[So, by way of prologue, this post is maybe a little different than my norm -- maybe a little more personal, maybe a little more in-depth, and maybe not something I would bother posting on my blog if life was different and more friends could have already observed for themselves the underlying themes of what I'm about to say. One of the tricky parts of a long distance relationship is figuring out how to honor the relationship and let it be a reality even when most people can't see what's going on in it.]
It's a confounding thing to me when I simply can't find the words to even begin to express what's in my heart. Yet that's where I've been for months, my mind full of different ways to begin but with no idea what to say in the middle or at the end, because it feels to me that there aren't enough words in the world for this story.
Let me begin here: When I was a child, I loved Little Pilgrim's Progress with a vast and fierce love. My parents bou…
Another summer has spun to its end, seven weeks going by at a dizzying speed, crammed full of time with people I love and conversations, taking classes and writing papers, playing and traveling, crying and laughing, eating good food and soaking in the beauty of America, drinking sazeracs and arguing about English grammar, taking pictures and reading books.
There was a lot of time with a lot of people who I didn't take pictures of at all, and there wasn't enough time to see everyone I wanted to see. (Of course!)
One of my sisters got engaged. (We're getting old!)
This morning, as I boarded my first flight, Susan sent me a message to check out Jonathan Gabriel Masters' album The Spirit and the Bride. It's well worth the listen and comes neatly full circle to how I left Bloomington at the start of my three year stint in China, on a bus to Wheaton, listening to Josh Garrels' Love & War & The Sea In Between.
Appropriately enough, the first time I remember hearing Jon Foreman's song Southbound Train was while Depreena and I were on the overnight train from Chiang Mai to Bangkok.
Oh I guess they'll say I've grown I know more than I wanted to know I've said more than I wanted to say I'm headed home Yeah, but I'm not so sure That home is a place You can still get to by train So I'm looking out the window And I'm drifting off to sleep With my face pressed up against the pane With the rhythm of my heart And the ringing in my ears It's the rhythm of the southbound train.
Coming back to China for what is, in all likelihood, my last year to live here, the lyrics feel even more true. Beyond my favorite flippant answer of "wherever my phone charger is plugged in," I'm not sure how to answer when people ask where home is.