I’ve lived in a lot of places for my age, so I’m told.
Nebraska. Kansas. Colorado. Nebraska again. Missouri. Arizona. Kansas again.
All of these places have good and bad memories attached to them. When a hint of them crosses my mind, sometimes it’s joy and sometimes it’s sorrow. And as with most people, I wanted to find my place at each place.
But I’m not sure I ever have.
I don’t want to go down the road of, “of course I’m the different one” again. I do that far too often in my life. But I have struggled, in each new start, to figure out where I fit in. What I could offer this new place. What it could offer me.
I far too often associate a place with doing. When it really should be about being.
While I still believe that God is ever-changing me, I am still me in each place. I bring a new set of learning as I move on, but I’m still me, carrying around my baggage and my idols and my sin. But also carrying around the triumph and transformational power of Jesus Christ with me. So maybe I’ve been approaching this all wrong.
Maybe going to each new place is more about being than doing. Maybe it’s about finding home within myself, and not finding home in a place.