My Happy Place?

I’ve moved 30 times in 50 years, so I should be good at this by now.  My experience merits an upper-level management position at Mayflower or Two Guys and a Truck or U-Haul.  But the truth is, I’m still not very good at moving.  Moving is HARD.  And this latest one from Austin to St. Louis in some ways has been the hardest of all.  But it’s also been the healthiest.  

 

I’ve moved so much for all the very practical reasons that many in today’s transient culture move:  job changes, roommate shuffles, etc… But I’ve also moved for deeper, unhealthy reasons as well.  

 

I’ve moved because I thought a new address would make me happy.  That I would finally find my “happy place.”  In most of those many moves, I had the hope that a change of scenery would – in some way – fulfill the deeper longings of my heart.  Longings for purpose and peace and flourishing. Surely I’d be happy with an address in this eclectic neighborhood or with that mountain view.  But it’s never worked.

 

This time I have no such illusions.  We’ve returned to St. Louis after spending 14 years here before (from 2000-2014), and while there is much to love about this place (Go Cardinals!), I know it won’t satisfy.  It won’t make me happy and I know it.  And in some ways that’s why this makes this move so hard.  But also the healthiest.  As I mentioned in the last post, as I enter the 2nd half of my life I’m learning a lot about the different things I’ve put my hopes in that can’t deliver.  And geography has been one of them for me.

 

Another unhealthy reason I’ve moved is because I’ve bought into the Western cultural idea that your geography and your home contribute mightily to your self-definition.  Those places, and the homes we inhabit and decorate in them, become part of the narrative we tell ourselves and the world about who we are.  For years I boasted about my adventurous Alaskan address or my address near Wrigley Field or my postcard address on Balboa Island (where there really is always money in the banana stand) because those addresses made me look cool.  And if I’ve liked the look of my home, I’ve made sure to post pictures of it on social media and…ahem…blog posts…so that others could like it (and like me because of it) too.  

 

I noticed this a month ago when we moved back to St. Louis and I posted this picture of the cute little gingerbread home we just bought.  It’s got lots of charm and received lots of “likes” (especially for the twirly hobbit trees in front), but in truth it was – and remains – a deeply empty exercise for me because I’m becoming more and more aware that my tendency to make my geography and my home part of my self-definition is blatantly unhealthy.  And really nothing to boast in.  

 

These realizations have led me – over the last month – to reflect on what the Bible says is behind my desires to live in certain places or have a certain type of home.  To reflect on why moving is so hard and yet how it ought to be done in a healthy way, for healthy ends.

 

First of all, the Bible does emphasize the importance of place.  In fact, it says we were made to be placed.  In Genesis 1 and 2, God makes man and puts him in the garden of Eden.  In fact, he makes the place (days 1 through 5 of creation) before he makes man (day 6).  It’s as if God is a cosmic realtor, finding and funding a house for us before our big move!  Also, at the center of God’s Covenant is His promise to provide a place (the Promised Land) for his people.  God had made us for place and blessed us with it.  And so the desire to be placed – the desire for home is good and God-given.

 

Secondly, God gives us the calling to cultivate our places and help them flourish.  As God gave man Eden, he also gave them the so-called “creation mandate.”  Their marching orders for what to do in their place.  We are to “be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it and have dominion…” (Genesis 1:28a).  We are to “work it and keep it” (Genesis 2:15b) which basically means we are to help it grow and protect it.  In other words, we were also made to care about our place and make it lovely.  The promised land wasn’t flowing with milk and honey without work. God gave it the potential for milk and honey, but called man to cultivate it.

 

So no wonder we’re going a little bit crazy with all of the boxes still un-packed and the IKEA furniture still un-built and the pictures still un-hung here in St. Louis!  Our cultivation work is still un-done!  Now I’m no neat freak.  In fact, I’m kind of a slob and can tolerate a mess or two better than many.  If you’ve ever ridden with me in my car, I’m sorry for the stuff stuck to your butt when you exited.  But I think moving messes are different because, as the Bible tells us, we are made to be “placed” and to cultivate the place. 

 

But it also tells us we will always feel like “aliens” and “strangers” and “sojourners” and “pilgrims” in this place (see Hebrews 11, 1 Peter 2, Philippians 3, etc…).  This explains our honest experience in desiring a place – in desiring home – but never being able to fully find it in our geography or our picket fences.  I’ve been feeling the emptiness of that a lot lately over the last month here in St. Louis.  And that’s another reason why it’s been the hardest move of all.  

 

But I’m learning a healthier way through that discomfort.  

 

Why did God provide the places for his people?  And why did He give them the calling to cultivate those places?  Because Eden or the Promised Land was going to make them happy?  Because Eden or the Promised Land would be central to their identity?  To the narrative they could boast in?  No.  That is the mistake we make. That is the mistake I’ve made. Maybe it’s the mistake you’ve made too.  

 

No, the reason God provided the places for his people, and the reason he gave them the calling to cultivate those places is chiefly for the purpose of worship and communion.  For the purpose of relationship and love.  And then in the flourishing of that communion, to be a witness to it to the world that wants the same thing.  That’s why Adam and Eve hiding from God in Eden is such a startling statement (Genesis 3:8) and such an accurate picture of the result of sin.  That’s why God was so insistent on the temple in the Promised Land and all it’s detailed cultivation – because it was a place for communion first and foremost.  It was a place where we humans could know and experience a holy, loving God and therefore find peace in Him.  Purpose in Him.  Flourishing in Him.  In other words, we are never fully “placed” until the place has a doxological aim. A place is never a place as God intends it to be without the enjoyment of communion with Him as it’s chief aim.

 

Listen to this from Paul’s sermon to the Athenians in Acts 17:

26 And he made from one man every nation of mankind to live on all the face of the earth, having determined allotted periods and the boundaries of their dwelling place, 27 that they should seek God, and perhaps feel their way toward him and find him.

 

And so with that reminder, the unpacking of boxes and building of furniture and hanging of pictures has taken on a better and much more healthy hue.  It has reminded me that my happiness, ultimately, is not in geography or picket fences and, in fact, that that notion is simply idolatry which takes me away from the God who brings the joy I seek.  And it has reminded me that my identity is not in a cool narrative filled with cool places, but rather in God’s story in which I am already his beloved son.  May this home in this place be chiefly doxological.  May we enjoy Him here and know His love in new, more fulfilling ways as we cultivate it.  And may many of you come and visit and experience that same joy – that same blessing – with us and through us.