H O M E. “One’s place of residence” as defined in the dictionary. Home is more then just a place to live. It’s where memories are made and laughter is heard. It’s where you feel the most comfortable and cry your hardest. Where your bed can go unmade and clothes can be left all over the place. Where you come in, kick your shoes off and breathe in the familiar scent. Home is a beautiful place. Home is also where the biggest fights happen and you say words that you don’t mean. Home is where your family is.
Coming back from Maz, I left a home in Mexico. I had made that base a home for 5 months of my life. I still consider it home. I laughed my hardest and I cried a lot of tears on the base. Coming home was easier in some ways and harder in others. I expected to have a harder time readjusting to life in Canada, but I fit right back in where I had left. Some of my friendships picked up right where they left off, even though I had missed out on 5 months of their lives. So much can happen in 5 months, yet it seems like nothing has changed.
I am sitting in a coffee shop, wishing I was at Allergos (Fellow YWAMer’s know). There is no beach across the road from my home here in Canada, only wide open fields. There is no loud mariachi band at night, only coyotes howling. No more cat-calling, because people are all looking down at their phones.
That’s a topic I have wanted to talk about, is how our society is so caught up in “us” I can’t go to a restaurant without seeing an entire family out for dinner and all on their phones. Walking down the street, not even looking where they are going because checking their Instagram is more important then watching out for cars. Where is this going? When is the last time you went out with a friend and left your phone in the car because you want to soak up every bit of your time with them? I am guilty of this too. Something that I am working on though. People are becoming so obsessed with themselves and putting on the perfect image and not letting people in. To see the real them.
I want to be real with the readers of this blog. I am human. I fart. Sometimes in public. I drop things and I break plates. Cups. Bowls. I have yet to break my phone yet. I hate olives. I burp. Then I laugh cause I burped so loud. I sing off key and as loud as I can when I drive by myself. I try and smile at random strangers cause it always brightens my day when somebody random smiles at me. I have a deep appreciation for good coffee. I love early mornings, even though if I sleep in, I sleep in till 12. Sometimes I argue with Jesus. I have frizzy hair, especially when it rains. Learning to accept the curls and the random straight pieces that my hair has. I am not perfect. I like to look at myself as a beautiful mess. I will never be perfect. I mess up. But so do you. Only Jesus is perfect, and yet he died for us to take our sins, to make us white as the whitest snow fall. Even whiter then the whitest snow fall.
I wanted to say sorry, if I have ever brushed you off because I have been on my phone. If I have appeared all put together to you, forgive me. I want to be real. I also want you to be real with me. Your realness is more then welcome here. It’s needed here. Let’s get down to the depths of our hearts, where we hide sin. Sadness. Let Jesus get in there and allow him to work.
Blessings + Extra extra extra tight hugs cause I miss you,