A conversation yesterday reminded me of a Christmas when Michelle was little. With only 11 in the family, we celebrated at Pete's parents' home, and he found me in the bedroom, crying - sobbing, really. He hadn't seen that very often, so was distressed - "What's wrong?" I couldn't exactly explain. The Stadem family is one of the most welcoming I have ever known, and they were great to me - but at that moment, all that mattered was that they weren't MY family, and it was Christmas.
I had been a little scornful of my sister's crying when she was separated from our family one Christmas Eve a few years earlier by a blizzard; after all, she was with our uncle's family, what was the big deal? Now I understood.
Once in a while, I will get that same homesick feeling even when I'm in my home, or with my family (my family being husband and children by now). I think it's a homesickness for the kingdom of God. Even though this world is a great place, even though our families and friends are wonderful people, even though our lives are worthwhile and fulfilling and happy, we are made for something different. I cry on God's shoulder, and He whispers, "Soon you'll be home."
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