Since moving to the NYC area, I
have felt like a stranger in a foreign land. Living in small apartments has been
only one of the daily reminders of the radical change that I/we have chosen to
embark on, as I get my education. Commuting over an hour a day with such large
crowds has given me such a different perspective of what it means to be an
individual and to be a part of the collective. But as I move forward in my education, I find
that a revolution is taking place within my soul, in fact, within my being. And
if that isn’t enough change, our family is working through the severity of
spiritual abuse that encompasses the sexual abuse of our daughter and how to
heal from such breaches of trust. All of this has culminated to this place
where every part of my identity has been stripped and analyzed. For no place
has been kept from the intrusion of change and loss.
The normal modes of operation that
I have used for the vast majority of my life don’t work here, or at least not
as much as in times past. Each relationship has fallen under the microscope of
change, whether that was due to geographical proximity or difference in
perspective, I find myself without a home. I have said many times that I am in
no man’s land. I am not liberal enough for my new friends and I am not as
conservative as I used to be and I live in this place of unknown territory
where the emotional landscape is barren, distant, and filled with winds of change
that keep disrupting whatever I have tried to build as a place of refuge — or
home.
During this time, I have found that
David Crowder song, “Come as You Are” has been a mantra that I have held onto
by faith. One stanza of the song, Oh
wander come home, you’re not too far. I’ve wondered if I would ever find home
again. The longing for a place to belong
and be accepted has grown, but I questioned how much nostalgia was coloring my
glasses as I looked for a home. Was I constructing some prototype that graces
the pages of Better Homes and Garden picture or even Architectural Digest? Better
yet, did I have this vision of some
Rockwellish version of past and present friends and family all sitting around a
table that I had set for all to enjoy?
All I knew is that I had a deep longing, a place where I could come in
and be me in whatever form and be welcomed and loved and to welcome and love
all those who have been a part of my journey.
I think many of us want this in our
lives, especially after going through major change. We find that some dear ones
continue with change and others wave goodbye, and other turn towards a new
direction. Sometimes these separations are natural and other times they are
painful. I have experienced both and there is grief along the journey to a new
place, a new identity, a new vocation.
I have longed for that place to
exchange new ideas and insights that I have gained from my education and from my
experience of living in such a different place. Some of the insights come from
the changing role as a parent, a wife, and a friend. Other epiphanies have
emerged from the pain of so much loss and alteration. Nothing in my life seems
the same, each relationship has changed in some way and I have felt lost
through the process. As we age, we enjoy the familiarity that we build around
us, but when all of that is gone, not just through a move, but through great
loss to our belief system, we don’t always know how to rebuild and we don’t
always know who to trust in the rebuilding stages.
For me, I have had some dear friends
that have stood with me as I have embarked on this journey that started way
before moving out here so that I could attend school, but so much has culminated
during this time that I have felt very much overwhelmed in my process.
I think
this is why Crowder’s song has meant so much to me. The chorus goes like this:
There’s
hope for the hopeless
And
all Those Who’ve strayed
Come
sit at the table
Come
taste the grace
There’s
rest for the weary
Rest
that endures
Earth
has no sorrow
That
Heaven can’t heal
Today, I was reminded that I wasn’t
alone and as I called “home” a familiar voice of love and acceptance answered
and took the time to talk to me. Her gentle, easy going voice helped me share
some of my new ideas. I sensed no judgment when I brought up controversial topics.
As we talked about different things, I was able to pray for her, which isn’t
something I do openly in this season of my life. But as I prayed, I felt like I
was home— a place of familiarity, a place where I can be my truest self. It is
rare to find those people that can represent “home” to you as you are trying to
rebuild your own. I was able to dust off my travelling shoes and taste the
grace of being accepted and loved while I am in the place of deconstruction,
remodeling, and transformation. We are truly blessed when we have those special
souls that allow for broad changes, bold moves, and critical questions, and
yet, can still see the true person we are.
Today, I found rest for my weary
soul.
