© 2025 Amelie Chambord
Heart, Scattered
The plane touched down at LAX, but part of me stayed somewhere between the scent of eucalyptus on the Sunshine Coast and my nephew’s laugh echoing through the hallway. My suitcase is unpacked, the fridge is mostly empty (we’re calling it intentional minimalism), and I’m back at work, replying to emails like I never left.
But in the still moments—when I’m folding laundry, stirring soup, or brushing my teeth—a gentle tug at my chest whispers: you left a piece of your heart behind.
And in that moment, I feel a little fracture in my heart. Not pain, exactly—but a tender awareness that the people I love are far away. That I miss them more than I let myself say out loud.
The Heart’s Compass
They say “home is where the heart is,” and for once, I’m not rolling my eyes at the pillow cliché. It turns out, there’s profound truth hidden in simple phrases.
For me, home is the Sunshine Coast—where my nephew, who feels more like a younger brother, gives me that knowing look when my sister (his godmother) says something hilariously offbeat. It’s the clinking of dishes at breakfast, spontaneous laughter, and the comfort of not having to explain why you’re quiet or why your smile lingers.
But home is also Los Angeles. It’s church on Sundays and spontaneous worship in the car. It’s friends who drop off boba when I don’t ask, coworkers who check in with more than a “How was your trip?” It’s the life I’ve built over years of prayer, perseverance, and God’s grace.
So maybe my heart isn’t torn—it’s simply rooted in more than one soil.
As author Veronica Roth once said, “You can have more than one home. You can carry them with you in your heart.” That’s how I feel—like my heart has learned how to expand, not divide.
“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”
—Matthew 6:21 (NIV)
And my treasures? They’re people.
Love in Every Time Zone
Home, for me, is a multilingual melody. It laughs in Visayan, prays in English, sings along to BTS pop songs, and finds joy in coffee shops, podcasts, and spontaneous conversations that turn sacred.
Even while I was in Australia, I kept texting a close friend in London—sharing photos, funny observations, little slices of sunshine. It felt good to have someone who listened with care and responded with thoughtfulness. No pressure. Just presence. And that, too, felt like home.
Yes, I think about the future. About someone I’ll share all of this with—both the stillness and the laughter, the plane rides and the prayer lists. But it’s not an ache of desperation. It’s a quiet openness. A readiness. A heart full enough to overflow.
As Maya Angelou said, “The ache for home lives in all of us—the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.” I believe that kind of connection exists. I believe it’s worth waiting for.
And in That Moment, I Felt Home
Transitions have a way of stripping away the noise. They show you what actually matters. And in the process, they reveal what your heart has known all along.
If your heart feels scattered like mine—stretched across oceans, seasons, relationships—here’s what I’d gently say:
What I’d Tell a Friend With a Scattered Heart
aka Soul Insights
1. Home is relational.
It’s not found in walls or addresses. It’s in people who recognize your voice, who understand your pauses, who love you past the surface.
2. Your heart can stretch without breaking.
Let it expand. Let it grow. That ache is not a wound—it’s a witness to how deeply you’ve loved.
3. Longing is sacred.
The desire to share your life with someone is not weakness. It’s divine design. You were made for connection—and God honors that.
4. Transitions clarify truth.
They reveal what was essential all along. Often, it’s not the place. It’s the memory, the moment, the presence of God within it.
5. God is your constant home.
When everything else shifts, He doesn’t. No matter the country, timezone, or heart posture, He’s right there—unshaken, unwavering.
“Lord, you have been our dwelling place throughout all generations.”
—Psalm 90:1 (NIV)
Final Thoughts
My heart is scattered—and I’ve learned to see it as a blessing, not a burden. It’s in the Sunshine Coast, in eucalyptus-scented mornings and shared glances over breakfast. It’s in Los Angeles, in church settings and cozy corners of coffee shops. It’s in text threads with my London friend, in my prayer journal, and in the waiting spaces between dreams and fulfillment.
But scattered doesn’t mean lost. It means deeply connected. It means alive.
And if your heart feels stretched like mine, remember this: the more places your heart lives, the more deeply you’ve loved. You’ve left pieces of yourself in beautiful places—and you’ve brought them with you, too.
As Cecelia Ahern once wrote, “Home is not a place… it’s a feeling.”
And when love is real, it leaves its fingerprint everywhere.
So tell me—where does your heart live these days?
Drop a comment below or send me a message. I’d love to hear what “home” means to you.
© 2025 Amelie Chambord
Soul Path Insights 
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