Going Home
For 10 years, my heart had two homes. America with all its warts and beauty, and England….with all its warts and beauty. One wasn’t better than the other, just different. Two different lives and two different Homes.
I knew that if I was going to survive leaving my people and my country to go to England in 2011, I had to make friends, find a church home, and put my heart into creating a new life. It was MY responsibility to find happiness in England. I was successful in that for reasons that go far beyond love for my husband and personal determination. I know that God sustained me and gave me courage. I wanted to be happy.
My life fell apart in June of 2021 and I had to leave Home to go Home.
In September of 2021, I flew back to the States to find Home again. No place to live but with family for a month, no job, and the pain-filled discovery that 10 years of being away had resulted in the drifting apart of some important relationships despite efforts otherwise. I was a wreck. But see what I said two paragraphs ago. Even in my 2021 state of mind, “I knew that if I was going to survive, I had to make friends, find a church home, and put my heart into creating a new life. It was MY responsibility to find happiness…” I was successful in that for reasons that go far beyond my personal strength or determination. Once again, God sustained and provided for me. I have a new life. A good life. I’m the same person that left England but not the same. God didn’t just restore me. He re-storied me. God re-storied me!
We’ve rocked back and forth between 2011 and 2021. How is this relevant to January 2025?
I’m Home in my (cold!) home state of Michigan. My kids and grandchildren are within an hour. My siblings are in Michigan. I’ve a church home where I’m happy and I fit….I belong. I work and I have a lovely little house. Jackson is ever with me. I’ve made new friends and restored old relationships. I’m Home.
And yet…in the last six months my heart has been longing for Home. England. If you’d asked me even a year ago if I’d ever go back, the answer would have been a resounding NO. But as my heart has healed and my strength restored, there are people I know will/can never make the trip to America. I miss them! I wanted to go Home.
So in September, I’m going Home to England. Ironic that it will be within days of the four year anniversary of my leaving England. Just writing it brings tears of joy to my eyes. I’m going to England. I’m going Home. I go back on my own terms giving myself permission to not go certain places and not see certain people. Those are healthy boundaries. I would give you list of who my heart burns to see again, but I would surely leave someone essential out and I cannot do that. Family. Friends. Church. They blend in and out from one “category” to the other. Family are friends. Friends are family. Church is family. The people who stood by me with such courage in a terrible and painful time. They were family, friends, and church. I want them to see me as myself again and I long to throw my arms around the necks of so many–whether they like it or not! I want to go back to Bolton Abbey and I want to walk the streets of York. I want to ride through the Yorkshire Dales. I will shift myself via train from Manchester to Leeds and back again. And I hope for the blessing of wrapping my arms around Betty Longbottom as she lives into her 95th year. Oh the joy!
Home isn’t just an address. It’s people. It’s places. It’s where you can remember both happiness and sorrow, blending them all into a soupy mess of acceptance for what cannot be changed and what must be embraced with a heart of gratitude and joy. I’m leaving Home to go Home. My life has been re-storied. Thanks be to God.
