stranger in a strange land

Psalm 119:19

I feel out of place most days. It’s not overwhelming, but it’s always there. Subtle, yet still obvious. Like the buzzing of an alarm clock in the moments before you fully wake. My roots go deep here. Twenty-four years deep. Fifty or so miles is all the geography I know well enough to love and call home. There’s definitely nothing wrong with here. In fact, most everything is right and good. It’s just not satisfying. This just isn’t it.

The problem is, I don’t know where “it” is. I catch glimpses of it often though. More so this year than any others previous. It’s alive. It’s electric. It’s definitely romantic (not in a “actress formerly known as Meg Ryan movie” way, but more of a “things are never as good as they seem” way). But its attraction to me is undeniable. I feel it most when I’m in New York City. Which has only been fourteen accumulated days. I feel “it” everywhere there. Walking the streets. Riding the subway. I even feel it when I’m fast asleep. It’s surrounding,…encompassing…enveloping. For me, New York City is the arch-type of “it”. The essence of home. It’s amazing that in a city of more than eight million people, I feel relaxed, even comfortable just about everywhere. I am surrounded by people like me. Different, but the same. Familiar…family even.
Of course I, like any small town kid, enjoy the amenities that city life offers. The food. The culture. The high crime rate. But even now, I enjoy all things city. I enjoy downtowns (even what little we have). I enjoy being surrounded by people. I even enjoy indie music. I’m in love with the polis.

I also tend to be maniacally competitive. So part of the allure of urban life is wrapped up in the question of “can I survive”? And even more importantly, “can I win”? I’d really like to know. I’m even ok if I don’t make it. I just must know. And maybe arrogantly, maybe ignorantly- I think I do know.
I can’t help but think that a lot of people feel this way. Maybe all of us that put our hope in Immanuel are keenly aware of this grave misplacement. This constant feeling that something remains out of order. We are even written of as being strangers…aliens…sojourners.

Wonderers ,though, we are not. We know where our home lies. We know where our journey ends, while not always knowing where it leads. We do ,however get fleeting foretastes. Swift previews of it. And oh, how they cause my heart to awaken. To become alive. Become electric. And these may be the only thing remaining in this age that aren’t romantic.

Because it will be better than all expectations and all hoping. Better than our requests and our imaginations. More beautiful than anything eye has beheld and more delightful than anything to ever fall on listening ears. We have a home. How my heart longs for it.
Maranatha