"Maybe that's why we always wear our hats."

In the past twelve months, I've lived in four different houses, three different states, held five different jobs, three different phones, graduated from college and married someone I had been dating for seven months. I wouldn't take back any of these changes (well, one of the jobs sucked, and I was happy with my first phone,) but you'll understand if I don't feel quite as purposeful and concerted as I'd like to be.

I'm happy that we've settled here, in Indiana, for now. This spring promises to be the greenest I've seen in five years. In all of the uncertainty surrounding our most recent move, we decided that it was imperative to be in the same place for Pascha and the majority of Lent. The small congregation at St. Stephen's is very dear, and working through Lent with such an intimate group looks like it will be satisfying (albeit difficult). Being with my (beloved) Protestant family for Lent looks to be difficult (albeit satisfying.)

But we won't be here for long. As soon as it's warm enough to live in Matt's grandfather's uninsulated old Maine farmhouse (with water pipes on the outside!), we'll schlep ourselves and our books up there, for an undetermined interval. After that, who knows? France? Korea? Bumf***, Maine?

All of this moving around makes sense for people our age, and we're not bound by anything but loan payments. But it does begin to wear on even two adventurous young Geminis.* Sometimes I grow a little resentful, and envious of my friends who have something to do with themselves, and a reason to be where they are. I've been trying to remember lately that our homes are not on any coordinate planes. Geographical places are important, but only because they are such absorbent repositories for the spiritual cocoons that weave themselves around us.

St. Maximos says that money should flow like water through the hands of Christians. Of course this is about charity, but I think it is also about how equality with God is not something to be grasped. We are to clutch nothing. If through Christ, not even death separates us from truly being with fathers, mothers, sisters and brothers, how many miles can separate us from each other? Guardian angels and intercessors can make haste to me no matter where I am.

I would love to put roots into the ground, but I think that this time of "flux" is teaching me to be like the Israelites. Don't unpack too many books! Better not collect too many knick-knacks! Rather than grasping and hoarding, we should empty ourselves, and always pack lightly. We should sow seeds into spiritual soil, by loving the people in whose midst we find ourselves. We can continue to water these seeds wherever we go.

*My husband told me to never mention astrology to him again. I think it offers some insightful metaphors. See previous post for more incriminating evidence that I'm a hippie.