Homesick — The Storey Fam

Homesickness weighs heavily on me these days. Spring has always been the sweetest season to me, and I’m finding that even though I am surrounded by perpetual green that shelters beautiful songbirds and vibrant florals, I long for the fickle cold climate spring season where everything new is emerging from it’s long winter slumber.
In the past couple of weeks my mom and her husband moved from their house where they’ve lived for many years, into an older home where they used to live. While their new/old house is familiar to me, the boys only remember the home they just left. I was surprised at how sad I was that they moved, not because I loved their house, but because it was familiar. It was, “Nanny’s house” to our boys.
My grandparents owned a farm in southern MN and a home in Roseville, MN. Those two homes hold much of my childhood memories and I will always miss them deeply. I want this constancy for my boys, but it won’t happen.
My dad just messaged me saying they are seeking the Lord about the next step in their lives, which likely will mean the sale of their current home (again, the only home they’ve had that my boys know, and where I’ve spent much of my time with them over the past decade). I saw the message and immediately felt the lump grow in my throat. The tears forced their way out as I let me head fall in my hands. I am eager to see where the Lord leads them, but heartbroken for their and my loss of their home. There’s so much change and transition happening in not only our lives, but many others lives around us. Leaving is so hard, even when it’s someone else leaving the home they’ve lived in that you love

I find myself daydreaming about driving down the familiar highway to our home in Bellevue, NE, coming home from a long road trip. We always pulled in in the late afternoon or early evening, unlocked and opened the door so relieved to soak in the familiar -home. The boys would immediately run through the house and out the sliding door to our back deck, where the shade of the huge maple tree would be inviting us to sit and take in the quiet summer evening after our long journey. Perhaps a neighbor would be mowing, Cherry would be elated to have us home, Zeke would make his rounds inspecting each sprinkler and the squeak of the boys on the swings would bring delight to our hearts.
It’s the end of May, so school would be complete and a beautiful summer would lay ahead to be enjoyed with the travel, the visits from family and friends, bike rides to Culver’s with our boys, early morning bike rides with close friends, evening walks on our favorite path just a block from the house and ample time with grandparents. Grocery shopping would be simple, as we’d memorized, over time, what each isle held and we’d be relieved to fall back into our rhythm of life at home. I am a home body, through and through, as are a couple of our 5 boys. Leaving was remarkably painful, and as we’ve settled into a rhythm of life here, my homesickness has grown greater with each day. I’m sure it will fade at some point, but as for right now, I struggle to maintain bravery when I’m sent a picture of my mother-in-laws beautiful garden where we spent many evenings, or the vast Wyoming landscape with it’s stunning sunsets, or the Wyoming mountains where I spent much of my childhood. It still feels surreal that we are half a world away. It continues to feel like a long trip - that we’ll soon return to our familiar home with it’s familiar smell and sounds and settle back into our life that we knew.

Here, in Nairobi, the days turn in to a blur - they all run together as we strain our brains to understand and communicate in a language we’d never before heard. Our boys try to focus on their school work when all of their friends on the compound here are out for summer break and play happily and noisily, outside our windows. We are still getting our feet under us with running errands and grocery shopping and navigating the challenging traffic patterns in the city. Today I took Ezekiel and drove to a store 25 minutes away, by myself, and had a very productive shopping morning for household items we’ve searched for at several other stores. I was delighted that I finally had the know how and confidence to tackle this task without Josh, who stayed home to do school with the boys.
Yet, the more we settle into life here the more I realize, Nairobi doesn’t feel like home. Our apartment, while familiar, doesn’t feel like home. We know we’ll be moving south in the next month or so, and that always causes a twinge of pain in my heart, as I’ve grown to love the people we are doing life with here.

There’s more leaving to do.
There’s more transition to do.
There’s more learning to do.
There’s more culture shock to experience.
There’s more grieving to be done.
There’s more new to come.

I want Africa to feel like “home”, but I anticipate that is going to take a long time. In the meantime, I am learning to live with the nearly constant longing to be where we came from and where we are going, all at the same time, while fighting for contentment and joy in this season of life where the Lord has us.

Below are some pics of the last month - not in order, because it’s too much work to drag and drop them in order - for some reason they don’t upload in order. :/