There’s a cliché little phrase that goes “Home is where the heart is.”
I hate clichés. I try to avoid them, especially in writing. Because clichés are overused and boring. And their meanings are like an old “welcome mat” well worn and trampled on.
And yet I can’t find a way to improve upon this particular cliché. Saying “home is when you’re with the people you love and who love you”, is too long. I could be “poetic” and use imagery to say “home is driving in your pajamas” or “home is letting your ‘Trekie side’ go to a party”. But that somehow doesn’t sum it all up. I’d still need multiple examples to say all of what that stupid cliché says. Alas.
“Home” is a simple word that is immensely difficult to define. Some people might ask, “Where do you call home?” And the answer can be vague and quite elusive.
For example, if you ask me where my home is this is what I’ll probably tell you:
I’m from Minnesota. That’s where I spent 15 years of my life growing up. I love Minnesota. I miss the lakes, the forests, and the kind, laid-back, down to earth sort of people. I’m proud to be a Minnesotan and I always will be. (It IS called “duck duck grayduck” no matter HOW many people say “duck duck goose!) But I haven’t lived in Minnesota for 5 years. In fact, I haven’t spent more than a week in Minnesota in that time. So…it’s not exactly “home” any more.
My parent’s live in Wisconsin. They moved there when I was 19. When I go “home” to see my family…I go to a house that I’ve grown familiar with and the faces that I’ve always known. But beyond those walls, there is nothing in that neighborhood I am attached to. There is no one in that town (except my family) that I get excited to see. So, my family’s house is not exactly “home” either.
The past 5 years I have lived in Colorado, and that’s where I’ll spend the next 4 years going to vet school. I have learned all the major streets (which is a big accomplishment if you’ve had any experience with how uniquely directionally challenged I am). I have my favorite coffee houses that I frequent and my favorite stores to shop. It’s where I’ve grown immensely in countless ways. It’s where I got my first “big girl job”. It’s where I discovered the worst and best parts of myself. It’s where I made my fondest and most painful memories. I love Colorado. I love the mountains, the sunshine, the winding roads and the incredible skiing.
But living in Colorado always revolved around school, and as such it was never a permanent “home” in my mind. I always knew in the back of my head that I’d be leaving eventually…and so would all of my friends. I’m going back to Colorado when I return to the States this summer. But when I go back to Fort Collins, most of the familiar faces and familiar laughs will be absent…graduation is a wonderfully bittersweet thing. So I’ll be going back to what feels like a different town and different school. It won’t feel like “home”.
So where is home for me? I honestly don’t know. But if you ask me “what is home to you?”, that is much easier to answer (albeit just as complicated).
For me:
Home is being understood and understanding the people around you without having to say a word.
Home is driving in your pajamas to buy frozen yogurt or a frozen pizza to share.
Home is teasing and being teased, gushing tears and also offering your own shoulder.
Home is knowing the ins and outs of what makes people tick and what makes them ticked.
Home is when the strands of your heart are suddenly tangled in a knot with the strands of someone else’s.
Home is when you count down the days to see someone you can count on.
Home is going to sleep at night with the biggest smile on your face, but not being able to sleep because there’s too much joy in your heart.
Home is knowing that there’s always a bed with your name on it, always a number to call at 1am, always an ear to listen, and always a spoon to feed you.
Home is being able to sit in silence without awkwardness or a need to fill the gap.
Home is picking up the phone and the first thing you say is, “Ok, so…” to continue a conversation instead of “hello”.
In short, “home” is the people that fill my heart, the people that have seen me at my best and my worst, the people I can’t get off my mind, the people I am always trying to find ways to bless.
Anyhow, the reason I spent so much time talking about my “home” or rather “homes” is that this past weekend I realized for the first time that Mongolia has quietly, subtly, and slowly closed its fingers around mine. I realized that Mongolia is now another place I feel “at home” and I am really deeply going to miss being here.
(Some of you are saying, “Duh. I could’ve told you that before you left.” I apologize for being a numbskull. But it took me 5 months to get it. Bear with me for a minute.)
See, on Tuesday September 20th at about 6am or so, while being driven to the airport, there was nothing I wanted more to do than NOT go to Mongolia. (Fortunately, it’s a good thing plane tickets are non-refundable. I wasn’t going to waste $1,700.)
That morning I realized how much of my friends’ lives I was going miss out on. I realized how distant I would feel and how different my friendships would, at least temporarily, become while I was gone. I realized that 1) I don’t know how to teach and 2) I don’t speak the language and 3) I don’t know anyone in Mongolia. (Yes, I know. This didn’t sink in until I was driving to the airport, but I’m a little dense, what can I say?)
And the fourth and biggest reason I didn't want to go to Mongolia is because I seriously doubted that I'd be able to make any real friends or have meaningful relationships here. I was actually dreading meeting my roommie because we don't speak the same language, there is a considerable age difference separating us and I thought we wouldn't share much in common. In short...it might be a really long 8 months.
I'm sure God was sighing one of those "you've got to be kidding me" sighs. Because pretty sure He knew he had way better plans for me and pretty sure he knew I was wrong and should have just trusted him with what he was getting me into. Because within a minimum of 3 days or so, I knew without a doubt that it was the Enemy of my soul that put these feelings of fear in my heart.
Because my roommie and her sister are the two people that have made Mongolia feel like “home” for me. There is no one less boring, no one that I get along with better, no one with younger hearts and real inner and outer beauty, no one I feel more “myself” around than these two dear friends. They are like two sisters I never had growing up. And I love them very much. Somehow the strands of my heart got tangled in a knot with theirs.
