"We sometimes call this place 'The House of Transitions,'" one of my housemates, Jess, explained. "It was my first year out of undergrad when I moved in here..." she continued.
The term swirled through my mind. "The House of Transitions" was my new home, was it not? It was all too fitting. This week I began my last semester of schooling in Illinois. Last week ministry with InterVarsity was in full swing. Two weeks ago I arrived in Chmapaign. And three... three weeks ago I got engaged. Phew! Next semester I'll be in Morocco. Next May I'll graduate from college. And next June I'll be married.
Yup. "The House of Transitions" fits perfectly. Too perfectly. I feel that I'm beginning to settle into life here at college, but before long, I'll be transitioning out, on my way to Morocco.
I'm really used to transitions. In fact, I feel most comfortable when something in my life is undergoing a transition of some sort. It gives me the feeling that the way things are right now aren't fully set in stone-- they aren't totally the way they should be, or could be. But transitions also deepen my sense of being a nomad. They intensify my homesickness and make it hard to even pinpoint where home is. Transitions make it easy to be selfish because I'm tired or I'm overwhelmed or a lot is happening to me. Its hard to step out of my own perspective and see what others are feeling when I'm at loss to figure out exactly how I'm feeling.
My prayer for this season is that I'd love the place that I'm at right now... deeply. That I'd prepare for the season to come... meaningfully. That I'd step out of my own world and identify with others... sacrificially.
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