I should have known from the backseat of that van.
My life was never going to be normal. The daughter of two active duty Marines, I had a passport by the time I was a year old. I’ve lived in 5 states, 2 countries, 11 cities, and–I think–18 houses. Life has always been a journey.
Growing up I longed to be one of those kids who had the pleasure of growing up in the same town their whole life. I was jealous of the ones who’d be able to show their children the playground of their childhood and point out the trophies in their high school halls. That’ll never be me.
I have no home, no permanent dwelling. No place to call home.
For years, this bothered me. It made me feel like I don’t fit in…that I’d never be like the others.
But this I know, long ago He spoke to me that this world is not my home. And this life of transition I’ve lived and continue to live is to be my constant reminder.
Don’t get comfortable here.
And yet, there are days I desperately want the settle down life.
I don’t know what’s next for us in this life. God hasn’t said. But I know everyday is a journey to the next place, the next tent, the next calling to pick up and move to where God calls us to be—
It has been a slow acceptance, but there is a freedom in not knowing when or where…instead to just follow.
As friends move to plant churches, minister overseas, or settle down for the long haul, I still battle discontent and calling.
But more than that?
I long for home.
I wait for the day when home will greet me in the beauty and glory of His face, until that day