Home Sweet Jungle

Home First Impressions I can’t even begin to explain to you what it feels like to cross a sea of jungle veiled in puffy white clouds knowing that in the near future you might be calling that very stretch of jungle home! “Home,” what a word! What a concept. For the last year Pennsylvania went from being a vaguely familiar place to being the very hills I know call home. Grimesville Rd, Cogan Station, Florence Dr., West Forth St. and the whole works. But it wasn’t alway that way. I once called the high Savannas of central Brazil home. It was there that I could name every bird you might point out and tell you where it lived and what it ate. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that I would be calling Pennsylvania home. But life goes one weather you like it or not. You can’t stop this old train when you feel like it and the (instructor/director) has an agenda all his own. I’m sure Pennsylvania will remain home in the good ol’ U.S. for years to come but a new land looms on the horizon. Although everything here in the Amazon port city of Manaus is vaguely familiar in smell and sound and taste it is still drastically different than the place I use to call home. I didn’t realize how much I missed Brazil until I stepped off the plane and made my way through the terminal and out into the hot air out side. Immediately, ones senses are over loaded with sounds and sights and smells. The little cars zoom by weaving in and out honking at each other sounding like the whistles of a dozen football games happening all at the same time. The brightness of the sun here is almost blinding at times and you have to squint to make anything out. The air is hot and humid and immediately you feel your skin begin to perspire which of course adds to the mired of jungle smells already swirling about in your nostrils. Sweet smells of local treats and snacks, damp earthy smells of near by ponds and rivers, and then you are rudely drawn back to reality by the gaging smell of exhaust just in time to jump out of the way of a swerving taxi. But what makes a place home? Is it knowing what to call each stimuli that is bombarding your senses? Is it knowing how to get around? Is it owning a local piece of real estate? What makes a place home to you? I suspect is it different for everyone but for me there are a few peculiar things that must happen before I feel like a place is home. I like a place is home when I know the vegetation that surrounds me; when I know the names of the plants, bushes, and trees and I know how they grow and when they blossom and bloom and what they are good for. I know, strange hu? Another strange indicator is when I know or at least recognize the birds and can tell you a little bit about them. A third, perhaps more normal indicator is know how to get around, knowing the local geography. But the most important thing of all is knowing the people and knowing that they know you! All in all, it is still a temporary home. Jesus said the foxes have lairs, the birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no where to lay his head. As true ambassadors of Christ, as children of God, as citizens of heaven, no place on this lonely planet seems to completely like home. No matter how beautiful the place or how awesome the friendships something always feels a bit strange, a bit unfamiliar, and a bit disconcerting.