On my recent flight from Beijing to San Fransisco, I was sitting in an aisle seat next to a Chinese man filling out his customs forms. The directive at the top of the form stated, “To be filled out by everyone except US citizens.” I breathed a sigh of relief and was flooded by an immediate flashback of memories.
It was the summer of 1998, the end of my 2nd year overseas. I was returning to the US one sweltering day in July. We deboarded the plane and headed for the customs lines. After 20 hours of travel with a faulty air-conditioner on board, lines were long and patience was short. I finally reached the front and handed my passport to the officer. He glanced at my VISA, looked back up at me, and with a broad smile belted out, “Welcome Home!” Right there in front of the customs officer, I lost it.
What was the cause of this unwarranted emotional display? It’s not that I was overtaken with delight to finally be back in the land of the red white and blue. In fact, living in another culture tends to send me at different times in both directions—One minute grateful for my heritage and longing for an American sense of ‘rightness’, and the next minute embarrassed to identify myself with my ‘motherland’, blasted for unsundry improprieties on the front news page. Yet at that moment, albeit to the weary and emotional traveler, I bonded with this unsuspecting immigration guy. Why? Simply because he spoke to my weary soul—“Here is a place you BELONG!”
After the fleeting moment passed with strange glances from the man, I reflected on those tears. And I reflected on a different kind of homecoming. This time, offered not in the land of my birth, but in the land I have been longing for all my life. This time, words offered not from a stranger, but an intimate Holy Father.
Can you picture the scene? I can, but just barely. Many days the extent of my vision goes no further than desiring a pretty bouquet on my kitchen table to make my house feel a bit more cheery. But this is not my home. Nor it is yours. Friend, let us continue telling each other the welcome story of another Home, till we hear it that day from our Father’s own lips.
1 comment:
Tracie, you write so well!! I love this post, and have had the same type thought, though don't always reflect on this in day-to-day existence. When Brad was on one of his foreign trips, he went to register with the embassy. A guard singled him out as American, and took him past the lines and right into the embassy. We have the passport of most importance... to our Father's House! Citizens of Heaven! It truly is hard to live as strangers here, but it's a good goal. Thanks for your insights and using God's gifts in such a great way.
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