Home.

Today is just one of those days when I have a hard time understanding. I have a hard time understanding my life, understanding my own heart, understanding my joy, understanding my pain, understanding my God and most of all, understanding my purpose.

Today, more so than most days, my heart goes out to the nomads of the world. My heart goes out to the missionaries in the deepest jungles of Africa or in the deserts of Sudan. My heart goes out to the soldiers fighting for their country 3,000 miles away. My heart goes out to those who have spent the last 2, 5, 10, 20, 50 years away from their home, undoubtedly missing their brothers, sisters, parents, and friends every single day. My heart goes out to those who, for whatever reason, the Lord has called away from the place that they call home.

My heart goes out to those people today because I am one of them.

I wish I could say that I weren't so homesick I can't breathe sometimes, but I can't. I wish I could say that I am an expert at dealing with this kind of pain, but I'm not. And, more than anything, I wish I could say that I didn't know very many people whose hearts bear the same painful marks of homesickness as mine, but I do - far, far too many.

As I sat in the park in Mirandela yesterday with a dear friend of mine (who happens to be a fellow nomad), I found myself trying to process with her sitting beside me why on earth being away from home is so painful. More than that, I also began wondering why it is that some of the people who probably love home the most are called away from it - sometimes for a couple of years and sometimes for a lifetime. While I don't yet know which of these two categories I fit into, I am convinced that the hurt is the same.

"God can use anybody on this continent, in this country to minister to these people... why use us?"

"I think it's not just for them. I think it's for us too."

As this dear friend of mine tearfully reminded me, this idea of God calling His children away from home to do His work is no new concept. This "nomadic family" has been made up of members such as Moses, Joseph, Daniel and even Jesus. Yes, even my savior Himself was ripped from His heavenly home in order to walk this desolate earth among us for 33 years - in order to save us.

"You know what?" she said, "I think He missed home too."

Perhaps God does something to us "nomads" during the time we are away from home in order for us to cling to Him more, love Him more. Perhaps He wants us to be reminded that He was thorough in becoming like us, in experiencing everything we experience so that we may feel safer in His arms, knowing that He has been where we are.

Or maybe, just maybe, He wants us to learn an even bigger truth:

"Home" is not here. It's not in Colombia and it's not in America. It's not on the gorgeous beaches or in the humble farmlands. You can sweep this entire planet and not find a place that is really, truly "home," because we weren't created for this planet in the first place. We were created for a place flowing with Light and Life. We belong in a place with music, celebrations, and dancing. We weren't created for sorrow, we weren't created for pain. We belong in a place where all we will do is live in the Glorious Light of the Lord, praising Him for eternity.

"It is there, Lauren, where we will never have to say goodbye ever again - no more sterile airport goodbyes and no more dread in leaving our families and friends behind. It is there where we will finally be home and we won't remember the pain we feel now - and we will never have to leave again."

And so, at the end of the day and despite all of the hurt and the pain, I know that it is in THAT place where I truly, deeply, long to be.