Tomorrow, I will face the Wood Between the Worlds and go home. I love the airport, even though it is not nearly the same as that wonderous place that C. S. Lewis created. I love the people-watching, the continuous book-reading, the pensive silence of the plane ride, the soaring rush, the mad dash to the correct "pool," the hilariously angry neighbors, the happy stranger-made-friend, the journaling, the semi-free-time, the exhaustion and thrill of flying. The experiance can grow you, if you allow it. I love to watch the world disappear beneath the plane's shadow and watch it reappear, after an ominous and/or peppy voice calls out over the intercom "We are now landing in..."

Every time I step into an airport, I feel a little older, a little wiser, a little braver. I like to think about all that I'm leaving behind and all that I'm heading toward, whether it be a week's or a month's trip. My imagination is on its toes while traveling through this home of nomads.

I think of the parish life and how it compares to mine. I want to see and know the world, but then long for that Chalmer's-like existence, that Heavenly hominess. Where lies the balance between world-exploration and home? The idea of covenental community depicts this perfect image for the visual learners with home at the center, moving out reformationaly in concentric circles.

But what about people like me? As a college kid, home means Franklin, Tennessee AND Marana, Arizona. Then there's the fact that my family is moving from Franklin to Spring Hill. How's does that affect the home to "not-quite-home" ratio? Then there's Puente Piedra, Peru, which I pray will be my someday-home. Then there's this unquenchable desire to see the world and see it well. Then there's that someday husband and someday family. And what about my family now? My brothers and sister have always been prominent in my life. Where do they fall in this picture? Or my dear friends, what about them? Or all the kids that I teach? What about the fact that those kids (the Pirates of Room Six) have stolen my heart from me? Oh, let's not even get into my life-long calling to teach and learn.

How does life balance out? Will there ever be clarity that does not totally depend upon faith over the actual fruition of all that God is doing in my life? Where does home begin for me? If home is where the heart is and my heart is absolutly everywhere, where's home?

For now, I'll happily settle for my Wood Between the Worlds.

It is my last week before my summer really begins. I can't believe it. I miss my family and friends greatly. But my heart is broken over leaving my kids. I am a teacher. Now I have to leave behind my pecious kids. Most of them I'll not see again. I knew it would happen, but I did not understand how it would feel. I'll never have another hug from Cisco, have another adventure with Sydney, or have another story from Morgan. What will happen to them? I love them so dearly and I won't get to see many of them ever again. My heart is on fire. I can't believe how much this hurts. Those babies have been my life for the past year and it is a deep, wrenching pain to loose them. I can hardly stand it. I want their lives to be filled with joy, with love, with truth. I want so much for them, all of them. I hate that they are leaving me. Next year, I will get a mostly new group of kids. Then year after that will be the same. How can I do this? I must; for this is my calling...I know. I love those children. How am I supposed to say goodbye to them? I pray that they'll call sometimes or even visit me. What if they just forget me? How I can I do this?