I’m in a time of searching, a time of pondering, and a time of unknowing. In all of this I have found myself time and time again “missing home.” Perhaps an odd thing since I am at home, and if you know me, I have many homes. Throughout my youth I lived in various places in Oregon, Illinois, Iowa, and Wyoming. Since then I have also lived in Washington (the state) and Ohio. I have traveled to many places near and far, all of which in some ways I could say are “home” to me.
However it is the land of my birth, the Pacific Northwest that I have been missing the most. Or at least aspects of it and things there. (Well I’ve also have found myself missing some of my ancestral homes where I have never been but which call to me.) I have found myself missing the volcanoes, wishing desperately to go and hike and climb them. I miss the ocean and the rain forests, wishing I could just go and run there. I miss my nieces and my nephew, my parents, sister, aunts, uncles, cousins that live out there and I have not seen in some time. I miss the berries… what you find out here is nothing compare to fresh picked berries grown there.
Yet while I miss all this of my “home” I know it is not my “home.” That is it is home, but not the home I am meant to be at. I’ve known this for at least nine years. It will always be “home” but not the home where I am at. That sense is strong now, even through all this missing. But I miss it all the same. I want to go and visit, but atlas I am unable to. So much I want to do both there and elsewhere and yet unable to. I am seeking for my place at this time, the place where I can serve with others to help heal and mend a world in need.
Peace be with you all,
— Lyle II