homesickness

     Seven months ago yesterday, I left my home and got on a plane to go to Africa.  Prior to this trip, the longest I'd been away from home was the 10 weeks I spent in Chicago doing summer missions. There were times I felt homesick in Chicago, but the circumstances were different, I had reliable internet, and there was no time difference.  My parents will tell you, though, that I've never been one to get homesick. I think it probably disappointed them a bit when I was younger. I'd show up after children's camp and their excited inquiries of "Did you miss us?!" were met with, "nope!"  As I got older, I learned to amend that answer to "of course!" to assure my poor parents of my need for them.  And in reality, I was always glad to see them when I returned from any trip.  However, they raised me as an independent first child, and as a result I've always enjoyed getting away from home and exercising some of that independence.  For some reason, I've just never been very attached to home. Something in me longed for a new and different place.  I think this desire has, at times, manifested in a disdain for my hometown, especially, but looking back, perhaps that was just a symptom.  I think I've always known that God had somewhere else for me- that Columbus wasn't really my home.

     Having said all this, I must admit: after 7 months in Malawi, I can honestly say that I've experienced homesickness in a way I never had before. But it's mixed with this very real love I have for the place that I am living.  A friend of mine who is studying in London said recently that his homesickness is much more related to people than home itself- that we should call it "people-sick" instead. Admittedly, that sounds quite odd, but I'm realizing more and more how true it is. I don't really miss my house and my stuff back home. In fact, thinking about how big and open my house is makes me a little uncomfortable. But I miss my family. I miss my friends. I miss certain foods. I miss the drive from Clinton to Columbus. But those last two are beside the point, I guess.

     Right about now you are probably wondering to yourself, "Well, what IS the point, Allison? Surely you're not just stating the obvious reality of homesickness."  And you would be correct. So here's the point: (in a roundabout way, of course.)

     Last night I dreamt about going home.  I saw my mom's face and talked to her and was really excited because I had so desperately missed her.  I hugged my dad.  It was great.  Needless to say I was a little disappointed this morning when I woke up.  But you learn that things like that happen, and you just kinda move on. But then, in church today we sang "How Great Thou Art." The last stanza says,
When Christ shall come with shout of acclamation
and take me home, what joy shall fill my heart!
Then I shall bow in humble adoration,
and there proclaim, 'My God, how great Thou art!'

Singing these words, for the first time in my life, I glimpsed what it meant to be homesick for Heaven.  Having experienced the longing here for what I cannot tangibly have right now, I saw the comparison in a new light. Heaven. Home. My real home. The home for which I will always be homesick. And it occurred to me that I can love this Earth and the things and people on it in a very real way. I can feel the attachments here and enjoy being where God has put me, because He has work for me now here, in Malawi, and eventually in some other place.  But I will never be finally home until I'm with Him. That as much as I long to see my family, or even the physical place of Mississippi, my soul longs infinitely more to finally find it's rest with it's Creator and Lover.  This longing is good. It's natural.  It's inevitable.  Heaven- not the physical place, if there is such a thing- but the condition of being forever with my Savior, face to face, veil removed....
Oh, what joy shall fill my heart!  Then I shall bow in humble adoration and there proclaim, "My God! How GREAT Thou art!"