We flew home for the 4th of July (actually, we flew home for two weeks to spend time with our families, collect items we'd forgotten, and get some work done). So, we got to spend America's most patriotic holiday weekend riding the train through the midwest, eating internationally at the "Taste of Chicago", and watching fireworks from the shores of Lake Michigan. Aahhh... it's nice to be home.
But where is home?
We've lived in Chicago, in Ann Arbor, and now in Toluca. But we didn't grow up in any of those towns. And I'm sure the list will keep growing. So where do we belong?
It's hard to say. "home is where the heart is" "home is where they have to take you in" "when I was at home, I was in a better place" Authors have lots of coined phrases to describe what our home is or what it should be. But I traveled "home" for two weeks after being at my new "home" for only two weeks. And if I'm completely honest, I felt "at home" in many places. I felt welcomed home by loving family throughout our trip, even upon arrival in Mexico.
No matter where we hang our hats (or purse!), we're always going to be Americans. We felt that as soon as we stepped off the plane. We liked being surrounded by such diversity, such freedom, such opportunity as can only be found in the U.S.
But I think we'll also always identify with the Mexico we know. A country filled with such optimism, such passion, such comraderie that everyone feels like family.
So who knows when we'll be home. But it might be ok that we're wanderers, enjoying many places before God calls us home.
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