Strangers in this land.
We had hoped to hit the road at the start of this month, but our RV is still in the shop. All is well; my eyes can be a bit too big for my stomach when it comes to my appetite for adventure and travel, and the universe in all its wisdom has held me by the shoulders, forcing me to slow it down a bit. So we are squeezing every drop of enjoyment from these last days in our stationary home, soaking up the sun at the pool, sweating away stress in the gym, serving up all the food that’s left in our freezer and pantry, selling off our possessions to the highest bidder, spinning loads of laundry while the machines sit in our bathroom instead of a quarter-mile across a campground.
I have enough self-awareness to know that it probably seems like we’ve completely lost it. Last year, in a climate where everyone was playing the real estate market, we sold our home and our only source of equity, paid off debt, and moved into a temporary apartment. In the shadow of a recession, we walked away from our only source of income with no other job lined up and bought an RV. While inflation hangs in the air like a curse word, we’ve sold most of our possessions. In a world that’s getting lonelier by the minute, we left our church community clinging to our hope of finding something that looks a little more like the Gospel, pure and simple..
But then again, following God’s lead can look pretty foolish at times.
We’ve had a lot of people ask us where we’re heading, and honestly, I have absolutely no clue. We’ve changed our plans so many times I’ve lost count. We’ve interviewed for jobs in Oregon, Washington, Alaska, and Pennsylvania. Our current plan is to hang out somewhere in California while we wait on word from a job opportunity for Kelley in west Portland, but that plan keeps shifting with the wildfire map.
Never have I ever felt more like an alien on this planet than I do now. Today’s world is almost completely unrecognizable to me. When I look around at all of the things shouting out for our time, our attention, our affection—cryptocurrency, custom Nikes, Teslas, the latest tech, political parties, even influence and followings—it all seems so foreign to me now. While I once would have aspired to attain a beautiful house and beautiful things to fill it with, while I once would have associated success with more and not less—that just isn’t feeling quite right these days.
The more I read about the life of Jesus, the more I discover how transient his lifestyle here on Earth was. The more I realize just how much he encouraged people to lighten their loads rather than gather up more, to get their eyes off possessions and status and influence and onto the things of Heaven, and to walk through this life with a healthy dose of detachment to the temporal. He knew that most often, worldly possessions and success only served as a distraction to keep us majoring on the minors and focused on self. He had nothing of this world to distract him from the people He was called to reach for the life beyond this one. People are eternal; everything else is just made of sand.
“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Matthew 6:19-20
As I dismantle this life we built in Portland and sell it off piece by piece, strangely it doesn’t bother me in the slightest. Over the past several years, I’ve been learning the difficult discipline of holding the things of this world with an open hand. It’s a lesson that’s painful in the prying, cramping from fingers wrapped tightly around the things the world tells me are most important. The letting go isn’t comfortable, but then, magnificent, eternal things rarely come to the doorstep of our comfort zone. No, we must step out for them, even if we can’t see what we’re stepping out onto. We can’t see where our footing will come from, but we trust it will come nonetheless, and if it doesn’t…well, we know we just can’t stay on this ledge forever, tucked away in our comforts, wrapped warmly in our status.
“If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.” C.S. Lewis
This world is not our home, which may explain why nowhere feels like home to me at the moment. When we moved to Portland, it was because the Lord laid this land on our hearts after a period of feeling like we were wanderers in the wilderness, so maybe a new land is just over the horizon. Or maybe, what He wants from me now is to find my home in Him, right where it was created to be. Maybe I will continue to feel like the wandering alien until He returns to take me to my eternal home.
So I’m here, open hands and light burden. Resolving to plant my feet firmly in His Word instead of my circumstances, embracing discomfort for the sake of something even better, something more sanctifying, something that’s eternal.