Homesick. . .

It's the feeling that washes over every missionary kid at some point, the longing for home, the land of your youth even though it is not the land of your birth. It is this land that beats with your heart, this land that breathes air into your lungs, this land that captures your mind and soul and lets your spirit dance. For me this land is Indonesia, the land of beautiful smiles, humble gentle hearts, the land that for me represents beauty and peace. It's flag is simple red and white and yet I feel the stirrings of my heart and the National Anthem reverberating in my head when I see it before me. I have been away for far too long, it has been 17 years since my feet touched the soil of my heart, since my eyes took in the feast of beauty that is Indonesia, since my skin felt the dew of humidity on my skin and felt that same humid air take my breath away, since my lips tasted the sweet Salak and sampled the Durian despite the warnings from my nose, since my ears heard the crickets sing, and hear the language like music rolling off their tongues, and since my soul danced with worship just to be part of this land. It has been too long, and my very heart aches and breaks with longing; I am green with envy for my sister who gets to go back in a few months.

I long to shop in the markets, to barter with the best of them and to see how shocked they are when a white girl with strawberry blond hair and a million freckles knows how to barter, and will not be taken; their native language flowing from my tongue as easily as theirs. I long to see the twinkle in their eyes as we pass that knowing smile of a joke between us that no one else understands, the joke of a kindred spirit. They are a beautiful people, a people with humble generous hearts, a people who love life, and laughter and who love to tease, a people who live simply with grace, in peace.

I miss long beaches and playing in the sand for the whole day. Going home with a sunburn face, blonder hair, and a face full of freckles, tired and exhausted from a day of swimming, shell hunting and castle building. I miss waiting for the sunset on the beach, the clouds turning pink, purple and the sun turning a deep orange and finally a deep red as it sinks into the horizon. I always felt it was like God lifted a corner of the veil that hides the glory of heaven from our mortal eyes to give us a glimpse of the beauty that lies ahead for us if we persevere in faith.

I miss the blue/purple mountains in the distance like watchful giants you could figure out where you were in the land from where the mountains were. They peak out around the clouds and the clouds surround them like a beautiful painting. Wherever you go, whatever island you are on it is always like a painting set up before you, you take more pictures than you ever even thought possible because beauty lies all around you. The beach, the clouds, the mountains, the fishing boats dotting the horizon is only one of many scenes that play out before you, causing you to stand in awe of the Great God who created such diversity and beauty for us to feast on.

I miss the rice paddies that stretch as far as the eye can see. My house was situated on a hill that overlooked rice paddies and every day I spent some time gazing down at the paddies below me, watching the farmers working the fields, watching the sun set over them. They were in a sense in my back-yard and more in tune with my heart that the landscape of suburbia that is the North American scene to look behind and just see fences, stores and more back-yards. There you could inhale the sights and smells, languish in the sound of nature that is all around you. The paddies, mountains, beaches, the star filled nights, and bright blue skies, the world at your feet teeming with life, as Anne would say, "so much scope for the imagination".

I miss my homeland, I miss the fruit the smells of the market(fish), the beauty all around I miss my homeland. It's hard to accept that I may never return and see this land laid out before me again, or have a chance to delight in the delicacies laid out before me. I love rice even rice three times a day, fried curried chicken, curried beef, fried bananas, Salak, Durian, Go-Fu, the list is endless and my stomach growls grumpily as I let my imagination soar with the dreams of the feasts that I miss so much.

This is my house, the shutters that were green are now Blue and although it is a small house, tears come to my eyes and I remember all the joy that I experienced there. All that I was taught and come to know, the laughter, the cement driveway my parents put in just so we would have somewhere to roller-skate, the red jeep(the only red jeep at the time on the island), the beatuiful people, the peaceful nights, I am homesick tonight, I am aching to be back where I belong or to find a new belonging but after 25 years it is just a dream. Maybe my mansion in the sky will be in the Indonesian part of Heaven.


This is my front yard. I always walked that path on my way to school everyday. The flood this brings back is indescribable.