Now if I could only figure out where my heart is . . . .
I love missions . . . and praying with souls desperate for God’s touch. I love being away from America and it’s trappings. I love working with children… playing with orphans. Maybe home is on a little street in Nicaragua where I am hugging a mother who is struggling to feed her children.
I’ve been back in the States for about three days now. I’ve slept more than my fair share these past few days, and I’m trying to get used to cooking, cleaning and using my phone again. I missed my family so much while I was gone, and I hope I never go on another missions trip without them. It’s true that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and I’ve never had more fondness in my heart than Sunday night when our flight landed in Detroit. Maybe home is wherever my family is.
It was hard to be away from home, but it’s been just as hard for me to be home . . . leaving behind a country and people I did not want to leave behind. I do not want to return to life as usual here.
If this all sounds jumbled it’s because that’s exactly how I feel right now. Where I once felt figured out and sure, other realities have stirred things around inside me . . . and I need to get my thoughts out and try to make sense of it all . . . so I can find which way is up again.
Daily in Nicaragua, I found myself needing to consciously let go of all that I thought I knew about myself and missions. There was constant stretching of my boundaries and expectations. A constant pushing of capabilities. Daily my spiritual eyes would almost panic as they searched out the Eyes of my Father. My heart needed to be fixed on Him, I needed to visualize Him, again and again. Only then could my heart be at rest in such a foreign place.
I hope to spend a few days writing about my experiences, in part to share with you a little of all the great things God has done, and in part to help me work through all these feelings that are racing through me.
Till then, a quote from a homeless man:
Matthew 8:20 “Jesus replied, ‘Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.'”