I have been missing France lately. I really enjoyed it when I was there in April – possibly because I was striking out on my own, I had arranged it all myself, I was being entirely independent and seeing what I wanted to see, and experiencing the joy of new things. I got to catch up with beloved friends. I wandered around and enjoyed exploring. I ate well. I stayed in lovely places. I revelled in the beauty, in the otherness of the surrounds. I delighted in the sound of that beautiful language.
Sometimes I wish I was there still, but I have to keep remembering that if I lived there, eventually I would catch up to myself. I’d still have to work through the issues that I’m working through, and life wouldn’t be like it was on holidays because, well, it wouldn’t be holidays anymore.
At the same time, I’ve been feeling so grateful for our house and the level of comfort mum and I enjoy, living here. It’s so strange feeling at home somewhere, but feeling restless, like maybe you belong somewhere else at the same time. I think that’s part of the Christian thing as well, that we live on this Earth for a time, but we really do belong somewhere else. This isn’t our home. Maybe that’s why it feels so hard to be here sometimes.
But in the meantime, I have to keep thanking God for little joys. And maybe I’ll go and watch Amelie again…