"Home" Ministry Assignment

Every time we cross the ocean, we're confronted with the concept of home. Every time we cross the ocean, someone greets us with, "Welcome home!" Every time we cross the ocean, we feel at home while also missing home.

This is a common experience in the life of a missionary, but especially in the hearts of missionary kids who have spent their developmental years living across continents and cultures, sometimes wondering where home actually is.

I will never forget when, several years ago, our youngest son was asked in a debrief to draw a picture of home. He drew three pictures: our house in Kenya, the house in America where we stayed during HMA, and the guesthouse we always stay at in Nairobi. The guesthouse picture even had a Dominos delivery guy bringing pizza on the back of the motorcycle! Ordering pizza upon arriving in the city is a core tradition for our family, and apparently that plus everything else about the guesthouse equated a sense of home for our boy. We had no idea he felt so strongly about that place, but it delighted us!

Now that we're back in the States for another HMA, we are keenly aware of the irony that "Home Ministry Assignment" presumes we are currently "home" but that is not necessarily true. It is true that we feel at home here, and even have roots here, but living in a house and living at home are not the same thing.

We have a lot more square footage here than we do in Chogoria, and a lot of things that make it feel like home. Having a TV in the living room is proving to be a wonderful thing for winding down at the end of the day by watching a show together. Having an actual dining room where we can all sit around a table is proving to be a lovely way to foster connection during meals. Having more than one bathroom is a slice of heaven on earth. We've looked at each other and said, "I wish we could have this in Chogoria."

But we don't have a "chameleon tree" outside our window where we can check on the chameleons the boys caught yesterday. We don't have a triple bunk for the boys which doubles as sort of gym for them.
We don't hear any hornbills flying overhead or any kids knocking on our door throughout the day. We've looked at each other and said, "I really miss that."

We've always lived by the motto, "Whenever we're together, we're home." This has helped frame our understanding of home as being more than a place, which is helpful as a family with more than one place to call home on this earth. Knowing that our home is with each other—and most importantly, with God (Psalm 90:1)—provides a valuable perspective as we continue living a life overseas.

Still, we feel the tug between places, the confusion of where our hearts long to be. When our son recently cried himself to sleep because of missing people and places on the other side of the world, we are reminded that we're not home. When our children's curiosity about life in America prompts them to ask a litany of questions with seemingly obvious answers, we remember that our kids have not grown up here and do not konw this place as home. They love it here, but it's complicated. One week after being back in America, one of our sons was unexpectedly overcome with a deluge of emotions because, as he explained, "I don't know where home is."

And all we can say is, "I know. I'm so sorry." Because we've given them a life that has forced this confusion upon them.

At the same time, we were encouraged during a recent debrief when all of our sons emphatically agreed that they wouldn't trade their life as missionary kids for living here in the U.S. instead. They expressed a love for our life in Kenya, including the going back and forth for HMAs.

Our hope is that, in the end, instead of identifying mostly as people with a lack of a place to call home, that this childhood of theirs will equip our boys with a broader definition of home: that of being together, being with God, and being joyful in their privilege of being able to call more than one place on this earth "home."

Every time we cross the ocean, we're confronted with the concept of home. This time is no different. As we hold the losses and joys of our circumstances in both hands, we look at each other and say, "Welcome home."