Searching for Home
By Jenny Thomas
Sometimes, like this morning, I find myself at a sadly familiar sort of crossroads. Sitting home on a non-teaching morning, I feel the weight of all the responsible things I “should” be doing (the things I tell myself all week, “Oh, I’ll do that on Thursday morning when I don’t have to teach.”) Somehow, when Thursday morning arrives, I find that all I really want to do is retreat into a certain sort of life-avoiding numbness: sleep, watch a DVD, read a mindless book, bake cookies, surf the net…
Of course, there is nothing wrong with resting. If it were real rest I needed, I would be the first to grant myself the grace to enjoy any of the above. But I’m well-rested. So, what’s the deeper issue here?
As I reflect on life this morning, I’m aware that there is a part of me, even away from the crazy Southern California culture in which I grew up, that wants to maintain or manufacture constant distraction from a real awareness of who and where I am in life. On some level, I never quite feel at home in my own skin. (I've heard that's typical for twenty-somethings.) Nowadays, that struggle is compounded by the fact that my skin finds itself in a place that, while often masquerading as "home," often doesn’t feel that way.
Is there something that God wants to teach me in this longing to feel “at home” in this stage of life?
Being that this is Matt’s and my third year in Prague, you might suspect that we feel at home here. And, most of the time we do. Things are familiar and have become much easier. We love our flat, enjoy the teaching we do, and feel confident that this is where God has called us to be for this season in our lives.
But, in many ways, this place does not feel like home. When we’re tongue-tied to communicate our basic needs or desires to impatient shop keepers, we feel like foreigners in our home. When we confront racism and values that stand in stark opposition to things we hold so profoundly true, we’re acutely aware that our way of being is “alien” to the very people we long to connect with and serve.
When these uncomfortable realities jar the relatively comfortable routine I’ve developed in this place, I have a few options. The first, and unfortunately the one I most often choose, is to hide from the pain in my self-made comfort zone. In my first two years, that often meant longing for my American home, idealizing my former life and dreaming of my speedy return to a place where things made sense. Nowadays, having made several visits to that home and realizing that God still has purpose for me here, I instead retreat to the little part of this place that feels safe and home-like (my flat, my husband, my American friends, my favorite ex-pat hang outs), and try to wait out the discomfort.
The other option—the one that tugs at my heart in moments when I’m open enough to allow it—is to let God show me where my real Home is. This Home is a place, not of familiar comforts, yet of true comfort. It’s the place where God, my Father, ministers to my heart’s real needs while drawing me out in faith to take new risks and find myself growing more into the person God is calling me to become. I’m aware that it is out of resting in this Home, that I’m renewed and equipped to reach out in the work and ministry that God called me here to do. Sometimes that is the scariest thing I can imagine, but as I take small steps of faith toward God’s open arms, I find the sort of peace that I was searching so desperately for in all my attempts to find home. God has been faithful. God will be faithful. Will I trust that and let God be my truest Home?
Sometimes, like this morning, I find myself at a sadly familiar sort of crossroads. Sitting home on a non-teaching morning, I feel the weight of all the responsible things I “should” be doing (the things I tell myself all week, “Oh, I’ll do that on Thursday morning when I don’t have to teach.”) Somehow, when Thursday morning arrives, I find that all I really want to do is retreat into a certain sort of life-avoiding numbness: sleep, watch a DVD, read a mindless book, bake cookies, surf the net…
Of course, there is nothing wrong with resting. If it were real rest I needed, I would be the first to grant myself the grace to enjoy any of the above. But I’m well-rested. So, what’s the deeper issue here?
As I reflect on life this morning, I’m aware that there is a part of me, even away from the crazy Southern California culture in which I grew up, that wants to maintain or manufacture constant distraction from a real awareness of who and where I am in life. On some level, I never quite feel at home in my own skin. (I've heard that's typical for twenty-somethings.) Nowadays, that struggle is compounded by the fact that my skin finds itself in a place that, while often masquerading as "home," often doesn’t feel that way.
Is there something that God wants to teach me in this longing to feel “at home” in this stage of life?
Being that this is Matt’s and my third year in Prague, you might suspect that we feel at home here. And, most of the time we do. Things are familiar and have become much easier. We love our flat, enjoy the teaching we do, and feel confident that this is where God has called us to be for this season in our lives.
But, in many ways, this place does not feel like home. When we’re tongue-tied to communicate our basic needs or desires to impatient shop keepers, we feel like foreigners in our home. When we confront racism and values that stand in stark opposition to things we hold so profoundly true, we’re acutely aware that our way of being is “alien” to the very people we long to connect with and serve.
When these uncomfortable realities jar the relatively comfortable routine I’ve developed in this place, I have a few options. The first, and unfortunately the one I most often choose, is to hide from the pain in my self-made comfort zone. In my first two years, that often meant longing for my American home, idealizing my former life and dreaming of my speedy return to a place where things made sense. Nowadays, having made several visits to that home and realizing that God still has purpose for me here, I instead retreat to the little part of this place that feels safe and home-like (my flat, my husband, my American friends, my favorite ex-pat hang outs), and try to wait out the discomfort.
The other option—the one that tugs at my heart in moments when I’m open enough to allow it—is to let God show me where my real Home is. This Home is a place, not of familiar comforts, yet of true comfort. It’s the place where God, my Father, ministers to my heart’s real needs while drawing me out in faith to take new risks and find myself growing more into the person God is calling me to become. I’m aware that it is out of resting in this Home, that I’m renewed and equipped to reach out in the work and ministry that God called me here to do. Sometimes that is the scariest thing I can imagine, but as I take small steps of faith toward God’s open arms, I find the sort of peace that I was searching so desperately for in all my attempts to find home. God has been faithful. God will be faithful. Will I trust that and let God be my truest Home?
posted by Jenny at 5:15 PM
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