Moving, Mindset, and a Migratory God
How to continue to grow and flourish
Recently, we’ve had to make some important decisions that were good for us and moved—not far, but about 15 minutes closer to the Loop. It’s 15 minutes closer to everything, with more space so Paula can take the kinds of pictures she wants and I can create the kinds of paintings I want—big, bold, and beautiful. However, leaving the home we’ve been in for 14 years has been difficult. It wasn’t the perfect home, but it was our first. We poured so much effort and work into restoring it and making it the place we wanted to live. Leaving and letting go, however difficult, means embracing a new journey and accepting the unknowns. Both go hand in hand.
My parents have been in their home for more than 30 years, and they don’t ever want to leave. I don’t blame them. Since leaving Vietnam and enduring a life of wandering from state to state, city to city, life has been difficult for them. Even in the midst of hurricanes, they refuse to evacuate. One thing that frightens me is that soon they will need more assistance, yet they won’t move closer to us so we can care for them. That’s a concern for another time. Being fixed in one place for so long creates psychological barriers to change and adaptation.
Moving means decluttering, throwing out unused and old things, and keeping only what is needed and useful. I’ve seen the storage spaces many Americans rent to keep items they don’t need but can’t let go of for one reason or another. In just a few thousand years, humans have gone from being migratory and nomadic to fixed and stationary. We evolved from hunters and gatherers to shepherds and farmers. We came up with the idea of owning private property—land that was once free to everyone—and staking our claim on where we would spend our lives. This isn’t to say that owning property is bad, but the idea that our lives can somehow remain fixed and static prevents continual growth and fruition.
Moving is hard, and I only want to do it perhaps one more time in my life. But what’s more difficult is not entering a place of growth, development, and change. I know that once I become stuck and stop wanting to learn, I’ll quickly plateau and stagnate. I know some people in their 70s who are still sharp and others in their 50s in cognitive decline. The difference is their ability to accept challenges and work on their minds and bodies. Humans have the capacity to continue developing and growing. Ideas about age and aging are arbitrary, rooted in a time when resources were scarce. Since 1960, the average life expectancy in the United States has increased by seven years, and by over ten years in the UK and Canada. When we continue to learn, grow, and adapt, we challenge our minds and bodies. It is by pushing the limits of what we think we can do that we become more antifragile.
As I was boxing up books—of which I have too many—I came across a book by one of my former university professors. He taught theology and was a great mentor. Dr. Gene Wofford passed away in May of this year at the age of 93. He was beloved by all. I remember how, in college, he made us read the perspectives of various theologians and gave daily quizzes. Some students struggled to learn from viewpoints different from their own. Even though Dr. Wofford likely held more conservative views than I do now, he was fair in his presentations, giving both sides of an argument. I remember one of my classmates tearing up because she had to read something that contradicted her beliefs. This was university, and some young people didn’t want to change.
Again, there is something comforting about staying where we are—intellectually, psychologically, spiritually, and physically. In our new home, there’s much to learn and adapt to. In our old place, we had a system that used Alexa to turn on lights and manage security. In this home, we have an entirely new system of automation. It’s easy to see why people want to stay where they’ve been for a long time. Yet there is something within us that drives us beyond stagnation. We are meant for challenges and growth, even in old age. Even our husky and tabby have had to adapt to this new space, but it’s been a fun adventure for them too.
God is a migratory God, and especially during this season of Advent, Christians reflect on God’s journey in this world. It is a journey of constant movement, bringing healing, restoration, and renewal. It might be comforting to some to think of God as being “the same yesterday, today, and forever” (Hebrews 13:8), but this likely applies to God’s nature, not how God interacts with the world. God relates differently throughout history, adapting and changing as we conceive and think about the divine. Theology shouldn’t be a static system of exposing the same doctrines. If it were, there would only be one religion, one type of Christianity, and one theology. As Dr. Wofford admitted, there are many views—perhaps of the same thing, perhaps of different things. Not only does our perspective of God grow and mature, but God’s interactions with us also grow. This is the good news of Advent. Once God was not a baby, and then God was a baby. Once God didn’t have to suckle at a mother’s breast, and then God did. If that’s not change, I don’t know what is.
For now, let us take time to celebrate all that we’ve done and accomplished this year. Attached is a one-page reflection I’ve found helpful. I did something similar last year, and it’s something I send to my clients.
Take an hour to work on it in the upcoming weeks—I guarantee it will help you move forward into 2025.
Peace.
Wise words on the wisdom of embracing change, as hard as it can be.