“Mom, can I do my senior year of high school in the USA?” asked my 17-year-old daughter, who’d been born, raised and homeschooled in Fiji. Three years of online high school in an isolated location (topped off by 6 months of at-home covid quarantine) made even my most introverted child realize her dire need for socialization and a chance to get to know her passport country. 

My husband and I felt God’s peace about returning to the USA for a school year. We wanted to be able to say, “Let’s go home.” The problem was, we didn’t know where home was. After 21 years, we had lived in Fiji longer than anywhere. If not Fiji, where was home? My husband grew up as a MK, as did his father before him. I grew up in the USA but moved every year or so. Our parents had passed away or moved to new places. No familiar places could be called “home.” Where did we belong? 

I wrestled for a while with the meaning of home. If home was a place, we were in trouble (and would be for the next two years of transience and uncertainty ahead of us)! God reminded me that my true home is not a place, it’s a Person. My home is Christ—and not just one day in heaven, but right now, right here (wherever “here” is)!  

Christ is my foundation, my belonging. Christ is the one I build my life upon, because everything else is shifting sand. I am a sojourner on this earth, looking forward to one day enjoying my true home with Christ, forever in heaven.  

Abraham left home and traveled to a new place as he obeyed God’s leading. The Son of Man had no place to lay his head. Who am I to complain that I don’t have an earthly home? Instead, I’ve been praising God for the dependence that comes when I realize that He is my one true home. He’s the place where I belong.