Missing Home

On Sunday, I finally understood what I will be sacrificing in serving the Lord overseas or in a place far from home.  I've always known that I generally push aside my feelings and anxiety in regard to change or leaving home – it’s never until I am actually on the plane during take-off, or a week after I've arrived to some place new that I recognize what I have left behind and lost.  This time, the process took over a month.

It’s October now in Los Angeles, and the temperatures this past weekend rose to the 90's.  Wearing a tank-top, shorts, and sandals now when at home I would be wearing a sweater and scarf, jeans, and boots is a very strange sensation.  Since being in California, I have attempted to compensate for my loss of home by talking often of my Minnesotan heritage, referencing phrases like, “uff da!” sharing Sven and Ole jokes, and talking about casseroles and baking.  I've purchased teas flavored like cinnamon apple and harvest pumpkin, and I longingly look at my scarves, hoping and waiting for the temperature to drop.  When I study, I choose to listen to folky style music, reminiscent of the Midwest, envisioning the changing color of the leaves and the cool, crisp breeze that I love from the Midwestern fall.  

I've finally come to realize that in the direction that I am heading, I’m giving up more than just modern conveniences, a materialistic lifestyle, and access to technology – I am giving up everything that is reminiscent of home.

I’d always known that this path would lead me to leave my family and friends behind, and I had accepted that.  Having grown up moving almost every three years and going to college out-of-state, this had become a normal and natural part of my life – although not particularly pleasant.  Friends would phase in and out, family stayed constant, and I would visit all as often as possible.  Certain friends would remain close in spite of the comings and goings, and I experienced only limited loneliness.  I learned to make friends quickly and to adapt to where I went.

But, all of this occurred in the comfort and safety of the Midwest.  Sure, there were slight cultural differences between Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Michigan, but nothing too drastic or difficult to adopt.  Now, I have left the Midwest completely behind me.  And I miss it.

I miss the landscape of the woods and lakes – the countless trees and the sound of the wind whispering past the branches and through the leaves; the smell of a spring rain; fresh, cut grass in the summer; the slight decaying of leaves in the fall; the bone-chilling cold of a winter wind.

I miss the northern culture – potluck meals at church, baking cookies and brownies for your neighbors and coworkers, spending time with a friend by walking through the woods, going to apple orchards in the fall, drinking countless cups of coffee or tea, playing cards or board games to pass the time with friends, regularly wearing rain boots, conversing with neighbors after the workday.

Currently, I am desperately missing the season of autumn.  It doesn't exist here in Los Angeles.  It’s much too hot to bundle up in a sweatshirt and scarf or enjoy a mug of hot chocolate.  The crisp, fall breeze doesn't come out until 7 pm.  I miss raking and jumping in large piles of leaves, going for evening walks without worrying about the danger of it turning dark, going to apple orchards and forest trails with college friends, and the thought of a big Thanksgiving celebration with my family coming up (I won’t be able to attend this year).  

What makes this sensation even more striking is the recognition that I may not experience this wonderful, cozy, nostalgic autumn with any given frequency for the rest of my life.  My plans are strong, yet vague, as I am pursuing holistic community development in areas of poverty – not knowing where the Lord will physically direct me to go.  I may not be returning to the Midwest after this program, and soon, it may lose its homey feel.  This loss slightly frightens and saddens me.

While I may have left the Midwest with no guarantee of return, it has molded me into the individual I am today.  Over the years, it may begin to feel less and less like home, but it will always hold the people that are dearest to me (primarily my family in Minnesota), the landscape and places most familiar to me, and the culture that raised me.  For those reasons, it will never entirely lose its tie to my heart or its context as home.  I will always be a Midwestern, Minnesotan, girl.