With the amount of times that I’ve had to travel within an eighteen month time frame, most people would assume that I no longer suffer from homesickness. The past three trips (2009, 2012, 2013a) have been by myself; the shortest trip lasting 8 weeks and the longest lasting 6 months. Most people base their judgement on my social media posts and are probably thinking, “Dang, she is living the life.”
Well, reality check: I still suffer from homesickness. I still feel somewhat lost even though I’ve revisited Place A, B and C more than a handful of times. I still feel out of place in a room full of old friends and the nausea that accompanies displacement is very much real.
All those things still exist. Even now. Even when my family is here with me. We all haven’t been together in a very, very long time. Dad’s had to work out of town for the past 2 years and my brother’s had to live away at Waterloo ever since he started his Undergrad. And me, well…..I’ve been traveling to PH.
A few days into our family trip here, I was still feeling so bothered. My temper kept getting the best of me. I grew impatient and volatile. I couldn’t understand it. Shouldn’t my family have cushioned the hypothetical “emotional blow” that always hit me during my trips? Shouldn’t the weird jumble of emotions have stopped because I was with my loved ones? The anger and frustration drained me so much that one night, I decided to just leave the group. The innermost depths of me was craving for something. I didn’t know what that something was, but what I did know was that going to God wouldn’t leave me any more desolate than I already was. So I looked for a church.
I ended up at Sto. Rosario. I got through confession. I kneeled at the Adoration Chapel. I sat through Mass and received Holy Eucharist. And you know what? For the first time I felt good. Not just ice-cream-on-a-hot-sunny-day good, but ‘passing my final exam with flying colours and making the honour roll’ kinda good. I was a fish out of water that suddenly found my way back to the water. I could breathe again.
As I contemplated at the Adoration Chapel I was reminded of a promise I made to Him during the SFC precon praisefest. It just so happened to my birthday too. I told God that I was willing to finally give Him the one part of me that I hadn’t let go of yet- a very specific piece of my heart that was put on reserve. I didn’t have the strength to fight that fourteen year battle any more. It took me that long to surrender. That day He said to me, “Exodus 14:14, my beloved. Do not forget. I will fight for you, you need only to be still.
In the presence of the Eucharist and in front of the altar, I felt God whisper me to me, “Therese, my dearest Therese. You silly stubborn girl. Remember what you offered at the foot of my cross weeks ago? Remember that you promised me you’d finally give that last piece to me? Home is where the heart is and yours just so happens to be with me. It’s safe. It’s in my hands now. I’m happy that you finally found your back. My child, right now at this very moment …you are home. I’ve been waiting.”
All the puzzle pieces fit.
It all made sense.
I felt this sudden rush of peace, of final certainty.
Everything in this world is temporary. Even my family. But God, God is infinite. God is timeless, boundless and endless. I am made to stand in His presence, to bask in the love that is always present in His house.
Father, I’m coming home.
Amen.