We Are Home

My emotions are... special.

A little delayed.

Sometimes eons behind the time.

I like them. I'm very attached to my emotions. But I'm a little oblivious.

For example, it took me weeks to break down after my grandmother died. I'm slow to find embarrassing situations funny. And I have a tendency to say, "I'm fine! I'm fine!" (and firmly believe it) and then completely lose it several weeks later.

Which is why no one should be surprised that one week ago, I finally realized... that I live in Philadelphia.

Yes. We've been here for over two years.

Yup, I've become a registered PA voter. I shop at local institutions, I say "wutter ice," and I completely and totally love cheesesteaks. Love them. I live in Pennsylvania. I love Philadelphia. And, while I'm not in the city-proper, I have grown to love this scrappy, blue-collar town teasingly known as the "City of Brotherly Shove."

But about a week ago it hit me.

THIS. IS. WHERE. I. LIVE.

Falling in love with this place means more than that I enjoy living here. It means I have willingly set my affections on this town.

And it means I'm not going "home." I'm not returning to my mid-west roots. I'm not (unless God moves the earth in massive ways) ever going to live down the street from my mama and exchange Sunday lunch hosting. I won't return to the church that I love. I won't ever do regular, weekly ministry with my brothers and sisters. I have friends that I'll only see once or twice a year. I'll have mentors that I won't regularly meet for coffee.

Also, groceries and houses are really cheap out there...

But I'm making a new "home."

And here's why...

I fell in love with a dark, lonely, hopeless spot.

Our tiny church is a tiny light. It's people are a beautiful gift.

But our neighborhood is a desperate place. It's not the jungle or some deep dark place in Asia. I think I would have been ready for this "cut" with my roots had it been more dramatic. Yes, it's a jungle, but it's concrete and trash instead of trees and snakes. The languages I don't understand are Spanish and Ebonics, not some unknown language.

I could long for a Mid-west removal. Ministry and life are not "easy" anywhere. But there are places where I'd be a little bit less of an odd ball. Sure, a stay-at-home mama who wants to homeschool and adopt 10 children would be weird in Indiana. But it's practically insane in our current neighborhood.

I look out my window and I see homeless men limping by. I drive to the grocery store and watch kids shivering on street corners without coats. I hear angry fights, drunken brawls, and raucous partying. Every night. Every day. I'm surrounded by the pain and emptiness that sin and the absence of God creates.

So, we're not going "home."

Because we love our tired, beat up, worn out, God-less neighborhood. We love our beautiful, loving, tiny church. And we believe that if the two meet... if tired touches hopeful. If church and Christ meet neighborhood. If beauty reaches down into ashes, and kindness touches pain... then light can explode.

And Acts 17:26 takes on new meaning. "And he made from one man every nation of mankind to live on all the face of the earth, having determined allotted periods and boundaries of their dwelling place..."

God determined this period.
He drew the boundaries of our current dwelling place.

So, this is our home.

Because this is where Christ is needed.