...and if I weep, let it be as a man who is longing for his home*

*Rich Mullins, "If I Stand".

Tomorrow marks the two week anniversary of my stay in Chan-land. Over the course of the last fortnight, I have come to realize that I am not at "home" here. Though Alvin and his parents are very welcoming and have been entirely accommodating and gracious hosts, they are hosts nonetheless, thus resigning me to the position of "guest" rather than "resident".

I spent a little time attempting to identify the cause of these feelings of misapprehension. I initially attributed my position as "outsider" to the fact that I was unaccustomed to the ways of this particular world. For example, the Chans almost never seem to use the front door; the preferred entrance & exit is the garage.

I also noted that the washing machine is a dual-use appliance: it not only washes clothes, but also serves as a dirty laundry receptacle during periods between washes, thus effectively eliminating the need for hampers. One of my hosts later elucidated the rationale for this practice: "When we're downstairs and use something, we don't need to go all the way upstairs to put it in the hamper." I suppose this makes sense, if ascension and descent are completely anathema to you.

A second manifestation of this aversion to the stairs became clear in the same conversation. I noted that, unlike in most households, television watching is the done upstairs, rather than in a downstairs family- or livingroom. I was informed that most households lack a room in the second story suitable for television viewing. When I noted that both Pam and I have such rooms, but have applied them to other uses, Alvin brought to my attention the fact that most movers are too lazy to lug a TV all the way upstairs, so most families must simply make do with entry-level entertainment. He added that the other benefit to this was that once television viewing had been completed for the night, there was no need to make the long trek "all the way upstairs;" one could simply jaunt off to his room and retire for the evening.

After further deliberation, I decided that while these idiosyncrasies have proved amusing, they are not really the source of my (for lack of a better term) home-sickness. I realized that "home" is about belonging, and about permanent residence in a place. Even when I lived in Beijing for a year, I thought of my apartment as "home." I knew I would be there for a while, and a sense of ownership informed my behavior. It is a little strange to live as a guest in someone else's home, and feel that you own almost nothing.

Then I realized that this is what it's really like to be a sojourner, an alien as Abram was. Perhaps it's strange that I gained this understanding right here in America--rather than half a world away in the PRC--but it has been an important lesson nonetheless. I hope that I will have less consideration for my earthly home, and gain a stronger yearning for a place in heaven.