When New Places Stretch You
When I was a child I moved home so many times I lost count. I travelled from country to country, and even within a country we might move to three or four different towns.
I went to so many different schools I don’t know if I can remember them all.
Would I have liked to grow up and live in one place for all of my life, like the people of Our Pueblo do?
– to know the twists and turns of the streets from my early years
– to be part of a network of other families who share the same long history
– to fit into a long-established pattern, doing the same things my parents and grandparents and great grandparents had done?
And to always know my way around the streets . .
But it didn’t happen that way. Instead, I had the chance to see places and experience things that others may never see or experience.
Was it always easy?
Did I miss friends and places that I cared about when I had to leave them?
But at the end of it all, what then?
When New Places become Home
Well, at the end of it all I can walk the streets of a new place, and appreciate them for what they are.
I don’t try to make their history fit into my story. Instead, I can explore and embrace and enjoy them – for what they are and have always been.
I have freedom to make a choice.
And slowly – day by day,
walk by walk,
step by step,
these streets become my streets,
their stories are my stories,
and a new place is my place.
If God chooses to move me to a new place, I have the freedom of choice to accept with a quiet confidence. Not a confidence in me, but the sure confidence I have in Him.