"Those whose journey never ends belong". These were the words that met me when I reemerged as a Dane at the Copenhagen Airport this frosty morning after more than two weeks' vacation on another continent. The words were in light above my head, an ad for Diners Club. I am not a member of Diners Club, but the words struck a chord with me. My grandmother never left Danish soil, only once in her life did she visit another part of Denmark. Her parents never even left their own village. But here am I, at the end of time, speaking several languages, transversing time zones, tasting different cultures, thanks to that wonderful invention called the flying machine. Slightly befuddled I arrive, ready for bed, because in L.A. where I spent my vacation it is bedtime. But my night has been stolen, a beautiful peachy and frosty sunrise announces the arrival of a new day. New beginnings. New doors opening, even if slightly creaky from jet lag.

Over the last two weeks I have marveled at the expanse of the blue sky and the endless ridges of mountains, driving through the Mohave Desert on my way from L.A. to Phoenix. Greeted tiny lizards on desert hikes, had my stomach do flip flops on turbulent rides in Disneyland. I have stood outside the courthouse where Michael Jackson's Doctor is being tried for murder and stumbled upon movie shoots, so you may spot a slightly befuddled overweight Dane on a street corner in a future episode of C.S.I.

There are a lot of people in L.A.! A lot of cars. And a lot of convenience and consumption. "I consume, therefore I am" seems to be the adage of that nation. I caught on quickly and filled a suitcase with purchases. In that vast city which is home to 25 million people I really felt like a displaced farm girl from Liliput Land. My eyes eagerly absorbed all the impressions, and Dave and I took turns exclaiming our amazement at the sheer size of the place. But I think that inadvertently I must have felt like a sock during the spin cycle in a washing machine. Was there anything here I could identify with? I am merely a drop in a bucket in the ocean of people in this world. Maybe Piet Hein did not draw his globus quite right, perhaps Denmark is not the cultural center of the universe, though I and my countrymen like to think that it is.

Belonging. I was a guest in a foreign nation and was welcomed with incredible hospitality at the home of my good old friend Susan. A few years in a row she came to Denmark every April and preached in our church and held a couple of retreats for us, and we became good friends. And she had graciously invited us to come stay at her beautiful home in Southern California and explore that part of the world. So after an unusually good summer for our business, we could afford the tickets and enjoyed every minute of our trip. However, at times a small part of my soul felt dislocated, minimized by the sheer number of cars, people and their different ways of doing things over there.

To belong. Not just to skim the surface of another continent. A longing deep in my soul. It hit me when the worship team struck the first chord last Sunday in Reveal Vineyard in Surprise, Arizona. It brought tears to my eyes and even to the eyes of my less sentimental husband. Worship connects me. Worship transcends culture and reminds me that I have another home. The notes of worship open the door to that home. Deep down inside these Arizonians knew the same God, belonged to the same kingdom, longed for the same powerful presence. That day I was reminded that I belong. Between songs they thanked God for the beautiful cool weather they had had the last couple of days (the usual temperature is min. 35 degrees) and I smiled and thought about how sometimes our worship leaders at home thank God between songs if we have had some rare sunshine. Different perspectives. But the same connection to another kingdom, the same allegiance to a God above all.

"Warm fuzzies" is what my friends in Canada call the feeling you get if you are particularly thankful and have had a great evening with friends, watched your kids excel at something or have a meaningful conversation with a good friend in front of a fireplace into the wee hours of the night. "Warm fuzzies" is a word that makes me smile and cherish. Warm fuzzies lingered with me in the car after we had said our goodbyes to Susan and thanked her for a wonderful two weeks of generous hospitality and a great mix of regular everyday small talk and deep spiritual conversations. We prayed for her and she prayed for us, and we drove off, teary-eyed and thoroughly hugged. We may live at opposite ends of the earth, but we have this connection, this Papa God who binds us together and makes us one in spirit.

So here I am, back in my small cold country, unpacking suitcases, doing laundry, answering e-mails, calling my friends to hear the voices I missed. Feeling like the richest girl in the universe. Because I may scitter and scatter across the earth, but what really defines me is that I belong. And for that reason, my journey never ends.