My roommie and I have had to play burglars and break through a metal door together, we go to the gym and get ridiculously sore together, we go to concerts and share a love of music, we both love fruit (like a lot) and also chocolate (like even more a lot), we are both not morning people, we both enjoy our share of shopping and vegging in front of the TV (we also both think a lot of body hair is absolutely nasty but you don't really need to know that).
So on Friday night, as I was sitting next to my roommie in my first ever jazz music concert, attempting to sing along to the Mongolian words “Sain Bainuu, Ulaanbaatar min. Sain. Sain Bainuu, Ulaanbaatar min…” and waving our hands in the air in time with the music (yeah…this jazz concert was way more lively and exciting that I expected! So great.), that’s when it hit me. I’m going to miss this. A lot.
I won’t miss the smog. Or the traffic. I won’t miss the frigid cold. Or the language barrier. I won’t miss working at a desk on my computer all day. Or not being able to take a shower in the countryside.
But I’m going to miss walking to all the cool little shops and to get various ingredients and always finding surprising things in them.
I’m going to miss the excitement of mastering a new phrase in Mongolian.
I’m going to miss me “Mongolian language lessons” which are really “let’s talk about life, and catch up and share our hearts and pray for each other and maybe get around to learning one new Mongolian word” times.
I’m going to miss going to the small animal clinic and all the fun and smiling faces there. And I’m going to miss the laughing and teasing of the guys in my Master’s class.
I’m going miss being called “Dur-vroong Sar” which literally means “4th Month”.
I’m going to miss the endless interest in baking that my friends here have.
I’m going to miss having a neighbor upstairs who loves to watch chick flicks with me.
I’m going to miss coming “home” to my apartment and just doing whatever with my roommie, whether watching a Korean soap opera or high-fiving because we caught the cheapest bus in town and we’re excited about it (the difference in price is about 20 cents, but hey. 20 cents is 20 cents. And that’s pretty exciting! )
It’s a good thing I still have 3 months left here. I still have a lot of memories to make and a lot more love to share. I have a lot more friendships I want to develop. Unless God has other plans, I am sure I will be back to visit multiple times in the coming years.
I recently said to two of my best friends in the States, that I was emotionally ready to “go home”. And I am. My heart is “at home” when I am with them too. I miss them immensely. I am counting down the days until I get to see them again, drive to their homes in my pajamas, and just BE with them doing whatever we feel like doing.
But now, at the same time, I am not emotionally ready to leave. How is it possible to be emotionally ready to “go home” and not emotionally ready to leave this place? I suppose it’s because “home” isn’t a place…”home” is people…and those people are in different places.
I wonder if this is why we are never quite satisfied 100% in one place. There’s always someplace that has something better to offer. Ocean side property. Better schools. Safer neighborhoods. More nightlife. More interesting jobs. Prettier environments.
I wonder if we’re not satisfied because we’re longing for a place where everyone we love can stay with us in perfect unity without the fear of disruption, change, or separation.
Home for me would be living in northern Minnesota, in a cabin on a lake, with my family, my college friends, my InterVarsity friends, my extended family, and my Mongolian and Chinese friends. (Not all in the same cabin mind you…but all on the same lake.)
The bad news is, this is never going to happen. My heart will seemingly forever be divided across States and oceans.
The good news is, Jesus has a solution to my problem.
Since whenever the earth began, he has been building. And designing. And planning. He has been getting the best Home ever ready for everyone who chooses to trust and follow him. And that’s a long time to be designing something. So I imagine, this Home is going to be the best Home ever. If it is taking thousands and/or millions of years to get it ready, then dang. It is going to be perfect. Absolutely perfect.
(Ok fine, God could make it in like less than one second and doesn’t need that much time. Maybe it’s already finished. But you get my point.)
As a side note: I don’t know if we’re “allowed” or supposed to make requests, but just in case, I personally have already asked Jesus if my personal room (or space or whatever it is Jesus meant when he said this Home is going to have tons of “mansions”) could be in an A-frame wooden cabin with huge windows facing west over a lake with a forest around it, but also with mountains in the back and an ocean somewhere not too far away.
I also asked if possible if I could have some leopards, jaguars and other big cats to live with me because that would make my heart so happy. I also asked that if God could plan the interior to look something like the architecture of Rivendell from Peter Jackson’s “Lord of the Rings” movies…then I would just…I mean I would just have no words it would be so amazing.
(Look, I don’t know what you’re “dream home” would be like, but I figure that God has no limits so…you know, start dreaming because it’s going to be even better then you can possibly dream up! Also, if you don’t like leopards and in your perfect world there ARE no leopards…well, I figure God’s got it all worked out some how. Just like how in my perfect world there are no spiders, but if you happen to actually LIKE spiders in your perfect world…I’m not in charge of that, so I’m not worrying about it.)
I don’t know if it works that way, but I do know Jesus knows me better than I do and so whatever he designs and plans is going to blow my mind away and I won’t be able to get over it. Call me crazy, but that’s what I think. Not to mention all the other cool things like finally being 100% the way I was intended to be, not having any kind of emotional, mental, or physical pain, and getting to actually be with Jesus all the time. And don’t even get me started on the new earth he is going to make, because I get almost even more excited about that!
Ok. Back to what I was saying: The point is, that the Home that Jesus is making for us will be the one place that my heart can rest in the fact that it is no longer divided. Everyone I love will be there. And they will never move away. We will never get separated. We will never have to say goodbye. We will never miss each other again.
And we will never have to choose between living near one group of friends or family or another. We will never be disunified or feel awkward because one group of friends at dinner doesn’t know or get along with another group of friends at dinner.
We never feel like time is too short or that there isn’t enough time together. There won’t be any language or communication barriers either. We will always have a full heart and always be around the people we love and the people that love us.
And that is truly what “home” is to me. That is the “home” I long for. The place where my heart is all in one place again…that is where “home is”.
“Home is where the heart is.”
