We arrived safely - still sorting out all our stuff and trying to get our clothes back in our closets and dressers after the family that borrowed our house left. I have a hard time saying "we're back home" yet since we were so at home on our home leave. It's been difficult to be back, although I feel at home here in some ways that are very different that the ways I feel at home in my home town.
I even walked out of church our first Sunday back in tears. The ultimate sin of migrants - do not show grief to those who you are supposed to be happy to see; do not show them your grief at missing others who are not them. But I did. We stood to sing, and my mind flashed back to my home church and the tears began to fall. I miss them! I tried to stop, but it wouldn't stop, and I walked out. I sat down against the building outside and let the tears fall.
Through the week, we are settling in some. I still miss home with a deep ache, but routines and patterns are beginning again. The familiar takes over and we slip on the harnesses of our different jobs and roles. I train my heart again, slowly, slowly. I remind it that it doesn't matter how much it cries, we are here, and here is where we are called to, so get up, look for the little things to bring a smile to your day, and chose joy.
A bird is chirping outside my window. Roses bloom still in my garden. My apple tree is loaded with apples. There is good everywhere.
There are people I love here. We are reconnecting. It is just that here, as much as I appear to fit in, there is a slight difference about me, something difficult to put a finger on; but who I am is much closer to who people are where we call home than here. I have a hard time expressing that fact since I have good, good friends here. I guess it is just that this place does not run in my blood.
Yet, it too, is our home, and we are settling in. Just with an ache in our hearts.