I think, for me, as someone who’s never lived somewhere for more that four years of her life, I understand even more clearly what it’s like to not belong.
To stick out.
I’ve been sticking out all my life. In other cultures, I stick out easily. When I come back, I stick out because I’ve been impacted by these cultures, by what I’ve learned, by the way I’ve grown up. I just generally don’t belong in a place, with people.
I don’t have a “group”. I get along easily with people, I can relate to many things. But I feel like, sometimes, just… a little lonely.
Little out of place.
For a place I’ve never been.
For people I’ve never met.
For noises I’ve never heard and things I’ve never touched.
Christians as a general rule are supposed to feel this. But when you live in the same house all your life, grow up with the same people, marry someone you know inside and out and have for your whole existence on this planet, you kind of forget just who we are.
We are a peculiar people.
We don’t belong here. We’re just visiting, we’re just here for a small while, and then we’re going to go home. See our Father again.
And it’s really easy for people to forget that. Feel comfortable.
But I’ve been living with it my whole life. This constant ebbing for a place, a home, somewhere I’ve never been. Because no place I go ever satisfies me completely, no place is as like home as I remembered it in my mind. But sometimes the ache is quieter, calmer, not as strong. And that’s when I’m with people who I know are going to be going back Home with me. But sometimes I feel…
A heartache for someone I’ve never seen.
A longing for somewhere I’ve never been.
Wanting to feel things I’ve never felt.
This is who I am.