I don’t live there anymore.

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. (Psalm 23:1 ESV)

U.S. Navy, 18 years old at
Defense Language Institute, 1981
Presidio of Monterey, CA 

[Note: I posted this to a blog on December 29, 2016, about six months after arriving at Concordia Theological Seminary in Ft. Wayne, Indiana.]

I remember when I left my parents' house in Grand Prairie, Texas, on my father's birthday in 1981 (only 2 months after my 18th), for U.S. Navy boot camp. He drove me to the recruiting station on Main St. and then, he confessed to me later, pulled around the corner, parked the car and cried. I was on my way...

I surprised my mother in the kitchen when I showed up unexpectedly two months later in my Navy uniform; a friend picked me up and drove me home to begin a short leave before my Basic Russian course began at the Defense Language Institute in California. I remember how familiar everything looked, smelled, sounded-- it seemed then that I was the only change in the tableau. By the time I was ready to head back to my new life as a sailor, I realized that I was no longer part of the world I had left that morning my father drove me downtown. And arriving back at my school in California, it struck me that I wasn't entirely a part of that world, either—in fact, I was more than a little intimidated by some of the other sailors I met there. Some already had college behind them, most seemed incredibly smart, and on the first day of class I became certain that my presence there was the result not of my aptitude, intelligence, or gift for languages, but of a Navy clerical error. But I made new friends and, in retrospect, got through Russian by the grace of God. A year after leaving home I was entrenched in Navy life and on subsequent visits to see family, Texas would seem less and less like home, like the place where I belonged.

Fast forward 35 years, past two "careers" (20 years in the Navy, followed by 15 years as a high school teacher), at least a dozen different places to call home, and here I am at home again, clacking away on a keyboard in Ft. Wayne, Indiana, having returned yesterday from a very nice one-week visit to Texas for Christmas—we got to spend quality time with my mom and daughters, worship at our home congregation, and catch up with friends. We were back in the same city from which we left in June for the seminary, back in the same area where our daughters graduated from high school, where we moved from one house to another in the span of a dozen years, where our family has roots...

The face of the Dallas-Ft. Worth area is changing (as it always has been). It's crowded and there is construction everywhere—especially highway (we rented a car at Dallas Love Airport and needed GPS from I-35 to I-30, an area I've driven since I was old enough to drive). I resisted the urge to drive by the house we left behind while in the neighborhood to see the doctor and pick up a prescription. Only six months ago it was home.

Installed as pastor of  Zion Lutheran
Church in Alamo, TX - 9/6/19

We left my mother's house yesterday morning and on the drive back to the airport in Dallas, I had the overwhelming sensation, again, of no longer belonging to that place I left in 1981. As I moved through the familiarity of people and places, I felt like a...ghost. I wish I could explain it better... I don't think either of us could legitimately call where we are right now home. I sort of feel like I did when I returned to California to start Russian after that first leave, that "in-between" feeling (maybe this is what purgatory is like?). We're at home, but not home... And in an eerily similar coincidence, upon arrival here at the seminary I've been more than a little intimidated by the professors and some of the other guys I've met here. Some are way over-educated, most seem incredibly smart, and on the first day of Greek class I was sure that my presence there was the result not of my aptitude, intelligence, or gift for languages, but of Providence. We've made new friends and will finish up here next summer entirely by the grace of God.

[As I write this near the end of 2019, I’m at home here in the Rio Grande Valley, pastor of a congregation serving Christ. And not just at home, I am home…entirely by the grace of God!]

That’s it until next month… I wish all of you a warm, family- and Christ-filled Christmas, and may God continue to pour out His blessings upon you in the coming year!

May God lead you home,

Pastor E.B.