So many different place we could call "home," and none of them will ultimately satisfy the definition of "home." There's a sense of permanence about the word home that we lack as missionaries when we speak of places that we live. We spend 2-3 years in one place, only to pack up an entire life (or a significant portion of one) and resettle temporarily somewhere else.
There are some nice benefits to this kind of "nomadic" life we have: anywhere we go we can "settle;" we have a community to belong to in lots of different places; our "circle of friends" circles the whole globe. We manage to cull much of the clutter that would otherwise plague our lives every time we pack up and move.
At the same time, that very flexibility prevents us from putting down deep roots in any one place. To use a horticultural analogy, grass can grow pretty much anywhere, without much effort; but it doesn't grow very tall, and it is uprooted easily. An oak, on the other hand, takes a long time to grow, but once it's planted somewhere, moving it takes herculean effort. Grass only lasts a year or two; oak trees can outlive people.All this to say, perhaps the missionary life is the best soil in which to cultivate the understanding that we have a permanent home, a place we truly belong and can put down roots. No matter where we unpack our bags or park our car, we have a home to look forward to. A home where our various circles of friends can all come together.
Until then we're sojourners; tourists; or as Peter puts it, "aliens and strangers in the world" (1 Peter 2:11). Maybe that's not such a bad thing.
