A year and a half ago my parents moved across Canada to be closer to all of their grandchildren and sons in law. Oh and me and my sister. Possibly in that order. 🙂 They purchased a cute brick retirement home in a little hamlet in southern Ontario and have settled down into a geography and sociology with which I am completely unfamiliar. I have never once wished they were back in my little home town. It was so hard to get to that last minute trips like the one we just took were completely impossible, and all trips (especially with children) were just really difficult. We used to see them once a year, now we see them once a quarter. The move was a good one.
It does, however, mean that when we travel to see my family there is no element at all of “going home.” We were visitors in the churches we attended, and strangers on the roads. We really loved our trip and our mackerdoodle is asking at least twice a day when we can move to Canada to be near her cousins, but we were guests while we were there.
It’s happened before and it wasn’t a surprise. The real surprise for me was that coming back to our seminary apartment in St. Louis didn’t feel like coming home either. The sights of the city were familiar and setting foot in our own place with our own things was comfortable, but it didn’t have that “exhale” quality of arriving home.
Despite all of my protests that we weren’t going to view seminary as temporary apparently I am doing just that. Maybe it’s because I know that half of my new friends are graduating in June and moving away. Perhaps it’s because we’re continually being asked where we want to settle after seminary. Or it could be that I was so unprepared for how much I would miss our friends and our life that the Lord had built in Georgia and I just don’t want to miss another place like that again.
But probably it’s just that we’ve only been here seven months and no one feels at home after only seven months anywhere.