The more time I spend back in the U.S the more I ask myself the same question over and over again: “Where’s home?”
My dad is in Thailand, and I’ll be back there soon enough, too, along with my whole family. The only problem is that, though that is where I live - I have a house and a family there - I don’t really belong there. I don’t fit in. I’m a foreigner, not a citizen. The people there are kind. They treat me nicely, as long as I am nice to them. But, it’s not really my home. I am allowed to live in the country. That’s it.
The other problem is that the United States isn’t my home either. I have friends here, family members, too, but I don’t have an actual house. I sold my house and moved away. I might look like everyone else around here, but I’ve spent the last two years in another country.
I am totally homeless.
I don’t know if I’ll ever have a home again. I have gone through things that most people have never gone through. I’ve moved to and lived in another country as a missionary kid (MK). It’s my first time, and I don’t know how really it’ll really turn out in the end.
All I know is that I have to trust God and listen to what He has to say. He’s the one that sent me to Thailand in the first place, and He knows where I’m supposed to go. That brings a lot of comfort to me when I’m awake at night, asking that question. I know He won’t be leaving me anytime soon… or ever.