Leaving a piece of your heart halfway across the globe has
interesting and long lasting side effects.
Almost two years ago I went to Tanzania. I talk about it a
lot on this blog, and I’m not sorry for that. It has been one of the most
impactful experiences of my life. I made wonderful friends and left a huge
piece of my heart there, hoping to be able to go back, but not certain if I
ever would be able to.
After coming home, I wrote a heartfelt post about how difficult it was to adjust to life back in California. During those first few
weeks back home, I scrolled endlessly through pictures and cried many tears. I
told stories and sat in memories. I texted my Tanzania friends almost daily and
prayed for them constantly. I was, admittedly, resistant to adjusting back to
American life. I had changed, and as a friend so aptly pointed out, had
outgrown the box I had left behind. I didn’t fit into the life I had lived
before going overseas. Transitioning home was hard.
But eventually, it happened. Trips down memory lane were
less frequent. I’ve forgotten many of the details of life in Tanzania. There
was still a hole in my heart, an occasional ache in my chest, but I did
readjust to California. As the semester picked up and I moved on toward
preparing for graduation, other things captured my attention. Texting friends
from Tanzania slowed to about once a month. A year later, I was only texting
occasionally. I didn’t need the constant communication in order to feel like I
could keep breathing.
Yes, there were certain sights, certain smells, certain
tastes, certain songs, certain scriptures that would remind me of them. The
song “Living Hope,” chai tea, and Ephesians 2 are forever tied with the dear
friends I made in Tanzania. But just like they told me I would, I had learned
to adjust to my world back home. I didn’t believe them, but it happened.
Last night I accidentally stumbled across a video from the
first few weeks back home. A friend in Tanzania sent me a video of a bunch of
them saying hello. I remember the tears I cried when I watched it for the first
time…I remember because I cried those same tears again last night. I had
forgotten what their voices sounded like, and it brought me to tears to hear
them talking again. I haven’t cried about anything in weeks, months maybe. But
I cried last night as I watched the video over and over. In those moments I was
transported back to the weeks immediately after my trip. An old, familiar ache
returned. An ache I had forgotten, but recognized immediately. The ache of
missing someone you love deeply. The ache of leaving a piece of your heart in
another land. The ache that had been my friend during the first few months
after returning home.
But where is ‘home’ now anyway? I’ve been to three other
countries (Mexico, Tanzania, and Haiti). I’ve left pieces of my heart there.
I’ve left pieces of my heart across the country, across the globe, across town,
and just over the hill at school. I care about people, and it is having people
to love that makes it ‘home’ for me. I can’t call one place ‘home’ and another
‘away from home.’
Someone told me shortly after I got back that I would
discover that it doesn’t get easier to leave a piece of your heart somewhere.
You don’t get it back. That ache will always be there. It is a constant
reminder that nowhere on this earth will ever be ‘home.’ Rather, my home is in
heaven…
It caught me by surprise that the tears and ache would still
be here, one and a half years later. It shocked me that it could still feel so
intense. I was not expecting that.
But then again, should it really surprise me? Once you leave
a piece of your heart somewhere, with someone, it never comes back to you. No
it is forever there, no matter where you are.
And it serves as a constant reminder that this world is not
our home. The ache for my ‘other’ earthly ‘home(s)’ reminds me that I should be
longing with the same (or greater) intensity for my heavenly home.
😢💜
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