Roots ||Raeni

My parents gave me roots. Deep roots that held fast. They were a safe place to land. Most of my childhood was spent in the same house; a house my mother made glow at Christmas. Thanksgiving was marked by making Grandma’s stuffing, from a handwritten recipe that called for three walnuts.. Each year my dad and I would proceed to snitch bites of the raw stuffing until it made its way into the bird. Easter baskets came with a new spring outfit, family vacations and a house in the midst of a new remodeling project.
All these things were the dependable and constant parts of my life.
Living in small town America also added to this sense of feeling rooted. Things moved slowly. People know each other. A new person moving into the neighborhood is a marked moment in time. My classmates remained the same, there were very few changes to that group of 70. If you told me to line up alphabetically, I still remember the two people I stood between; because I stood between them for 13 years.
I am thankful for my roots. They have taught me what connection feels like. What I should value.
With my own daughters I want them to have roots. I want them to know what it feels like to be connected. Since roots are not natural in our life as overseas workers, I work to create roots for my girls. Traditions and things that say even though this a new location; I am home. We need roots to stand firm and make connections.
Currently I am in a time of transition. Transition is just tough for me, and this one is going to last a year. We are leaving our home to spend a required year in the USA. After that year I hope to return to our home but maybe… There is always that but maybe. These times of transition leave me feeling uprooted. I long to be settled. To know what is coming next. To rely on the constant. But there is no constant. Even if we return things will have changed. I know things have changed in America. My family has made memories I am not a part of. My community has moved on. I think in the midst of transition I feel these losses even more. It is hard to explain but I know that they are there, I know they are coming.
About three months ago God laid on my heart the word sojourner. Sojourner can be defined as – to stay for a time in a place; live temporarily. To be a stranger in a foreign land.
My humanness wants roots here. Roots that keep me secure here. But the reality is because of my faith in Christ no matter what I long for, my roots are not fully here. My roots are in heaven. To look for them on earth is pointless. I won’t find real roots here. Philippians 3:20 says “But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ.” In these times of transition, it becomes more and more apparent that I need to be adjusting my vision. My citizenship is not in America or in France, it is in heaven. Am I eagerly looking for my Savior? Am I preparing for his arrival? I am a sojourner, a stranger in a foreign land that is waiting to go home. My roots are stable, they are deep. They are sunk deep by the creator of the heavens and the earth. The creator who has the ability to bring the earth, the wind, and the waves under his control. So while I in the midst of this life of transition, I will grow my roots deep into the Creator and cling deeply to His promises.