The smell of smoke fills our veranda. Our neighbors have
slaughtered a goat and are cooking lunch for their guests.
Last night at 1:30am the head of the compound next to us, one
of our closest neighbors and friends here passed away. His death was announced
with loud cries which lasted for hours. As their house is less than 20 feet
from our tent where we sleep, there was no way to miss what was happening.
This morning, women from all over the neighborhood
respectfully made their way to the house wearing long robes and extra-long head-coverings.
I joined them. We sat in silence. Occasionally the silence was broken by loud
weeping from the widow inside, which would climax and then die down again.
I sat as a “stranger” among them and yet as one of them.
After about an hour, I was smiled at by the 10-month old girl sitting next to
me who wanted to put her dark brown hands onto my white ones. We played this
color contrast game for the next 10 minutes, her joy and life breaking the
sorrow around us. Her mother took her away. And I again entered into the
silence around me.
I became teary-eyed. Lately, it’s been one of those times
where something’s not quite right…but you’re not sure what it is. I’ve felt
down, weary and emotionally fragile. Today I realized what it was.
I’m a stranger…and I’m homesick.
It’s not simply being the only white woman in our town. Or
being the only female follower of Jesus here. Or being a foreigner to everyone
around me (including my husband! J).
It’s more.
The longer I live away from the land where I was born and
bred the more I feel a stranger there too. Sometimes other expats will talk
about Americans and while they are talking, I ask myself “am I still American?”. I’ve lived the last third of my life now
looking toward or working overseas. Who am I? Where’s home?
Today as I sat surrounded by others who know they’re not yet
home, I remembered a song that my Dad used to request every Sunday during our
family worship time. I didn’t like it. I thought the tune was goofy, and the
words didn’t touch me. It was “Dad’s” song and when you’re a teenager, that’s
just not cool enough. Smile.
Now, I understand why He likes it. Now I do too (even if it’s
got a goofy tune). I’m a stranger…and I’m going home.
I am homesick. Yes, I miss my American family. Yes, I miss
our English family. Yes, I miss people who understand my language and being in
a place where I don’t stand out so much. But my longing is even deeper – I’m
homesick for heaven…and I am on a journey to get there, praise God! I wasn’t made to live here forever, and life
here will never be perfect…but one day, this stranger will be home!
“I Am a Poor Wayfaring Stranger” – American folk song
I'm traveling through this world of woe
Yet there's no sickness, toil nor danger
In that bright land to which I go
I'm going there to see my Father
I'm going there no more to roam
I'm only going over Jordan
I'm only going over home
I know dark clouds will gather 'round me
I know my way is rough and steep
Yet golden fields lie just before me
Where God's redeemed shall ever sleep
I'm going there to see my Father
He said he'd meet me when I come
I'm only going over Jordan
I'm only going over home
I want to wear a crown of glory
When I get home to that good land
I want to shout salvation's story
In concert with the blood-washed band
I'm going there to meet my Saviour
To sing his praise forever more
I'm just a going over Jordan
I'm just a going over home
