I’m finding myself still desiring to understand more about
what it is to be “home”. I’ve been back
in the States for almost two weeks now and I can’t seem to escape the reality that
I’ve found myself living in for so many years.
It surrounds me on every front and challenges me the very minute my
consciousness pulls me from sleep in the morning. I like the struggle because it keeps me on my
toes, but sometimes it’s daunting – especially when removed from a community that
kept me so strong.
My journal entries lately have reflected this probing I’ve
placed on an uncertain area of my life.
It’s a mystery I find myself trapped in.
I love America. I think it’s
incredibly clean and nice (although the people are a different story – I know,
I’ve had this conversation with so many people). And I know that America is a place that I
will undoubtedly find myself settling in, however, I don’t know where and
perhaps that’s the longing I desire to reveal to myself. I know Wichita’s not it.
This is a reality that struck me as I was leaving back in
January. I even scribbled about it in my
journal at the time saying something along the lines of, “as I look down on the
city I used to call home – I know I shall never call it such again.”
Granted, I’m sure my words weren’t so
eloquent. But there was a tearing of my
heart in coming to grips with this, and maybe I’ve just been in search of home
since. I had a similar experience on the
flight into Wichita a few weeks ago. As
I was flying over the city in route to land at the airport, I looked upon all
of the lights that were dazzling in the night and I knew, with complete
certainty that I will never call this place “home” again. I will never again settle down here, I won’t
be married here, and I won’t die here.
And so I was forced to ask myself:
Where do I belong?
The easy answer would be: the Kingdom (or with my parents). I know, I know that I belong there. I know it’s my home and no matter where I go –
there’s Kingdom (or the roof my parents live under). That’s great, but it’s not the home I’m
speaking of, yet maybe I am. I’m looking
for an answer that’s full of simplicity, yet at the same time, crammed full
depth I can get lost in.
For once in my life I feel like a real vagabond.
I miss the simplicity of life that I found myself in the
last 11-months. It’s amazing how this
land of plenty can nearly suck a person dry, especially when you’re putting
nothing into it and it’s doing nothing to you but rubbing off (yes, I’ve felt
its affects). Yet it’s amazing how a way
of life can engrain itself into us, how despite the fact that I’m dwelling in a
land of luxary, I’ve found myself desiring to familiarize myself with a land of
“want” again.
And maybe this is why I enjoyed the environment I found
myself in at Church on the Street this Sunday (a homeless church I’m actively
involved in here in Wichita). Those men
were living with such simplicity in the materialism of this world, yet still
plagued with complexities of life that I will more than likely never know. But within the presence of those saints, a
likeliness of Jesus is so thick that you cannot neglect the reality of who He
is. And perhaps that’s why I felt as if
I was at “home”.
It was simply profound.
Maybe I’m just craving Jesus’ presence right now. I miss the community that I was in when I was
birthed out of this world and into another (Kingdom). I miss being infants with those brothers and
sisters, and after the year we went through, I just feel like a pre-pubescent
teenage guy whose lost for direction and, well, friends.
I hope my voice doesn’t crack.
So until I reunite with my “family” in January 2009 (cause I’m
still doing this thing), I’m a vagabond in search for “home”.
Reflection’s rough these days…
