Home is where the heart is.

Well, I’m home.

I stepped foot on American soil December 13th.

The first thing that caught me off guard was how tall everyone was. I went from feeling like…

to feeling more like…

It was strange understanding all of the conversations happening around me and not just picking out words here and there. However, after over-hearing a few of the conversations, I began to wish I didn’t understand what they were saying.

The flight over was quite an ordeal.

The day of departure, India bid me farewell with a lovely gift of food poisoning.

Let’s just say it wasn’t pretty.

My fellow comrades laid hands on me and prayed for healing before the long flight home.

About 10 minutes later I had my head bent over the toilet….5 bouts later…I felt some relief, loaded up in a taxi, and headed off to the airport.

It all started going downhill pretty fast. I had to run out of one of the lines to get to the bathroom, and when I finally got through the line, the man checking my passport didn’t believe it was me. Among many things, he said I was far too pale, and I was not pale in the picture.

I kindly said, “Sir, I don’t feel well…perhaps that’s why.”

(What was running through my head?)

“PROBABLY BECAUSE I’M GOING TO PUKE ALL OVER YOU IN ABOUT 30 SECONDS!!”

I’m not a very nice person. That’s why I need Jesus.

A LONG time later…He let me through.

Long story short…I puked my guts out on the first plane in a barf bag. So embarrassing. There is nothing not embarrassing about walking to the bathroom holding a bag filled to the brim with your vomit.

On the second flight from London, I got puked ON by a little girl in front of me with some serious projectile vomit.

On the last flight…well, I reeked of vomit.

Welcome home.

Home.

Strange.

Jet lag was the worst. It was completely miserable. I was so jacked up. I’m still not sure I’m back to normal.

I knew it would be hard. I was told over and over that no one would understand. I knew that. I knew it would be frustrating. I knew it would be hard.

But, alas, it’s different knowing it in your head and seeing it translated out into action in real life.

Not going to sugar coat it. It’s been tough; really tough.

Random things have made me angry.

I fight getting horribly annoyed when people ask me how my “trip” was…and don’t really care what I say afterward.

I pray for the Lord to give me grace. Grace upon grace. I can’t expect people to care. I can’t expect people to understand. I can’t expect anyone to listen. And…that’s okay. That’s normal.

But, it sucks. Pardon the slang, but it sucks.

I feel very lonely most of the time. Very…very lonely.

I think it’ll be therapy just to have one person ask me about my life in India…life, not trip…I didn’t spend a weekend at Disney World…and, actually, genuinely, want to know about what happened. Just one. It would be such  sweet therapy.

I haven’t had one person ask me since I’ve been home.

I know I haven’t been home long, but, it hasn’t made it any easier.

I never cried once while in India strictly about being in India. But, I’ve cried at home about being home.

Home.

I’m thankful for the hot showers, the comfy bed, and the fact that I don’t smell like all kinds of death…and look like it too.

I’m thankful that men pee in bathrooms here and not all around me.

I’m thankful for Chick Fil A…and the readily available amount of cheese everywhere.

And, of course, the many luxuries of daily life in the US.

But, I can easily do without all of the above.

Home.

It doesn’t feel like home.

Yes, my parents are here, as well as my brother and sister and dog.

But, I think I left my heart scattered all over a certain country.

I think I left it here…

or here…

Maybe here…

Or there…

Maybe in the overcrowded bus I would ride…

Maybe in a cup of tea…

In the stories…

Or these faces…

I long to “go”…and I hate the idea of not “going”.
But, I also hate the idea of living somewhere else in my head, and not living to glorify God right here right now, wherever He places me.

My Father in heaven is infinitely GOOD.

By His grace, He has my heart.

I long for Him and for Him alone to own my deepest affections and my deepest desires. He alone is worthy of them, and in Him alone will my soul find ultimate satisfaction and fulfillment.

Wherever He leads me, He will be with me. He will never leave me nor forsake me.

Wherever He places me,  I will live “all there”. I will be all there.

As hard as it is. As scary as it is. As uncomfortable as it is.

Father, take my heart and let it be, consecrated Lord to Thee.

Home is where the heart is.

With You, Lord, I am home.

You are always with me.

So, wherever I am, I am always home.

By His Grace,

Shara

(***Photos NOT taken by me. Mine did not look this good. Taken by my two awesome friends Jennifer and Liz who are both incredible photographers and receive ALL CREDIT 🙂 )

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One thought on “Home is where the heart is.

  1. So beautiful… my friend Hannah went to Mozambique for three months. She has a very similar story, and a very similar heart. The only thing she knows is that she won’t know where she’ll be next. She doesn’t have a plan for her life, only that she’s just supposed to GO. And then come home. And then GO. Wherever. It’s a very challenging but sweet, sweet life of trusting. It’s constant wilderness, almost. But not, when you’re in the midst of a place you know the Lord told you to go. It’s hard for her to explain to people. To everyone. Especially Christians… (weird, huh?)

    I can’t say that that’s what my life in Christ looks like. I’ve been told my roots are very deep, and that through me, my husband’s would grow deep too. Our calling/passion/desire/whatever you want to call it is in discipleship. Mentoring. Watching young people grow into real, true, followers of Christ who are unshakable. It’s also in overseas missions. Josh has been to Bangladesh three times and its where his heart is. Mine longs to go back to the people of Latvia. But until I leave and go for more than two weeks, I know as much as I scatter my heart around and plant it and as sentimental or whatever it is that I am, I still won’t understand what its like to be immersed in a culture, to truly live among them, to dress as they dress, to become a commonplace face. I know how I feel after a week or two, or three, when my heart feels completely torn to shreds. I CAN’T EVEN imagine how it must feel to be home again after you have immersed your heart into those people for six months.

    I do know for as long as you’re here in Melbourne that I will be here too. To listen, to watch your videos, to get coffee, to be someone you can just barf out all your inside jokes and weird stories from South Asia to without getting a weird stare. 🙂 I’d love to hear your stories of the hearts you touched, of the moments that made you cry, of the moments that will live in your heart forever, and of the moments you knew someone saw Jesus in you.

    🙂

    P.S. If you are interested, Josh and I would love for you to come speak at our youth group sometime soon about your experiences! ❤ We will let you say whatever you want. haha. seriously. No sugar coating here.

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