Yesterday, as we pulled into Wisconsin, I had my first real pangs of homesickness.
When we left Dallas in early June I struggled to say goodbye to my loved ones, church family and friends. Hugging my grandmother goodbye was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. Even so, there was a heavy aching by my heart to turn the wheels north and set out. In many ways, small and large, God had affirmed our mission in the weeks leading up to our departure. The anxiousness and doubt I’d felt just weeks before was washed away by a renewed sense of urgency. The only vague concern that remained was that I would get 100 miles away and feel the same “buyers remorse” I felt when we laid down cash for our Volkswagen van so many years and children ago (but that’s another blog for another day).
But, just like that, we drove away.
And it felt so right. Over the first month I found myself occasionally surprised and delighted that I did NOT feel homesick. And, since I tend to be a
huge bit of a worrier, I also made it an item on my daily “to do” list to worry about future homesickness.
Arkansas came and went. Being a border state to Texas and sharing similar character and hospitality to the Lone Star State, we felt right at home. Missouri came and went. Then Illinois. Then Wisconsin. But, the further we headed north the more striking the cultural changes became.
I realize we’re talking about degrees of difference. I have friends across the globe who've spent years acclimating to life on different continents. Wisconsin is not Uganda. Wisconsin is not Guatemala. Wisconsin is not Kyrgyzstan.
But it’s not Texas either.
I fancy myself a roadtripper. I love to watch the familiar disappear in my rearview mirror and new, exciting landscapes appear on the horizon ahead. But this is different. I feel every mile. And we’re heading further yet. But today, sitting here in a sweatshirt in July, I'm marveling at the good people we have met, work we have accomplished and adventures we have had. All because we have come so far.