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I feel like I’ve had a hard time with a seemingly simple question for a number of years now. It is a very common question as well and the answer is assumingly easy. You fill it out when you purchase something online or fill out a job application. It is often one of the first questions asked when you meet a new person and it in so many ways has an important part in the composition of one’s identity… Where’s your home?

When I was in college, I would tip-toe around this question. I transferred to Vanguard in August 2005 only a few months after my parents moved to Wisconsin. I would go visit them for Christmas or during the summer and friends from school would say, “Oh, you’re going home for the break.” I would quickly correct them and say “No, I’m going to my parents house, I’m not from there, I’m from California.” Your home is such an important part of who you are and I didn’t want to be associated with the dairy farmers of the mid-west when I had lived in beautiful and sunny California for essentially my whole life.

I seem to find myself in that same tension this week. When missionaries head to the states for their furlough, they often talk about “going home.” This conflicts me. I’m sitting in a house that I moved into a year ago and often refer to it as home. I often say to myself that TOA is my home, but its not my house. And now people are talking about me going home to the states. I don’t know if I want to be associated with that. This is a tension that I’m not unfamiliar with. As I write this, I remember writing about it just over a year ago as I sat in Portfolio Coffee in Long Beach. My heart was all over the place and that doesn’t bode well for having a single place worthy of the title “home.”

You know what feels like home to me? My mom’s chicken broccoli casserole, Zoe wrapping her arms tightly around my neck, coffee with a close friend at Alta in Newport Beach, playing soccer with my kids, worship nights at Ryan’s, sitting in Shawn’s garage with my buddies in Paso, Awadhi’s smile, gatherings at the Garden in Long Beach, ridiculous conversations with Josh and Cody or real good conversations with my life group in Costa Mesa, holding Melissa’s hand, holding Diamond’s hand. That feels like home to me and I couldn’t settle for anything less than that.

I leave for my furlough on Saturday and this tension in my mind is having a profound effect on my emotions as well. There is this huge part of me that is just so ready to have a change of pace, see family and friends and most importantly spend time with my fiancé. And yet I am really struggling with being away from the kids for so long. It would have been a lot easier to swallow had it been a two month furlough, but six months is close to my breaking point. My desire to be there and my desire to be here are battling within me and that plane is leaving Kilimanjaro International on Saturday afternoon regardless of my uneasiness.  Prayers are appreciated.

I remember my final week in California quite vividly. I had my going away party on December 6^th and that is the day that it hit me like a ton of bricks that I was going to be leaving California; the only place, whether I was on the central coast or in southern California, that I could beyond a shadow of a doubt call home. If you were there, you’ll probably remember my little address to the friends at that gathering. Through many tears and hugs I gave my best to be composed, Lord knows I’m an emotional guy. Two days later, I was re-drained of my tears at my final life group in Costa Mesa. The week went by in slow motion and the many goodbyes were difficult.

In so many ways this week seems quite similar. Praise God I’ll be returning, but six months away from my kids seems like an eternity considering how fast they grow and the things that I’ll miss by being in the states. This morning, during my devotional, I told all the kids and the staff that I would be going on my furlough on Saturday and that it was looking like I’d be gone for about six months. They knew that I was going to be on furlough, but I had not yet told them that it’d be for six months. More importantly, only Lydia, Jodie, Eli and Arnold knew why I was going. I told them that as well. They gave me their congratulations and were happy for Melissa and I. I continued on and began to tell the kids how much I love them and I started to choke up. I really really really didn’t want to lose it or even cry at all. I could tell that some of the workers were uneasy with my tears and I tried to get through my spiel as painlessly as possible. It was the tearful encoure of the night before when I just sat in my living room crying over leaving the kids. It is all in the process I suppose and the Lord’s grace is sufficient for me. As I wrapped up, Lydia invited everyone to pray for me. I picked up Awadhi and we stood in the circle as my Tanzanian family gathered around me and prayed. That’s exactly what I need.

It would be great to not have to leave here. It would be great to have all my loved ones in the states here with me and my kids. It would be great if all those people and things that I listed earlier were in one centralized location. You know what? It would be great to be Home. It would be great if Jesus would come back already. I am homesick.

I was listening to a Rock Harbor pod cast not long ago and was taken back by the way the preacher pinpointed what I was going through. He was talking about this huge group of people that did one of those things where they randomly break out in a chorus in a public area, they did it accompanied by the world’s largest organ and sang an old Christ centered composition. People were taken back and some of their faces would lead one to think that Jesus was coming back that very moment. He then talked about that desire for Jesus to come back. I’m tearing up as I write this, because there isn’t a thing that I would rather have happen. I want Jesus to come back, I want to go home.

This scripture has been on my heart lately and keeps popping up, whether it be in my friend Lauren’s blog or a random text from Melissa. Hebrews 11:13-16

These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them afar off were assured of them, embraced them and confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth. For those who say such things declare plainly that they seek a homeland. And truly if the had called to mind that country from which they had come out, they would have had opportunity to return. But now they desire a better, that is, a heavenly country. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He has prepared a city for them.

In one of the new adjustments to my blog, I wrote a simple description of who I am and one of the words that I used was sojourner. I love that word and in my case it has a double meaning. One could think that it is referring to the fact that I am an American living in Tanzania, but that’s not the primary meaning for me. I’m a sojourner on this earth, I’m a stranger and a pilgrim. I’m not of this world and I don’t need a trendy Christian shirt label to show it, because its not something that goes on the outside, its something I feel in my heart and know in my mind. This world has too much pain, too much suffering, too many things that are screwed up. My home is a place where the Lord’s will is done perfectly and we lack no good thing. That’s the Kingdom, that’s the reality that I pray down to touch this earth. I could settle for nothing less than that heavenly country for my home and the Lord is not ashamed when I call Him my God.

The Lord has been too good to me. He has been so faithful. His will being enacted in my life is my greatest delight and in Him we can all find satisfaction, purpose and our true home, for this we give praise.

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The Rundown: Obviously the big thing is that I’m about to take off from here and come for my furlough, but I’ve talked about that enough already and you can check my website to see where I’ll be and all that info. On Friday, the Helblings got back so that’s been nice to hang out with them and catch up. Tomorrow (Thursday) a bunch of my friends are getting together at Peter and Mary’s for a going away send-off party type deal for me. It’ll be nice to see them all and say some of those goodbyes at the end of the day. After today’s devotional and being able to spend sometime crying (how manly does that sound?), I’m starting to get ready emotionally for the furlough. Its not over yet though so keep praying. I’ve been packing and will continue over the next couple days. I am trying to figure out how to navigate “PR” things, if you will. I haven’t seen so many friends, of varying degrees of affection, in so long and now I’m going to be overwhelmed by them. The question of who is getting an invite to the wedding is an annoying one, but a necessary one because the facility only seats so many people. Also in regards to supporters, I’m bringing back some gifts, but couldn’t afford to get every single supporter something, so the question comes in what qualifies a supporter worthy of a gift. That’s probably the wrong way to look at it (especially when the supporters weren’t expecting or asking for such things), but my heart is just to bless them without going broke or not having room in my suitcase. Anyways, all things will be taken care of by the sovereign goodness of the Lord. I’ll maybe do a quick post before I get on the plane, but consider this my last real post of my first year of ministry in Tanzania. For those that have read every single one, I applaud and thank you. For those that have read many but not all, I thank you. For those that are reading for the first time, thank you, welcome and I invite you to check out past ones to hear about what the Lord’s been up to. Alright, PEACE!