The soft glow of my light blue vintage-style
“Hawaii 50th State” lamp beckons my thoughts back to two weeks ago,
when Ken and I visited my family on Maui, where natural light and warmth gently
nudged me awake each morning, rather than the multi-purpose lamps I now have scattered
throughout our new home. If I pause long enough from typing, I can almost hear
the sound of the myna birds and coqui frogs as they bellow their morning song. My
senses are suddenly overpowered once again by the fresh scent of Plumeria flowers
and my heart draws me back to Maui; the tropical landscape that I’ve called
home for all these long years. It’s like I’m there:
Tiny crickets chime in on key with their grand cacophony of
whistle-like humming. A sweet yet sticky aroma hangs in the air and the intense
moisture from Maui’s humidity clings to my skin—the dryness I experienced in
Alaska is now covered in nature’s healing balm. I recognize that in this climate
my skin is most comfortable.
Only a few minutes past 6 a.m. and I’m recharged and refreshed
from a good night’s sleep—we had the windows open and the fresh, cool trade
winds kept us at just the right temperature the whole night. Mashed overripe
bananas are the “perfect” accompaniment to the oatmeal muffins I start making
for breakfast. Rich, buttery bread encased in a lightly toasted crumb holds the
moist banana center in a perfect balance. Ken and I sit down at our family
friends’ giant marble slab table and dig in to our local farm-fresh eggs
medium-fried alongside freshly-baked organic apple-banana bread, made from
bananas my mom picked from trees outside the house I grew up in. This is a
slice of Heaven, I think to myself, as the intoxicating blend of bananas and
butter smells just like Komoda’s stick doughnuts—my all-time favorite dessert
from Makawao town’s local bakery.
But alas, these comforting memories of the
place where I grew up and visited recently, remind me that I am not on Maui
anymore. I’m here in Alaska, specifically the main city of Anchorage, where
temperatures hover above zero degrees this time of year. There are no coqui
frogs outside—at least whose song I can recognize, there are instead dogs of
varying breeds interspersed throughout our neighborhood, whose frustrated howls
replace those friendly morning songs. And the light that now fills my vision is
a rather muddled hue, not the welcome daily sun that rises along the Pacific
islands.
I find myself reminiscing with joy and fascination
at the romantic childhood I was blessed to experience. I am from Maui, and that
is a gift. It is something I take with me wherever I go.
My sisters and I grew up in a bucolic
setting, among acres of green fields home to spotted cows, Billy goats, and riding
horses. Adventures abounded for us as children living in a small town on the
slopes of Haleakala. My friends and I fought countless battles involving ripe
guavas (and some unfortunately, not ripe enough), and would hide out in those
barbed wire fenced fruit lots, climbing trees and watching cars pass. Not a
care in the world, except of course how we’d love to climb the social ladder at
school or be noticed by our crush. My best friend Katheryn and I would spend
hours after school dreaming about our futures and how we both wanted to travel
the world. Success in our careers always seemed secondary to the spirit of
adventure. I suppose this love for seeing the world and immersing myself in new
cultures and climates is a big part of how I am finding satisfaction in places
that can feel very foreign at times.
Visiting Maui on this past trip helped me
understand how very divided my heart has felt over the past 10 years. When I
left for college in 2003, I felt a wave of intense joy and also grief that I carried
with me throughout the past decade. It was a combination of mismatched feelings
that included wanderlust, the fear of settling down, anxiety over missing out
(“FOMO” as my friend Jen calls it), and the hope that there will always be something
more beautiful to see in this wide expanse of world—I just need to find it. I
suppose that for many people, growing up on Maui (or wherever they are from) already
seems like Heaven, so why ever travel or move? That makes sense and yet, it was
never my calling—to stay. I believe that God placed these desires to travel and
see the splendor of His creation on my heart at a young age and tangibly
provided the means to fulfill my dreams in this way.
In the past, I think I’ve shared how at age
14, I traveled to Australia on a crew team competing in the World Canoe
Sprints. Then, at age 16, I was given the opportunity to be an exchange student
to Okinawa, Japan. Since then, I’ve traveled throughout the United States and
Canada and visited all the places in Europe previously scribbled on my Bucket
List. God truly met me in allowing me to see the world and learn about people and
the places they live. My overwhelming sense of curiosity was tempered through
these trips although I always felt a sense of longing to be back on Maui—the
only place I truly felt at home. I suppose that I never felt rooted anywhere
else. Throughout my travels, the places I slept were never ‘home’, they were
just a bed (or a floor) where I could rest my head at night. I always missed my
family and the illusive feeling of being settled and safe.
But I think that is starting to change. This
visit to Maui, I noticed something. Something small and almost indescribable.
It was something in me that had changed.
While I love Maui and find my heart at home
being near my family and the sights, sounds, and tastes of island living, I
have a growing awareness that I am safe and at home regardless of my present circumstances
or physical location. Home is not a place that I can pinpoint on a map; rather it’s
a feeling of being rooted in my faith and my marriage, coupled with the desire
to press in and find community wherever God has me. Right now, home is in
Alaska where God recently provided Ken and me with our first house that we
officially own. Already it feels like home, even though we barely have furniture
to fill the space and can find multiple things worth ‘fixing’ or ‘replacing’ or
‘updating.’ Christ is doing something in me and in us, and it’s so exciting.
He’s showing me that I’m safe in Him and at home—a place I’ve longed to be my
entire life.
Praise God.
