In fifth grade I had one of two teachers in my entire education who I had not grown up with. Mrs. C was fun and let me dress up to recite Paul Revere which is another story for another time. I remember most of American history because of her and the fact that she allowed me to dump one of the boys out of a wheel barrow.
The other thing I remember about fifth grade is choir. We sang everything from Buffalo Gals to old spirituals. I remember one in particular.
This world is not my home
I’m just a passing through
My treasure is laid up
Somewhere beyond the blue
The angels beckon me
through heavens open door
I’m just not at home
in this world anymore.
This song pops up at the strangest of times, but I was thinking about Hebrews this morning about being a stranger in a strange land, living as a foreigner.
I understand the concept of living as a foreigner now. I may have thought I did in Indonesia, but not in the same way. I am on my own in a way I wasn’t there. No schedule, no set way of doing things. The things I’m used to fighting in California are different in Texas and the way of life is different. It is difficult to be a guest in another’s home and I am starting to understand the idea of being a just a steward, just a guest, just a passing through…