Homesick

Homesick...

This is a funny-ish, odd word.

But it suggests a sadness, a longing, an illness - a dis-ease, perhaps.

When I went off to camp for the first time, I think I was in the second grade so I was going to be an Ammikana-girl. Those girls, I found out upon my arrival at camp during the opening campfire ceremony, wore autumn-orange scarves. Very cool - the whole wearing of the different colored scarf-thing.

Before I left for camp, Mom said that I might get homesick. Ick - what was that, I wondered? "Well, it's when you miss your home so much that you might cry and want me to come and get you," she explained. "The first time you go away from home for a long time (I had only been on overnights at my cousins' or my close girlfriends' houses) you might get really sad."

Oh, for crying out loud I thought. Not me!

But sure enough, just when I thought I had it all "handled" - what, with me successfully navigating sleeping in my little red sleeping bag on my bunk bed in our little cabin, morning swimming lessons in the frigidly cold pool, camp crafts, eating in the huge dining hall, learning songs, purchasing junk at camp store and walking all the way down to the riding stable for my first ever horseback riding lesson - splat! It hit me in the face on Wednesday night like one of those wet swoosh balls that kids play with in their home pools. I think you can't take those to the public pools anymore because kids were hitting friends in the face with them.

Little Ammikana-me: I lay in my bunk sobbing silently. I wanted to go home - now, right then, come and get me - MOM! How could this me happening to me? Ugh. I was so lonesome and sad for my dad and my mom - not my sisters so much, not yet.

Homesickness, is in its first, fevered wave, a people/personsickness. Spell check doesn't believe that these are words, but I do. In this fevered state, suddenly there is an unexplainable hankering for the people who make you feel loved, the ones who say prayers with you at dinnertime or at your bedside. It's a desperate yearning for a hug, a plate of your favorite food, a special story and a good night kiss on the forehead.

The next wave of this sick fever is missing places. As you succumb to your illness, suddenly you miss your own bed, a blanket, maybe the swing set in your back yard and the little friends who come over to play in your sandbox. It's thinking about a favorite climbing tree or the family dog you pet every day or a walk down to the local pharmacy with the neighborhood kids, a dime from Mom in your pocket so that you can go buy an orange Push-up or rocket Popsicle on a hot summer day. Those were some of the things I was missing while at camp.

Oddly enough, this strange illness can reverse itself and revisit you upon your arrival to the home and people you so sadly pined for and smack - another wet whoosh ball hits you between your eyes: you miss the camp! For crying out loud - what a crazy, goofy illness. No wonder moms and dads every where have to warn you about this. Thank goodness they're there to help you survive!

Nowadays, I still get homesick in both phases of that mysterious ailment that overwhelms me at times. As time moves on and we with it, I think we miss our childhoods, sometimes. We miss the amazing wonder of growing up and of course we tend to forget the horrible, ugly moments while the cherished ones ebb into a golden glow.

I miss different things about the places in which I've lived: the huge sycamore tree I climbed in my backyard at 3301 Mansfied Ave and Indian Creek in Cedar Rapids or the flat rock at Luther College upon which I sat and thought and thought and thought some more. I long for Percy Priest Lake, Cheekwood Park or the Narrows of the Harpeth in Nashville. I miss watching the dolphins in Tampa Bay or windsurfing at the Dunedin Causeway or visiting the special spots at Delray or Pompano Beach inlet or Bahia Honda Key or any place where I could see the azure blue water off the coast of Florida.

I miss hiking the Konza Prairie Trail and climbing its big, 100+ year old burr oak tree, canoeing the Lyons Creek, sailing on Tuttle Creek Lake and riding the bike trails in Manhattan, Kansas.

Everywhere I've lived, I've befriended the flora and fauna of my realm. I got to know their names, their sounds, their dangers and their beauty - I miss their old familiar faces when I'm away from them, too.

But most of all, I miss people. And so I've come to understand that the first fever of the sickness is the most important one to tend to because its the one that can really do a number on you. My friends, George Baum and Michael Bridges, have a new song in their new CD called HERE.

It's called 2 Things and I've been singing and humming it over and over the last few days:

There are two important things about this life

One is love - and the other is time.

Time is short, love is real

So tell me how you feel

There are two important things about this life.

That's it. Short, simple - hauntingly beautiful and says so much. Oh, and I think you can get "songsick," too, but I digress...

Back to peoplesickness. Pay attention to that one. If you're longing for a certain someone - find a way to let them know. If you can't let them know, well, I say - just pray for them in an earnest, sincere loving way. Trust that God will tend to them while you cannot.

I kind of think that God hopes that we are homesick, maybe we'd call it "Godsick" (somehow that doesn't sound quite right) anyway, so Godsick that we long so much to rest and snuggle into the lap of the familiar things of God: love, peace, hope, forgiveness, kindness, grace and gentleness that we'd do anything to get closer and call out, "GOD, I want to come home!" Maybe that's how it is in our last moments, in our last breaths as we slip into another future and a home with God.

Well, until then, pay attention to your homesick self - take good care of the illness, treat your self and others well.

Here's a little "peoplesick" video I made. It's called 2 Things...