Homesick

So I’m home now.
My heart feels like it’s throwing up. I can’t stop thinking about everything that’s going on at DC and it makes me sick that I’m back here living my perfect over-indulgent life.

It feels so weird to have a closet full of clothes. I’m so used to having just my duffel bag full and I was content with that. Now that I’m home I feel so lost and so guilty and sick to my stomach. It’s like everything there had a purpose and now I’m getting lost in the excess.

I prayed for God to break my heart so I wouldn’t return the same way as I came and I think that He has. A part of my heart was left at the Dream Centre and I feel homesick.

Homesick for the community, for the constant togetherness, for the conversations, for looking out from the blacktop onto the Los Angeles skyline and feeling so beautifully small. I miss the closeness to everything. I miss the desperate search for God. I’m getting overwhelmed by all the noise. Not the sounds of life but the sounds of TV and the radio. When we were there at DC all the sounds we heard were the sounds of humanity and real sounds.

Now it may be just jet lag or angst or something but it feels like I need to change something. Like there’s something more than this. I need to choose what matters.

Most people know what matters in life but don’t choose it. Things that matter often require you to put yourself in a position of vulnerability. Things that matter are hard and scary because sometimes they don’t leave you feeling comfortable. They leave you on the edge wondering why you’re here. So right now I’m just trying to find a balance between my life there and my life here and things that matter and things that don’t. I’m scared to return to the land of things that don’t matter.

And so I pray.

For things that matter.

About VicToTheE

I'm a pudding-in-a-paper-bag type person who enjoys the Northwest Territories, my rabbit and long walks on the rocky shores of Cape Breton Island. My passion in life is to give justice to people who have been treated unfairly.

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