Another summer day has come and gone away in even Paris and Rome… and I wanna go home. I miss you, you know.
–Blake Shelton, “Home”
Blake Shelton’s song “Home” took on a whole new meaning when I got back from Europe two summers ago, and this week, it’s different still. It’s insane that, while standing on a pristine beach in Micronesia, pieces of your thoughts and unidentified longings can be everywhere else.
I grew up travelling, so living out of a suitcase feels like second nature. But it feels really good to get back. To cook in a kitchen I know, drive my own car, run a 5k over a familiar trail, register for a last year at the university that now feels strangely familiar. It’s so easy to live here.
I’m sure of my heavenly home, but not my earthly one. If it’s where family is, then I’m lost. I have too much family aeons apart in every way that matters. If it’s family in Christ, it’s equally scattered around the world… and if home is where the cliché heart is, mine is all over the place.
If home is where I’m most comfortable, then it’s probably here in Greenville, SC. But comfort is highly overrated. As a matter of fact, I’m about to come to the conclusion that I let myself get too comfortable here in the United States. Too willing to watch people and days pass me by.
Jesus didn’t die on the cross so His followers could live comfortably at home.