Home

The soaking, nourishing, greening rain has hardly let up since my plane landed in Seattle late last Thursday night. There have been a few pale sunbreaks, but last night the rain transitioned to snow, icing trees and rooflines with a wet inch or two of wintery white. It's a noticeable shift from the almost constant sunshine in Berlin the past few weeks.

Thursday nine hours were added to my day by virtue of my long trek west, and they were not easy hours. They were preceded by a shallow night of sleep, a last farewell text from a Berlin friend waking me at 10:40 and the girls up and playing at 5:00. Heather and I were sober as we got ourselves and the children ready for the day, the moment of goodbye overshadowing the routine duties. My composure broke as I knelt in the hall to receive a fierce hug from Claire, who hadn't wanted to say goodbye (perhaps thinking we could thus avoid the parting). Lilah petted us as we hugged, and then gave me a merry squeeze before dashing back to the playroom. Cole sucked his fingers complacently, taking them out only to say, "Toyer [cereal], toyer, eat, eat!" I hugged Mark on the sidewalk outside their house after he loaded my suitcases into the trunk, and Heather on the busy curb at the Tegel airport, the last in a long string of goodbyes. I felt both that my cup was overflowing (how to begin naming all that I have to be grateful for?) and that I was being emptied, a part of me left behind.

The demands of travel soon distracted me from lofty thoughts on life and love and the nature of home: from the agent at the check-in desk who greeted me with, "You don't have a ticket on this flight!" to my rolling suitcase handle which broke as I pushed away from the check-in counter to stand in line at the ticket counter; from the border police in Zurich who informed me I had overstayed my allotment of days in the European Union to the agent in Chicago who told me that although my plane was still sitting at the gate it was too late for me to board; from the $12 pay phone call to let Mom and Dad know I'd be arriving in Seattle four hours late to my checked suitcase taking a detour through San Fransisco, it was not a day that went according to my plans.

I won't say I was without disappointment and frustration, but with each layer of the day that unfolded, God gently asked me if I could also trust him with this. If I believed that I had a right to ease and convenience, or if I could be grateful, humble, content with a broken suitcase, a large penalty fee, four extra hours in the airport.  If I could have eyes to see and be grateful for kind airport employees, an empty seat beside me on all three legs of my journey, blank paper and ink to help me process the day and the transition, and a welcome home crew of three, eager and waiting at Seatac at ten past midnight when my travels finally ended.

The days since then, shadowed as they are by goodbyes and transition, offer much to delight in: eager chats with my family to share the details of the lives we've been living and fresh insights from God; impromptu juggling performances by John; kitchen camaraderie with Mom; Lucy's "Mama, I find Aunt Jewey!" and her whole-body squiggly hugs; Peter's glowing eyes and conspiratorial smile as he asks, "Should we read this book, Aunt Julie?"; a phone call offering me a place as an intern with Sacred Road Ministries on the Yakama Indian Reservation this summer.

Where is home? Where God abides, from Berlin to Fall City to White Swan, there is the rest and familiarity and comfort, the beauty, the intimate relationship that define a home. A routine of praying without ceasing and living a life of love knows no upset with the crossing of time zones or the changing of jobs. Goodbyes between those who love the Father become Auf Wiedersehen -- until we see each other again.

Peter watching the landscapers work in Papa and Nana's yard

Lucy, pleased with Nana's glasses and her own fashion sense

 

If anyone loves me, he will obey my teaching. 

My Father will love him, 

and we will come to him and make our 

home

with him.

John 15:23