Ramblings of a Vagabond

“This world is not my home, I'm just passing through.
My treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue.
The angels beckon me from Heaven's open door
And I can't feel at home in this world anymore.

Chorus
O Lord you know I have no friend like you
If Heaven's not my home, then Lord what will I do?
The angels beckon me from Heaven's open door
And I can't feel at home in this world anymore.

My family used to sing that old song during long car rides to various destinations. Recently, I’ve been challenged to redefine my concept of home.

It’s funny that question, “Where are you from?” I’ve never really had a problem answering it. I’ve retained the immediate reply of “College Station” for the longest time, since if I’m on a trip with Ags, that answer would suffice for anyone, despite the “hometown” situation of each individual. On the other hand, I’m beginning to adopt Austin as more sufficient answer for the given question since my parents now live in Kansas, which is definitely not home due to the lack of unfamiliarity; and now that pretty much everyone I’ve known and loved (excluding one or two people) has disappeared from College Station, I wouldn’t necessarily consider that once-cherished place home as well anymore. When I hang out with Singaporeans, the obvious answer is Singapore, and yet, I am still illiterate of the cultural nuances and lack a command of fluent Singlish. So after these many “rojak”-like experiences, I’ve realized that my physical home has always been defined through other people, and this somewhat jostles my little utopian world.

Why? Because a) I don’t like thinking things just because other people think them and b) what then do I stand for? Accepting the lifestyle of a vagabond means you never see a glass only half empty or half full. You’re neither pessimistic nor optimistic about the place you inhabit because you know the bad and good of your current situation. In fact, because you can see the positive and the negative, you no longer just look at the glass; you taste the water, or in other words, you just tackle the experience. But in my opinion, that experience always seems to taste lukewarm. Okay, this metaphor has gone long enough…

Basically, my point is that I think I can relate when Jesus says, “Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.” And I think as our society seems to be moving toward an era where physical boundaries no longer define who we are, an increasing number of people will soon go through this “crisis” (for the lack of a better word).

And so the hope that we have is this:

“Now we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands. Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, because when we are clothed, we will not be found naked. For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. Now it is God who has made us for this very purpose and has given us the Spirit as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come.” (2 Corinthians 5: 1-5)