Home

I am sitting in the Entebbe airport, when a woman strikes up a conversation with me. I am always so thankful when someone else starts the conversation. I am horrible at small talk, and always feel awkward when there are only two white people in a room and they are not talking. She asked me where home was. That is the most complicated question for me to answer anymore.

I grew up in Oregon, then moved to Boise for school and decided that was “home”. Then the big move to Africa. One of the first questions mzungus ask is “where are you from?” Depending on my mood, I flipped back and forth between Oregon and Idaho. Sometimes, I would say one and want to slap myself because that was not the one I wanted to come out of my mouth. Then I take five minutes bumbling through this weird explanation on why both Oregon and Idaho are home. Well, now let's mix Uganda into the mix! I started through my bumbling mess when this complete stranger asked me where I was from... and being way past my bedtime, mixed with all my emotions from leaving Uganda and the wonderful people I grew to know over the past year, and the stress of being told that you could not board your flight because you had not paid, I babbled like an idiot! “Well, I from Idaho, but I grew up in Oregon. I went to school. Family moved to Vancouver and so I stuck around Boise. But that was only like for three and a half years... so I don't know if that is 'home' or not. I mean, I will be going back in January, but you know. Plus, I have been here in Uganda for a whole year. So it is a bit complicated!” – Like I said, I suck at small talk! I could tell I gave her more of an answer than she wanted, which caused even more of an awkward divide between the only two white people in the airport!

Since coming to Uganda, I am truly understanding what it means when scriptures speak of being aliens of this world, and our home is in Heaven. Being an actual stranger in a foreign land, gave me eyes to see what that meant. I lived in a place where I did not belong. Mzungu actually means “foreigner” and that is exactly what I am in Uganda. I stand out from my florescent white (even with a tan) and red hair. I do not speak Luganda. My diet growing up was not posho and beans. I was a stranger, and I truly felt the effects. What kept me going was the knowledge that God called me to this place, to serve His people and share His grace that extends to all. Because of this, I was able to embrace the differences to the point of enjoying many aspects of the culture, and looking past what was so challenging to my own ways, in order to reach people with the gospel. Now, as I write these words, I am surrounded by a sea of white faces who are traveling to the land I call home. I am realizing I no longer know what is acceptable and what isn't. I feel strange and slightly out of place. I just tried talking to a little kid, and got the worst of looks from his mother. Now I am trying to figure out if it has always been that way, or have I just been so use to strange children literally jumping into my arms that I know no child stranger. I am sure this is just the beginning in my adjustments.

Heaven is home. It is the place I will always belong. I will not stand out like a sore thumb. I will know how to act, and what is acceptable at what time. I will know the language, the food, the culture. I will be in the presence of my Savior, where I can be comfortable in my own skin. That is the place I belong, and I look forward to the day where that is my reality. In the meantime, I will continue serving my God wherever He calls me, to serve those He leads me to.

Heaven is home to me, and as much as that is NOT small talk conversation, it is the truth. Others may not understand, but nothing feels more right than that. Heaven is home, and one day I shall be there forever.