Home is Where the Heart Aches
I am 28 years old. I have moved 23 times in my life. No, my father was not in the military.
In 2010 I was living in Tucson, AZ, armed with my BA degree and preparing to head to Spain to teach English, but the plans fell through. As I prayed, asking God for clarity as to what I should do next instead, he said, “Pick a place to live and make it your home.”
Considering my background, this directive was huge! It felt freeing to know that God saw a deep desire of my heart, to have a home, to set down roots, and it was daunting because I had been to countless places, hadn't seen many more of them and didn't trust myself to make a good decision.
As I was born in, and lived a more significant portion of my life in Missouri, I considered this my home more than anywhere else. However, I wasn't sure if it was the place I was going to choose until we drove over the bridge into the city while on a road trip with my friends in June 2010. I immediately cried at the recognition that THIS was home! THIS is the place I want to spend the rest of my life, to settle down roots.
Fast forward two years later. The Lord, my family, and sheer determination helped me move to St. Louis. While I now have a church family that is closer to me than most churches I've ever attended, dear, deep friendships, I enjoy the weather, city attractions, vibe, and surrounding nature, and joining the St. Louis Writers Guild and discovering ways to practice my artistic and musical endeavors has been rewarding, other aspects of “making this place my home” have been utterly frustrated.
Living in the basement of my uncle's house, with my belongings stuck in storage back in Tucson until recently, a less than livable job, my car permanently dying last year, and because of aforementioned sucky job, unable to procure replacement car or move into my own place, remaining as single as the day I was born and any romantic interests being slammed in my face, applying to hundreds of jobs and hearing back from three of them...and oh so much more, has all made me question, “Did I make a good decision in trying to make St. Louis my home?”
On my way home this week from my horrible job, I was crying in the car as I sometimes do after work, out of frustration and misery. All sorts of thoughts were circling in my head:
God asked me to pick a place to live and make it my home, so why, after two years in St. Louis am I still struggling to make it here? Did I choose the wrong place? Did I only imagine that I heard from God about that? I'm a lame loser who, after growing up with straight As, graduating early from High school, being in gifted programs and honors classes even through college, is now unable to get out of a toxic work situation after two years of trying because no one else will hire me. Will I ever have a home, feel settled, be able to take my belongings out of boxes and decorate a place of my own, maybe have a darling husband, a dog, a goat and a lovely garden? Or am I doomed to wander to earth feeling displaced like I did my whole childhood, until of course, I get to Heaven, my true home?
I read Psalm 37 constantly this year, hoping that I can trust God to act on my behalf, that these desires will be heard and bestowed on me, and that He will step in and make all this pain worthwhile. The Lord is all I need, and ultimately all I want, but if he says he cares about our desires and wants to give them to us, why does it feel like my life is crumbling?
The radio was playing as I prayed, questioned and cried. Just as I was wondering if I could trust God to make this place my home, this song came on the radio:
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