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“If there’s a burning in your heart…”

I’ve always felt more at home in strange new places than I have in those of supposed comfort.  Once, on the crowded streets of Istanbul, I felt a surge of connectedness to the bustling brick world’s foreign language and culture. 

In college I minored in writing (I was minoring in Women’s Studies, until I realized discussing feminism and sex would not necessarily give me an edge in the job market).  I wrote a lot of nonfiction, considering myself a storyteller extraordinaire.  I have a lot of quality stories, after all.  During a meeting with my nonfiction professor, my writing was complimented and then questioned – something I do not do well with.

 “What is the theme of your writing?  How does this all tie together?” 

I could see the criticism (blatantly, smacking me in the face as every critique from an idolized mentor does) in the disconnected stories of faith, identity, and relationships.  In her office, it was not feasible to describe (without stammering foolishly) the message I wanted to bring to my audience.  What was I looking for in these stories?  Why, oh goodness why, was I writing?

To feel at home.

A phrase used frequently by Christians (circa “Contemporary Christian” song lyrics) is “The world is not my home.”  Christians believe home is in heaven, where we come from and where we go.  So we are not at home on this earth because it is not our destination.  Driving home today, I heard these oh-so deep lyrics from Death Cab for Cutie’s “You Are a Tourist" - 

“And if you feel just like a tourist in the city you were born then it’s time to go

& define your destination; there’s so many places to call home.”

This is what connected my stories – they were always about my temporary homes.  My crazy roommates, boyfriends, and campuses – I called them all home.  Through these homes I discovered countless insights about others, but avoided those concerning myself.  Perhaps it is time to take on my former professor’s task – to tie them together.  To head home.