Homesick is a funny feeling. One that I rarely cross paths with, to be honest. Restlessness is usually a more accurate description of my state of mind. Normally I don't crave the familiar; I long for the unexplored. I'm always on to the next, on to the next, on to the next. But today I miss all the things I've seen before. I especially miss the mountains. Few things remind me of God's greatness like a big, imposing mountain. I've always been fascinated with them; even as a kid, I used to try and comprehend how that huge rock was finite compared to God. I loved them. Every time our family took the weekend to go hiking, as we approached that place on the highway where the outline of the mountains starts to peek over the horizon, my face would light up and I would feel the need to confirm with my parents in the front seat that it was in fact "the mountains" that I was seeing. I'd get so antsy to be in their midst that every mile from there on in was more exciting than the next.
Now, living in a place where they call a slight gradual incline "the mountain", the rockies are a reminder of home. They're that token thing that I miss. It's not like I miss the actual rocks, or that seeing them will bring me a sense on completeness. What I miss about home is the people. But for some reason these towering mountain ranges are what I long for. Maybe it's that childish feeling I'm actually nostalgic for. Being so excited about the very moment that you're in that you just don't even know how you are going to stay seated in that back seat. So content with the right now, and so excited about what's to come. I'm not sure.
