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Was it our love of honey chili fries or our mutual introverted outlook on life that originally bonded us? I’m not sure. I met Lindsay one year at a women’s conference and have enjoyed getting to know her ever since. Her thoughtful approach to life always makes me think and then there are the Wii Fit dancing sessions… 

When I read her latest newsletter, it made me cry. Sometimes the uprootedness of the expat life wears more than others, and I’m in one of those seasons now. I wanted to pass on to you the amazingly timely (for me) wisdom Lindsay’s got to share here.
There are a ton of travel adventures to be had on Lindsay’s blog “
I Was Here“. Check it out! Meanwhile – hope you enjoy this guest post by Lindsay…

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Some days it seems my life is like a Viewmaster.

Remember that toy camera you’d put the picture reel into, slide the button and the view would change? A whole new picture before your eyes.
Yes. Life is like that…

Here I am in my flat in Delhi.
Slide change.
With friends at a gathering.
Slide change.
In a mountain village.
Slide change.
At the top of a sky scraper.
Slide change.
In America with my family.
Slide change.
At a conference administering tests.
Slide change.
In a beach hotel talking about reading assessment results.
Slide change.
On the balcony watering my plants before they die of neglect while they are home alone.
Slide change.
With cousins seeing history.
Slide change.
Asleep in my own bed….I think…or is this a hotel….
Slide change…

Airplanes, I sometimes feel, make life go too fast. The changes too sudden, too abrupt. I can’t catch up with myself.

Along with the accelerated pace of life, living in and moving through so many locations makes it difficult to identify what ‘home’ is.

After a long afternoon out in the city, I once heard a three year old say, “Can we go home now?”
Intrigued—because I knew that his family was in the midst of upheaval and transition, their current location days’ travel away from the location they called ‘home’—I asked him, “Where will you go to go ‘home’?”
He paused only a moment before answering, “Where my bed is.”
Ah, yes. Home is where your bed is; home is where you rest.

Sometimes people ask me which place is home—India or America? Both. Neither. I am too often reminded that home is not on earth. I am not meant to feel fully at home while I am yet this far from Jesus.

And it makes good sense, because, as my young friend identified, home is where you rest. And if in heaven with Jesus is the only home, it is also the truest rest.

He invites us to take some of this rest now. To come to him when weary and taste a little bit of home. Until I have the real view of the Master, I’m bound to get a little worn out now and then. So it’s a pretty good promise that he can change the slide and give me a better perspective. He doesn’t even need a plastic, red camera-thing to make it happen, just the willingness to slow down and listen.

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