I Don’t Have a Home

“residing in this temporary home until I can be brought to my true home with Him”

I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve said “I’m going home” and then had to further clarify where I’m going. I use “home” to describe a number of different places: My parents’ house in Fort Wayne, my house at school in Bloomington, Acacia 4 at the ‘Buni in Kitale; Kenya, the two-story burnt orange house with the pool in the backyard in Sabadell; Spain, the girl’s home run by nuns in Abancay; Peru.

It has come to the point where “home” is somewhat of an obsolete term for me. When I use it, no one knows where I’m actually referring to. It always requires further clarification.

And it hurts my mom’s feelings sometimes. Especially when I refer to my house in Bloomington as home. She so desperately wants my home to be with her, always. And while my home is with her in Fort Wayne, it’s a number of other places too. But why? How?

Everyone has heard the homage “home is where the heart is.” I completely believe that that’s true. As long as you’re with the people you love, you’re home. And as true as I believe this to be, I think that’s also part of my problem.

Parts of my heart belong to so many people and places all over the world. And it’s created this tension, this divide (for lack of a better word) within myself. I never feel truly at home.

I am so so so blessed; to know and love so many wonderful people, to have had the opportunities to travel like I have, to have had experiences that take my breath away as well as parts of my heart. It allows me to hold true to one of my biggest mantras in life:


 “to leave a piece of myself behind in every new thing that I experience;

 whether it be a new place I travel to, a new activity I try, or a new person I meet


to share my heart – to share love –

wherever I am, whatever I’m doing, whoever I’m with.”


But I don’t go a single day without longing for those who aren’t physically near me.

At school, I’m surrounded by my best friends, who are essentially family to me, yet I long for my parents and my siblings. I look at pictures of all of the kids in Kitale who hold such a big part of my heart and I would do just about anything to be able to hop on a plane tomorrow so that I could hug on them , laugh, and play. I think of my family in Spain and I try and plan out the next time I can see them, because I miss them terribly. I shoot my Peruvian family a message just to tell them how much I love and miss them and I read through the letters all of the girls in the children’s home wrote me before I left.

And to be blunt, it sucks. It sucks missing so many people and feeling your heart being torn in so many different directions and places. And it sucks never feeling truly at home.

I think I would explode, literally explode, if somehow everyone who holds a part of my heart were in the same place. If we were all together. And I dream of a world in which that could become a reality.

And then it hits me…

It will be a reality. One day everyone I love will all be in one place. As long as I live as He calls me to, we will all be together in Heaven.

And that’s when I’ll truly be home.

“My heart was created with a desire for a home, a nest, a sanctuary, and that can be found only with Him in Heaven.”

-Katie Davis

Until then, I have to make peace with missing people. It’s inevitable. And I have to continue living as God has called me to; traveling and spreading His word and His love to all those I encounter, residing in this temporary home until I can be brought to my true home with Him and everyone else I hold dear to my heart.


love always,






2 thoughts on “I Don’t Have a Home

  1. Sarah, You are one beautiful human being. We could only wish that everyone could share your understanding of what is in your heart and your deep feelings. I am proud to call you my grand daughter. Safe travels always.


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