The Infinitude of Experience

The most fun thing, socially, that happened across my two week break was an afternoon spent celebrating a friend's recently acquired US citizenship, complete with hamburgers and apple pie, red, white, and blue. I felt more patriotic that day than I have the past few 4th of Julys combined. I tend to hate on America more than love it, but as far as countries and political systems go, it's not too shabby. And it's worth celebrating when someone makes the decision and goes through the laborious process of becoming a citizen. What my friend said about not being homeless anymore really resonated with me.

When you are a Christian, you are by definition homeless—our citizenship is in heaven. But the citizenship and sense of belonging we have in America, or as anyone who has a home country knows, is a dim picture of what we'll have one day. My friend didn't even have that dim picture, though. He was twice homeless: no home on earth, still waiting for that home in heaven.

On a micro level, I feel a little "twice homeless" myself right now. What with the move and all, you know. And growing up and trying to find my place in the world. Even so, I have roots. I know what it's like to have a place to call home, and really feel at home and relatively secure. There's a place on this earth that I dwelt in for 20 years.

I have this quote by Wendell Berry. It's one of my favorites, because I've lived it and I understand it, and it thus doesn't tire me out by guilting me into action (haha):

If we are to know any part of the planet intimately, particularly, precisely, and with affection, then we must live somewhere in particular for a long time. We must be able to call up to the mind’s eye by name a lot of local places, people, creatures and things..The real infinitude of experience is in familiarity.

-Wendell Berry

I'm not sure why I'm writing about the move, leaving the home on the lane, again. I have become, somehow, quite detached from it. Yet, at the same time, I've been rediscovering the meaning of place—not just "of" but "in." It has something to do with remembering that God didn't just set the world in motion. He keeps it in motion, one subatomic particle at a time. Also, Watkins may not feel like home to me, it may not give me that comfortable sense of place, of belonging—but I see the feeling in other people. The little kid hopping on the bus, the man who plows the driveways in town, the cashier in Walmart who tries so hard to sign me up for a credit card, the barista behind the counter. I can feel home by knowing them, and feel place by knowing God.

I don't know where I'll be a year from now. I don't even know where I'll be six months from now. But I am blessed with a history that taught me what home feels like. The infinitude of experience. I'll know it again one day.