Almost. Home.

One of the most powerful themes in my spiritual life is that of home.

I'm fascinated by the mysterious concept of home. For me, some of what home means is captured by God--a sense of myself in deep relationship to the One, a sense of self grounded by God's loving care for me and for the whole of creation.

But even with a reluctant acceptance of the Augustinian notion that my "soul is restless until it finds its rest in [G-d]," I still find the concept of worldly homes interesting and worth reflecting upon.

Especially as I'm making a new home now. In a new city, new climate, new streetscapes, new cultural milieu. People talk differently here than they did in my last home. They talk about different things. Peoples' lives are structured differently: the ways people in Decatur move through their days and the things we see are different. The horizon line is different. The night sky looks different. The world looks different behind the wheel of a car than it does on foot. Church is different. The history of this place--both natural and human--is different. Salvation (if salvation means a condition resembling wholeness) history is different here, too.

Why the mention of the difference? Because much of what I consider the "feeling" of home is a state of relatedness to space, place, and history. Here, even though I may not be so different, my relationships to everything have changed. I don't feel at home because I don't know how to relate.

I've found it powerful to consider how changing small things matters so much to my sense of equilibrium. A simple question--where do you go to be happy and feel at peace? In New York, I had a few places where I knew that if I could get there and be in that space, I would feel peace of mind and an elemental connection to my environment. Places, in short, that were "home." Here... not yet. I'm sure they'll come, but it's unsettling (for me and, perhaps, for any person) to go too long without savoring the feeling of belonging that "home" evokes in our bones and spirits.

My wife commented to me that I likely gravitated toward the house we just bought because it mimics past homes I've had: white siding, central staircase, living area configured in a certain way. She's right. Our highly individualized sense of home is magnetic, a powerful force in shaping our subconscious action. Out of all the houses we looked at, did this one most resemble my past homes (even if I never would have admitted it)?

As I settle into this new place, not yet feeling at home, there are others who are investing in me and in our family, actively working to establish a caring relatedness that will one day make Decatur feel like home. We've had three delicious hot meals delivered this past week from church members; a work crew from the church came over yesterday to scrub down and assemble MG's room in advance of her homecoming; an invitation to a Halloween party for James; a drop-by visit our first few days with a delivery of paper towels and peanut butter.

Almost. Home.