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Saturday, February 1, 2014

Home Is Where The Heart Is


Before I moved out of the country, I thought culture shock was based in homesickness. I also thought it wouldn’t really effect me.

Ha!

Both of those statements are very untrue. Homesickness is something one can learn to manage. Culture shock is a beast all its own. Maybe I’ll be able to explain it one day. I am certainly getting lots of experience dealing with it.

Homesickness, though, is something that I have been thinking about all day. I have discovered that for most people in the foreign service, the ability to choose not to think about things is crucial to avoiding the kind of homesickness that can swallow a person whole.

I have really gotten good at deciding to not think about how much I miss home. Home for me is my granny’s kitchen. If I give myself the tiniest bit of mental leeway, I am transported right to my spot at her table watching life happen in our family. I know the sounds and smells of family, my family, down to the smallest details. And I miss it so much.

Like I said, I have gotten good at changing the channel in my mind. But today has been different. Today marks a year ago that I lost my granddaddy. He was such a large part of my life back ‘home’. It is hard to imagine that he is not there. His place is at that table. Just for the day I chose to let my mind drift back there. I wore my granddaddy’s sweater all day and I have been sad. I have missed him. I have missed home. I have missed my family.

The part of me that wants to be home can feel overwhelming at times. Don’t get me wrong; I am right where I’m supposed to be. That doesn’t mean I don’t long for some good ole Southern charm!
Tomorrow I will get up and enjoy living in Poland. I will choose to ignore the tug on my heart for home. I’m glad I can choose joy in where God has placed us; but I hope home always keeps that tug. That tugs lets me know that part of my heart is still in Georgia.


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