|Covered Wagon - artist Robert Wesley Amick|
Her Pa started getting itchy feet whenever he would feel hemmed in by people in what many saw as a vast prairie. (He apparently tried to talk his wife into moving to Seattle in their later years. Ma put her foot down.)
As a reader, you don't get the sense that Laura felt unsettled. Every outing was a new adventure, a new place to explore, new people to meet. She may have moved a lot, but Laura never felt unsettled.
I am a "settler." I like the familiarity of a place, the curve of the ground in my backyard, the knowledge that my neighbors are the same today as 20 years ago. I lived in the same house for the first 19 years of my life, and watched the world blossom, bloom, die and fight back to life out of the same windows, year after year. Perhaps my intense rootedness then means that now, every move makes me feel off-kilter, and wondering why God calls me to this unsettled life.
God's Chosen People, the very people He brought out of slavery and molded into a community of faith guided by His law: well, He let 'em wander around in the
desert for 40 years.
Jesus told a would-be follower (Mt. 8:20) to come and follow Him, but know that the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head. That doesn't sound too promising for one with a "settled" heart.
Jesus began His life on earth as unsettled, with Mary and Joseph having to go to Bethlehem for the census, and then at some point, Joseph (acting under God's directive) uproots his small family in fear of Herod's slaughter of Jewish baby boys.
Our God is an awesome God, but He is not a settled God. He moves in ways visible and invisible. He unleashes a mighty army of angels that guard our souls every minute, every day. And He wants us to be unsettled. Because being unsettles means: "I'm not home yet."
Years ago, when I was teaching at the college level, I used a BBC series on world religions. The narrator cheerfully bounded about the globe, talking to people about their faith. In South Africa, he took an interest in new Christian religions - often small churches that began in someone's home. At this time, apartheid was still the law of the land, and it was easy to see how the promise of freedom (in faith) played out in the black townships.
One lady interviewed must have been 90 years old. She'd seen it and done it. She been a servant in white people's homes nearly all her life. All of her comings and goings over the years were tightly restricted by a government that believed she was "less than." And yet, she swayed with joy when talking about her faith. "Oh, I don't worry about this world," she said, "I don't belong here. No sir, my home is Heaven."
This little old lady, whom the world may have completely forgotten, who was illiterate, and who had lived under such degradation: she was not unsettled. She knew right where she belonged. This world was nothing but passing time for her.
I fall very short of this. I fret and worry, pack and unpack, purge and stuff closets, get rid of a dog and bring home another cat. I want to line my nest with the nicest and coziest feathers. And then God says, "Move."
I don't wanna. But I move.
Why? "O Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of everlasting life."
I wonder, if on that day that Jesus called Peter, Andrew, James and John (Mt. 4:18-22) if there were not one or two more men - men in their boats, going about their work - who heard that call as well? What if just one of those men thought, "He's an interesting man. I'd like to know more. But I'm settled. My life is right here?"
What if we miss the Holy Spirit because we want to be settled?
Of course, I'm writing this in my big comfy chair with my two cats on my lap. I am not exactly heading out to mission territory any time soon. But I have just moved, and I have the stacks and boxes to prove it. It was not a move I wanted to make, but God said, "Move." All I can ever answer is, "Here I am, Lord."