed, I need something to do”

“Everyone wants something” 

“Im not the same me, so I can’t be the same me when y’all left me” 

“I have no job and no money” 

“I feel like I’m in someone else’s house” 

“I’m forgetting everything”

“I feel like I’m in limbo” 

These are thoughts, questions, and emotions that have had infinite amounts of track to run circles in my brain. These are thoughts I convinced myself I was ready to face when I touched ground in Memphis, TN. These are thoughts I had fully armored myself against, ready to slaughter them. But, what is left when they  mischievously take root in my head and travel downward to my heart? What is left when I have no sense of home to retreat to, to find comfort and peaceful dwelling. 

Where is my home? 

I could spend hours upon hours scrolling through Pinterest creating my “dream home” board, or watch period pieces and convince myself “that seems like a perfect home”. I can pluck my hopeless romantic heart strings in hopes that a dream will be the symphony of home I long for. I can make schedules, paint my nails, clean my sun damaged skin, in hopes that something will magically sprinkle the fairy dust if home I have so longed to feel again. 

My home was not the World Race. 

My home is not Memphis, TN.

My home is not my family, friends, or my daydreams. 

My home is with the Lord. 

How long you may ask did it take me to finally realize my home is with the Lord, a sad three weeks. Yes, I know very embarrassing, you would’ve thought I’d had learned a thing or two these past 7 months, but low and behold I remain a wandering creature who strays from her creator. 

My Lord, my Spirit, my Savior is my resting place. I could be a dirt hole surrounded by slimy bugs and I’d be at home. I could be in a grassy field onlooking a beautiful lake and I’d be home. No amount of world will satisfy, no amount of the “good stuff” will be good enough. 

If your heart is filled with the Holy Spirit, and you have made your body it’s temple, you have found your home. 

So rest and take comfort.