There's No Place Like Home....But Where's Home?

I need to renew my car tags by the end of this month. So I go online to complete this process in enough time to have the new stickers mailed from Arkansas to me here in Miami. It turns out that I am required to have a renewal ID number to register online. The website tells me that the ID number is on the reminder letter that was mailed to the address registered with the owner of the car. So, I call my mother to see if the letter was mailed to her house. It was. But the letter informs her that I have a mandatory license plate replacement this year. I can't get new tags without a new license plate. This sounds like an unnecessary money taking venture by the state of Arkansas. But, that aside, I must get new plates. As you all know, I do not live in Arkansas. I live in Miami, FL (aka Latin America). So my poor mother is going to do the horrible deed for me, probably at 7am at the DMV. She then will mail me the tags and I will mail her a check for $19.75 for the plates.

The reason for this story is that it makes me miss home. There truly is no place like home, but where is my home right now? I have a Texas ID that has an address on South Hills Drive. I have an Arkansas Driver's License that has an address on Huntington Place. My return address stamps have an address on John Greer Boulevard in Grand Cayman. And my current paycheck has an address on South Miami Avenue. Whenever I purchase something online I have to go through a mental Rolodex to figure out which address corresponds to which credit card.

My doctor is in Arkansas. My car insurance is in Arkansas. My health insurance address is Arkansas. My car tags are registered in Arkansas. You would think I could call Arkansas 'home'. But the last time I actually lived in Arkansas was 2002! 2002!! That was 6 years ago.

Today was a crazy, difficult day. On my way home from a disastrous trip to Sam's Club, Office Max, Taco Bell, and Walgreen's I muttered under my breath..."I just want to go home." I was not longing for our high-rise apartment in downtown Latin America. I was longing for a home. A home with a familiar bank down the street. My doctor a short distance away. A place with our own furniture and our own paintings on the walls. I want a home. I want to know what my address is every time I make a purchase. I do not feel comfortable as a nomad. I need to be rooted. I long to be rooted in a firm place in my own little garden.

But one thing I know for sure is that if I were to stay rooted in my comfort zone, I would not grow as a person like I am now. I would not have learned to appreciate the life I've been given in the same sense I have over the past 2 years. My favorite story from my High School Youth Group is the description of Jesus walking on water and the disciples watching him from their boat. Jesus told one of them to step out of the boat and walk over to him across the waves. The disciple was scared and did not want to do it. But Jesus said something along the lines of "trust me, I will not let you drown." My youth leader used that story as an example of getting out of your comfort zone and trusting God to take care of you no matter what. I always go back to that when I know I am out of my comfort zone. I need to rely on that today.

This is not a bad life that Barrett and I have in Miami. We are blessed beyond what we deserve. We have a very nice apartment. I car that's paid for and runs well. I have a job. Barrett is in a great school and doing very well. We are blessed. I am not having a pity party for myself. Every once in awhile I just get slapped in the face with the crazy reality of this nomadic lifestyle we currently have. It won't always be this way. I have faith in that. And I'm sure all of this will make me more appreciative of my home when my driver's license, checks, health insurance, car insurance, credit card statement, paycheck and electric bill all have the same address on them.