Come Home

A year ago if you asked me where I was going to live for the rest of my life, I would have confidently said New York. This is my home. This is my city. God had other plans.

Two days ago, I packed four and a half years worth of stuff into my uncle's diesel truck with my family and drove back to my home in Tennessee. As we drove away from the city with the skyline peering out at me as if beckoning me not to go, I couldn't help but cry. Not because I would never see New York again, but because I was leaving part of my home in New York.

In the months leading up to my departure from New York, there were so many things that I wanted to do, but more importantly so many people that I wanted to see. So many people I wanted to spend one more hour drinking coffee with, one more chance to hug them or hold their hand, one more chance to hopefully show them the love they had shown me. See for me at the core, home is Jesus and since we are created in His image, I can't help but find home in His greatest creation, each and every one of you.

Home has always been something I have been drawn to, something I have tried to figure out. What about home makes us click. So when I was asked to take part in this Blog Carnival post, I was excited and concerned. I love to write about home, but I also knew that it would come on the end of me leaving a place that I thought would become my permanent home.

When I decided to step down from being on staff at The Gallery Church and pursue my adventures in Australia. I had my plans. The way I wanted things to go. I'm pretty specific when it comes to the details. So when it came time for me to make the decision to go back home to Tennessee, I fought it tooth and nail. It's not that I didn't want to go to TN and be with my family, but that it wasn't the way I had planned it at all. I wasn't ready to leave New York. I definitely wasn't ready to leave my best friend or my roommates or my church family or my Jersey family or my Birds or my neighbors or my hometown friend or the people I hadn't even met yet. I wasn't ready. I thought God was asking me to leave my home. Leave my people.

So for a month now I have been controlling my emotions acting like everything was okay. Not crying in front of people, not letting people see how much I was hurting. See how much my heart was breaking. Then something happened.

I got an email from a very dear father figure in my life talking about his struggles and some of his running thoughts. These were his words,
"As is my morning norm, I spend time in a ShopRite parking lot crying (sometimes literally) out to God, reading His Word, thinking – and even sometimes I think dozing! My recent days have been laden with spiritual battles – some I’ve ignored and lost, some I’ve fought on my own and lost and others I’ve let Him do my fighting while I’ve taken refuge under His wings—and He has won. This morning, while praying, out of ‘nowhere’ but from a gracefully kind Father I began to get this ‘vision’ of The Prodigal Son – Dad and them running towards one another….I felt the Lord encourage me to ‘come home’, ‘come on son, come home. Home is where all is well’. I was surprised…Had I left home without realizing it? Well, it seems that I may have been persuaded to stray a bit and found myself still ‘ in the neighborhood’ but duped and distracted into the mud of worries, anxieties and despair when I could be resting comfortably at home with Dad. I’ve usually thought of the Prodigal son as one who was blind, lost, dead (unsaved). I now see that I can, w/o wanting to, get kidnapped away from home by some real ‘cares of this world’ and I need to return home".

As I read this email, I knew in my heart I was the same as the Prodigal Son. And it was time for me to Come Home. Because as much as I love New York and I love Tennessee and I love all of you, you are my temporary homes showing me glimpses of Jesus who one day I will be able to sit in His presence and be fully at Home.

*This is part of a blog carnival discussing HOME. See thewordsthatcarrythehope.com for additional participants.