sojourner

via

sojourner

noun

:a person who resides in a place temporarily.

For the past six years, since my freshman year of college, I have lived in a different place each year. Each year I lived with different people. I am a constant sojourner. It's hard to take in.

This isn't something that I love being, it isn't something that I necessarily thought I would be. From time to time I think about what it would have been like to live with the same roommates throughout college, to even stay in the same apartment. It might have been easier, not consistently moving at the end of the summer or school year, being able to stay in the same place and if not the same place, then a new place with the same people. But that wasn't my life, it isn't a part of my story. I have learned to be flexible, to adjust, to morph. I am thankful for the people that I have lived with, how they helped me to grow, what they taught me about living with others and about myself, the friendships that I've gained. Sometimes it was great, sometimes it was not so great. I've had hard roommates, I've had easy roommates. Don't forget about packing up all of your things and moving them over and over again. It's just hard overall. Not having stability, or feeling like you are in a constant state of limbo is hard. My heart aches for a place to rest, for stability, for consistency.

Sometimes I worry that I no longer know what stability feels like. For seventeen years I lived in a fairly consistent home. We moved three times over the years, but my family has been living in our current house for 17 years. These past six years feel like so many more have passed, almost as if the six doubled to twelve. It's exhausting. Sure, for three of these six years my community remained fairly the same. I've still got my core friendships. Returning to UGA after being gone for a year, my sophomore year, was difficult though. Friendships continued to grow without me, people changed, I changed. I came back and felt like I was in a different place. I felt like I had to start fresh. In ways it was good, but it was also hard.

Way back in high school health class, I remember this phrase that our sex ed teacher shared with us: every time you have sex with someone, you give away a piece of your heart. I know that it's cheesy as all get out and may seem like it has nothing to do with what I am saying, but I promise it does. In that cheesy mess there is some truth, some applicability. Every time that I move, every time that I become a part of a community, I feel like I give a piece of my heart away. Every time that I leave, my heart aches more and more. It's more painful than I ever imagined. I hate getting close to people, especially to the point that they are family, and then having to leave. That is how I have felt for six years now, every year taking a new sojourn.

For me, saying goodbye, or see you soon, is the toughest thing to do. Putting yourself out there and building friendships and creating home just to say goodbye is rough. Doing it alone as a single young woman makes it even more difficult. I am coming to a crossroads. Come August I'll be moving again. Sure, I'll be moving back home to a place I know like the back of my hand, but I'm moving again. I am not ready for the day that I leave Selma for what is next. I am not ready to not live in this house and spend time with the most wonderful people. I am not ready to move on, but it's coming. I know that my sojourn in Selma is coming to a close, and I will be living somewhere else come August 8th.

A friend of mine constantly tells me to enjoy this time, to enjoy being single and young and free. I get it. I want that. I just don't want to move somewhere new alone and only be there for a short while. There are days where I think about moving to Tennessee. For some reason that state, specifically the city of Franklin, has been on my heart. I am just not ready to move some place new, alone, and have to start over again. I'm just not that kind of person, I've never been good at resting or being in a place of unrest. I want to be in a place for more than just a year or two. I am ready to settle in for a while, to prop my feet up and get comfy some place, specifically a place that I know. To hopefully meet an amazing man and marry him. I am tired of being a sojourner. I was not made for the nomadic life, and I've been living it for too long.

Over the years, people have told me that I would make a wonderful military wife. I'm fairly independent, I would survive being without my spouse for long periods of time, I move around easily. While I agree with most of those things, I don't think that my heart could take it. I don't know if I could move to a new place, not knowing anyone, every two years. I sat down and listened to the experiences of a Naval Chaplain's wife. She had incredible stories of all of the places that they had lived. They had friends across the world and enjoyed most every minute of their journey. But it was hard picking up and leaving every two years, just as they were settling in. They had to leave behind nearly everything and start fresh at their next post, knowing that everyone knew they were temporary. Due to that, they were regularly treated as temporary people, as sojourners. That's a feeling that I know all too well. For six years, except one when I lived at home, I have felt temporary. I have felt easily replaceable.

I am ready to become a "citizen," an active one at that. I am ready for stability. I am ready for a bit of consistency. My heart has been ready for some time now. A few weeks ago, a dear Selma friend of mine gave me the best word at Friday noon Eucharist. A word about something that I don't think I've ever shared with her. She told me that the Lord has heard my cry for stability, that He has a place for me. She had this image of me being a goldfish, like one that you win at a fair or carnival, that comes in a plastic bag. I've been bouncing around in that plastic bag, but the Lord has a special and specific bowl for me. A bowl, a place just for me. *insert weeping here* Ugh. Just thinking about it makes me want to cry. God has heard my cry. It's so encouraging to hear it from someone else, because even though I trust that He has heard it, I still struggle to believe He does at times.

It's easy to get wrapped up in the loneliness of it all. It's easy to forget that God has good things in store and that there is rest and peace ahead. It's easy to forget that He has already prepared a place for us. It's easy to get caught up in the busyness, chaos, instability of daily life, and forget that He offers true stability. He is strong and steadfast. He is unwavering.

I so easily get caught up in seeking earthly stability and forget that He is the ultimate stability. It didn't hit me until a few days ago that the fish bowl, the special place that was being referred to, was stability in Him. He has heard my cry for stability, and here His is offering it. I haven't been the best at letting Him be that for me. I focus so much on how I can find stability here and now, forgetting that it's already there in Him, I just have to stop and refocus. It's like I've got my glasses on and am able to see everything.Then, when I take my glasses off everything is a blur. Only then am I able to focus on what is there, right up close to me. That's God. He is right there, always. Hello, Holy Spirit.

I have to actively choose to lean on Him, to let Him be the solid rock that He is, to let Him be my stable fortress--even when I feel so unstable. I choose to trust and believe that He has prepared a place for me, not only in Heavenly places, but in this earthly place, too. I know that my nomadic ways are coming to an end, both spiritually and physically. I know that He prepares the path, that He guides the way. I know that there's a door ahead put in place my Him and that it will open soon. I am trusting Him for it. But first, I've got to depend on the most dependable and let Him be that solid, stable rock that He is.

All this time like a vagabond

A homeless stranger

I've been wandering 

All my life You've been calling me

To a home you know I've been needing

I'm a broken stone

So lay me in the house You're building

-Audrey Assad