Many have told us:
“So glad you’re home!”
“Couldn’t wait for you to get home.”
With our return to the states on furlough, we have called our small town here “home” followed by a few sentences later “when we get home” meaning our home in Polokwane, South Africa.
It’s a catch-22:
We feel like traitors when we call our hometown “home” for we know in our hearts Polokwane is our home. Yet we don’t want to hurt people’s feelings by saying “This is not our home.”
Recently I wrote on home being where our heart is and our heart being at different places at once. While we are physically here and are truly enjoying our time with family and friends our hearts are with, not so much Polokwane but, the people we minister to in Mozambique.
How is Ernest doing with the garden?
Have the women learned their memory verse?
How are baby Esaya and the rest of Albertina’s children?
Because of the flooding which caused the border post to still be closed, we have been unable to go into Mozambique. But as it has always happened each time we have gone in…
We cross the border and begin our journey to Xicumbane on the sand-filled road and know we are finally at home.
We can’t wait until that feeling of “home” happens.