Well, she did it! Erin has purchased a house and for the next few months, before leaving for Uganda, I get to help her make it her own. Now, for those of you who don't know Erin, she is the person I have shared life with for the last 8 years. To me she is a soul sister, a constant source of encouragement and the person who will forever be called "best friend." She and I started off as college roommates and now we're family. And as I celebrate with Erin in this monumental accomplishment of becoming a homeowner, I am also acutely aware of something sad inside me. Grief. With the joy of this new home comes the end of our life together. We will soon separate to honor the calling God has on both of our lives. The next months will be a time of transition and letting go. It will be painfully sad and beautifully fun too! I'm sure this season of transition will be full of late night giggling sessions, deep conversations over pizza, Sunday afternoon naps, bursting into song with our morning coffee in hand, paint fights as we decorate the new house, negotiations about who will take out the trash and a thousand other things that fill up our everyday life. I cannot deny the rich joy I feel to be moving to Uganda in June, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that there is sadness there too.
A kindred spirit from Duke Divinity School (Hey Dominique!) has just started her own blog. She titled it "Remember Home." In her first post she reflected on the words of Jesus. "'Foxes have holes and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to sleep.' No home, house-----white picket fence to point to." She goes on to reflect on the 34 million refugees in the world and the sacred responsibility of hospitality. And in the middle of reading this blog I was reminded so clearly and so simply that God is calling me away from the place that has been my home in order to participate in the radical hospitality of a community called Bunga, Uganda. I don't know what this will look like, but I hope it will involve deep conversations, bursting into song, giggling sessions and my arms open wide in order to be and receive a tangible reminder of God's love. Because strangely enough, no matter our geographical locations, it's in God's embrace where we are all welcome. It's home. And there's just no place like home.
Well, she did it! Erin has purchased a house and for the next few months, before leaving for Uganda, I get to help her make it her own. Now, for those of you who don't know Erin, she is the person I have shared life with for the last 8 years. To me she is a soul sister, a constant source of encouragement and the person who will forever be called "best friend." She and I started off as college roommates and now we're family. And as I celebrate with Erin in this monumental accomplishment of becoming a homeowner, I am also acutely aware of something sad inside me. Grief. With the joy of this new home comes the end of our life together. We will soon separate to honor the calling God has on both of our lives. The next months will be a time of transition and letting go. It will be painfully sad and beautifully fun too! I'm sure this season of transition will be full of late night giggling sessions, deep conversations over pizza, Sunday afternoon naps, bursting into song with our morning coffee in hand, paint fights as we decorate the new house, negotiations about who will take out the trash and a thousand other things that fill up our everyday life. I cannot deny the rich joy I feel to be moving to Uganda in June, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that there is sadness there too.
A kindred spirit from Duke Divinity School (Hey Dominique!) has just started her own blog. She titled it "Remember Home." In her first post she reflected on the words of Jesus. "'Foxes have holes and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to sleep.' No home, house-----white picket fence to point to." She goes on to reflect on the 34 million refugees in the world and the sacred responsibility of hospitality. And in the middle of reading this blog I was reminded so clearly and so simply that God is calling me away from the place that has been my home in order to participate in the radical hospitality of a community called Bunga, Uganda. I don't know what this will look like, but I hope it will involve deep conversations, bursting into song, giggling sessions and my arms open wide in order to be and receive a tangible reminder of God's love. Because strangely enough, no matter our geographical locations, it's in God's embrace where we are all welcome. It's home. And there's just no place like home.
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