Home

What is a home? Is it a structure built with four walls and a roof? Or is it more like the quote says, “Home is where the heart is”? I’m going with the second choice.

We moved around a LOT growing up – every year and a half to two years to be exact. And I’ll be honest…it was hard. Every time I got to be close to new friends, or got used to the way things were done at a certain school, etc., we had to move again.

At the time, I couldn’t understand why my parents (and why God) felt the need for my family and me to go through that. Why couldn’t God give my dad a church to pastor where we could stay for a long time? Why’d we have to go through some bad things at different churches he pastored? Why did some people claim to be Christians and treat us (their pastor and family) so bad? Why?

Then one day I realized something…Because of moving so much, I have friends all over the state (scratch that – all over the world). Yes, there were people that weren’t very nice to my dad and my family over the years, but there were far more good Christian people that were nice and did treat us like we weren’t just their pastor and his family…we were their family too.

Back to my point about the word “home”…

I always said I didn’t know where my home is. I’ve moved so much and lived in so many different places that I didn’t know where to call home. Then to make matters even more confusing (or so I thought), God calls me to Africa (thousands of miles and an ocean away). Because of this I really wouldn’t know where my home is. …or so I thought.

On July 30, 2009 that all changed. At a little before 6 a.m. that morning I stepped off the plane in Dakar, Senegal and honestly at the moment my feet touched the ground I knew something…I knew I was home. Home is where God calls me to be. Home is where the heart is. And Dakar is where my heart is. Will God change that one day? Possibly…I don’t know. But for now, this is my home. And I couldn’t be happier!