The Experiential Tourist Finds Home

When I was 22 years old I found myself in an unhappy place. The guy voted "most likely to succeed" by his high school graduating class was now broke, alone, and living in an attic. That was not the life I had imagined for myself at age 18, and I was ready for a change.

Up until then I found the freedom of adulthood exhilarating. I was free to do as I pleased and be who I wanted to be. But, at that moment, my cherished freedom seemed pointless. My life seemed without purpose other than feeding my desires. And, once those desires were met, well, what then? I was drifting aimlessly and in need of a home base. But where was that home base and how would I get there?

Whenever you are lost, one of the best strategies for finding your way is to retrace your steps. So I did. I returned to the days before I was free--when my life was guided by clear rules and my parents were never too far away. What was I looking forward to then? What seemed important to me?

Before I went to college I was certain about three things in my future. First, I knew I wanted an education that would allow me to practice a learned profession. Second, I was absolutely certain I would be the husband of one wife and the father of many children. And third, I believed my faith would provide sufficient light so that I would recognize my proper path. Wealth, popularity, "coolness" never made the list. My early adult experiences, however, had not brought me closer to achieving these goals. Instead I felt stuffed and empty at the same time. You know that feeling Halloween night after you've eaten mountains of candy . . . stuffed, but not nourished. Kind of queasy. You know the feeling. What happened?

My early certainty regarding my future was based on my own ignorance. At eighteen years old, I was smart, but inexperienced. I did not know the limits of my own intelligence. However, as "life happened," I discover more questions than answers. For example, why did I want to be a lawyer? Did it have something to do with my Perry Mason fixation? Or perhaps it was my experiences on the debate team. Was I really prepared to pick a lifelong career?

And marriage. How could I be so sure marriage was for me when I had never even had a serious girlfriend? Living with sisters and a mother cannot compare to sharing your life intimately with a partner. And kids? I had never spent a night caring for a feverish child. I'd never experienced the burden of a child totally dependant upon my provision and protection. Five kids? Really? And, since my parents couldn't figure out how to work out their differences, what made me believe I would do better? Married for life? Was I serious?

And faith guiding my path. After really studying ancient texts and church history, I discovered that many faith tenets preached to me as a child were less inspired by the Holy Spirit and were more a reflection of politics and special interests throughout the ages. Also, I no longer believed that the world was created in six literal days, or that the Bible was inerrant, or that Noah was swallowed by a big fish, or that the Book of Revelation was coming to pass before my eyes. Could I still affirm Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior? Had I become Thomas Jefferson, creating a religion that reflected my personal opinions?

My journey home began after reading some of the works of Soren Kierkegaard. Yes, the father of existentialism, the often gloomy Danish philospher, spoke to me. Kierkegaard recognized that a life lived for physical pleasure would satisfy only for a season. He also saw that rigid adherence to rules and ethical systems ignored our human emotions and our sense of mystery. For Kierkegaard the key to human happiness was faith. He knew that our logic and our senses can only take us so far, because there will always be gaps in our knowledge and experience. We cannot know everything. We're not God. However, at some point, not only in our relationship with God, but also in our relationships with each other and in our life choices, we must make a "leap of faith." Otherwise we will become paralyzed by doubt and indecision. So, the fact that a better career choice might be out there or a more suitable mate might appear, must not stop us from making choices. And, just because the God we cannot see might be a figment of our imagination, does not mean faith is folly. On the contrary, we must embrace our fears and doubts and move forward boldly.

Upon further reflection, I realized my childish sense of calling to a specific vocation, my desire for a partner and a family, and my craving for a relationship with God, were all still important to me. While these choices might seem conventional, even predictable, for me they required a leap of faith. And, finally, after a long journey spent without goals, commitments or plans, I embraced these desires and began to search diligently for a path to find them. The hardest part of the journey for me, however, was taking that first, bold step.

What was my first bold step? I moved. Like Abraham, whose leap of faith required uprooting his household, my journey home required a change of scenery. So I moved to Chicago, connected with family, enrolled in seminary, and started truly listening for the first time in my life.

Since I no longer lived solely for the moment, but instead strived mightily to find direction for my life, new experiences and new relationships took on a different meaning. Rather than the experiences being an end in themselves and people being something I collected, like baseball cards, persons and experiences now served to fill in my life's roadmap. The information I gathered, and the feelings and emotions I experienced, were connected now to my search for meaning and purpose.

It's amazing how your life becomes enriched when you recognize every experience, positive or negative, has value to your personal development--either as a guide to follow or as a warning to avoid. And people also, when you recognize that all are created in God's image, that they have unique perspectives and insights, seem far more interesting than when their value is based solely on their looks, their position, or their pedigree.

Since those early days in Chicago, it's been a remarkable twenty-five year journey. Eventually I got my career, my wife, my family and my faith. But it has come with struggle and pain. At times I am still overwhelmed by fear, and I doubt whether I'm on the right road, but I've learned to live with ambiguity and uncertainty. I've recognized that I will never be sure of anything, but that goodness requires struggle, permanence requires commitment, and that relationships require unselfish attention. If I do not work at my profession, I will lose my skills. If I do not choose to honor my wife, then my relationship with her is damaged. And, if I do not seek to hear God's voice every day, then I cannot expect to find the right path.

It's a relief to find contentment with the home and lifestyle I imagined so long ago. Yet, while contented, the tourist in me still looks out the window and wonders whether there's something "more" out there to discover. Wanderlust doesn't go away that easily. But, to wander now would mean to sacrifice all that I've gained. And, having wandered before, the journey in the wilderness can never compare to living in the promised land, even if the promised land is not everything you imagined. Freedom without responsibilities or commitments will never satisfy me.

While my road home has included many detours, roadblocks, and a few deadends, overall I'm happy with my home and I don't want to leave it for anything or anyone. I'm so glad not to be lost, and I'm grateful for the help of a patient partner, my unending supply of good luck, and a huge helping of God's grace.