i should be sleeping right now. because they told us we have to wake up early tomorrow and stay awake all day so that we can sleep soundly on the plane and defeat jetlag.
tomorrow i go to greece.
taste a bit of that eastern orthodoxy. feel anarchism ring in my ears. bear for a few days the weight of all of history’s past manifested in tradition, in ritual. they told us to not dress like a tourist but i think it’ll be pretty obvious, because americans have a way of being obvious.
i’ve become so terrible at writing- reading my past posts always serves as that reminder. my post-spring-break resolution is most certainly to write more frequently. my head says there’s no functionality in writing when i’m headed for the big business- they write in numbers and formal salutations- it’s no place for similes. (“hey did we meet financial goals this past quarter” “sir this company is like a butterfly, we start as caterpillar before we fly” “wut”). but when i go back and read my memories made immortal on paper (virtual paper whatever), it’s soothing. a quiet reassurance that my life before this present point actually existed. and that it was good. i tend to only remember the bad parts, but this life is most certainly a good, good life, all praise to God.
they told us to wear red and black to fit in with the anarchists at exarcheia but i’m sure a lot of it is actually the greeks trying to fit in with the UGA bulldogs. gosh what am i going to do when i stand in the middle of ancient corinth. probably weep. weep until my body has no more water left inside of it and i’m forced to drink the scriptures to live.
in australia, creation taught me to worship the creator. in new zealand, the present unwrapped itself as a gift and i finally stopped longing for the future. in oxford, i learned to love to learn. in london, i became okay with being alone. in dublin, i learned to make friends with strangers, to let rhythm and song to be common ground enough to dance - image bearers of God, all of us.
in georgia, i learned synonyms: summer and humidity, pool and watermelon, family and laughter, God and life.
sometimes, when my memories become more real than life and life feels more like the board game from middle school than it does true, and sometimes when my heart still feels like it’s oceans away, i must remember that this is not my home. because if home is where the heart is, then my home is Christ. and though i can’t see it yet, i know the realest thing that was and is and is to come is what’s laid out straight in the word of God.
that is the steadfast comfort i hold to, the home that i live in when i depart tomorrow.