Going Home. . .Yet now so far away from home

It’s an interesting place I find myself this morning. Halfway between the two worlds that I know. Frankfurt is overcast this morning, a stark reminder that I’m nowhere near my sub-tropical home in Africa where the sky is always blue. Neither am I near the home where I grew up where red, white, and blue flags fly in the breeze.

I wanted to shed a few tears yesterday and it wasn’t from Joburg’s hectic airport or from the fact that ‘I’m leaving on a jet plane’ played in the background. I was going home, while at the same time missed the home I was leaving behind. It’s an interesting phenomenon, living in two worlds, and being a part of two cultures.

I can’t deny who I am, or where I was born, and neither do I want to. My children, though, who still speak of Texas, now have a South African accent, love braiis, and riding in our bakkie. Gabriel plays field hockey and rugby while dreaming of becoming a Navy Seal.

Cultures mesh, languages flow together, seasons change, and I become more of another culture without ever wanting to lose who I was. And so I find myself going home, so far away from home.