the pieces of my heart

I grew up in one place. I’ve lived in the same house for 20 years. My family was here, my friends were here, my church was here. Columbus, Ohio was really all I’d ever known. Until that day in August of 2005 when I moved away. It was two months at college before I came home again, and I realized that when I was at school, I missed home. And when I was home, I missed school. My heart was in both places, and at any given moment, I had to choose one place to be. I’m limited. I can only be one place at a time. All of us are like that. Yet both places began to feel like home.

It didn’t really make sense until this summer. Arizona became another home. The Navajos are my family now too, just like my family in Ohio and my family in Indiana. And coming back to Ohio made me see that there was a huge piece of my heart that stayed in Arizona. I’m not complete in any one place anymore. I’m always thinking about where I’m not and how those people are, because I miss them so much.

I felt somewhat empty after coming back. Like I’d poured myself out so much on the rez that it was hard to give more here. And there are very few people that will sit and listen to your hours and hours of stories and pictures and memories and laughs that defined your summer and changed you. I felt empty and drained.

Until the other night. I decided on the spur of the moment to go see Hillsong United in Indiana with a very dear friend. And as I was once again simply a part of the crowd, with music so loud that I felt it in my heart and couldn’t hear anyone around me sing, I found that God was filling up my heart again. He was taking the pieces and fitting parts of them back together. I was filled with love again and a desire to go out and serve Him more.

I still have pieces of my heart all over. Ohio. Indiana. Arizona. And now that I’m full again, who knows where else I’ll leave my heart in the future. God’s taking me somewhere. He’s using me for something. And I’ll take the adventure day by day and leave my heart where I go.

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