home

"Which food comes to your mind when you hear home? Mexican? Korean? American?" Robert asked.
"When I hear the word, I think of my family. No particular food, scent, or place. Just my parents," I replied without hesitation. But that's not all.

I also think of my parents praying out loud constantly throughout the day. I think of my mom singing like an opera singer in the mornings as she fixes breakfast. I think of my dad trying to cuddle with my mom. I think of long family road trips involving deep conversations, jokes, snacks, music, sermons, and some car sickness.

I can easily tell you how much I love Mexico. I can delicately tell you how much I miss Korea. I can now tell you how much I appreciate this small Midwest community in the States. But I can't tell you where my home is.
I used to find great comfort in words such as "our home is in heaven," but Reformed worldview tells me that "our home is on earth as it is in heaven." And I don't mind it. I have faces to imagine when I say home and I will see them soon.