In Whatsoever State I Am

Last Monday morning, I got up early. Actually, if I’m honest, I never fell asleep. We live in a high-rise apartment complex with a few stores in the courtyard below. That morning, we were out of coffee, so I hurried down to 7-11. It was raining. It wasn’t the warm, humid rain we normally have. In fact, the air was surprisingly cool for Taipei this time of year. As I stood at the counter listening to the coffee machine whirr, smelling that fresh coffee scent, and hearing the cool rain drizzle outside, I was transported.

Our apartment complex from the ridge in a nearby park

Transported sounds like a word some cooler-than-thou writer with pretensions of grandeur would use. In fact, it reminds me of my sophomore creative writing teacher adamantly warning us to avoid the “lure of the obscure.” “Don’t talk old-fashioned just because you think it sounds cool.” I can’t think of a better word, though, for how it felt. For a moment, I wasn’t in Taipei, standing at a 7-11 counter. I was in Maine, on a rainy morning, grabbing coffee at a local cafe and chatting with the shop assistant, probably a longtime friend since this is Maine after all.

The moment was fleeting, but it was there. I was transported.

Longterm travel is a funny thing. When you first arrive at a new place, a new home, you are enamoured with that newness. It’s not that you don’t love home, but home is old hat. You can have that back whenever you want, right? You want to try new foods, new places, new adventures. The longer you stay, though, the more you seek the familiar, something that feels like home.

Our first year here, I was too busy to feel much homesickness. Granted, there were moments when I really wanted a good piece of bread or a bowl of mashed potatoes slathered with butter that didn’t cost an arm and a leg. At Christmas, too, I wanted snow and family. But there was also something enchanting about the newness. I learned to love rice even more than I already did. I fell in love with a simpler Christmas free from cultural expectations. I missed home, but I treasured the new.

Christmas Eve 2014

A sleepy Christmas morning 

This year, though, it’s a bit different. Perhaps it’s the length of time I’ve been away. We’re nearing 13 months since my feet last hit American soil. Maybe it’s the life changes I’ve gone through. I’m not teaching this year, so I have more time on my hands, more time to long for that one place that’s always felt like home—Maine. Or maybe it’s the recent agony of a long-sought hope deferred. If I can’t have this one thing we long for, then can’t I at least be home?

Maybe it’s one of these things or maybe it’s all three of these things in combination that make me miss home so I much. I don’t know. I just know I miss it.

I miss the changing of a sunshiny summer into a crisp fall. I miss the smell of apples fresh-picked from a tree. I miss long drives in the middle of nowhere just to run errands. I miss friendly but reserved people. I miss living in a town where I’m known by my lineage, my parents or my Dad’s parents or even my Dad’s parents’ parents. I miss being known as an Andrews girl just by my looks.

I’m a small-town girl with a loving family from a beautiful place, and I miss it all. 

But I’ve found these moments here to get me through. Sometimes it’s something small that reminds me of home. It could be a drizzly morning getting coffee or it could be searching out and finding a long-missed food. Other times, it’s not so much something that reminds me of home but something that feels like home in a new, surprising way.

Let me explain. When we left for the UK this summer, we went knowing we would return here but not anticipating that return. We’ve enjoyed our time in Taipei. It’s been an adventure, but it’s never felt like home in the way that Maine or the UK does. When the plane touched down at Songshan Airport, though, we were both surprised at how we felt. It was like returning to an old friend. A puzzle piece slipped into place. 

Arriving at Songshan Airport

Since returning, I’ve had two contradictory emotions growing. I miss home, but this place continues to feel a bit more like a new home. It’s the familiar walk through the park into town. It’s fresh watermelon juice from a roadside stand. It’s buying flowers for a pittance at a traditional, undercover market with a weird smell. It’s looking at Taipei 101 from my apartment on a clear morning. These aren’t things that remind me of home. They are things that I’ve learned to love for themselves and have consequently begun to feel like home, a new home. 

I’ll continue to miss home. Taipei will never replace Maine in my heart. There are many things I don’t like here: the weather (especially in the Winter), the lack of good quality bread, MSG in everything, not being able to communicate freely. 

I’m learning to be like Paul, though, and treasure where I am. Paul says in his letter to the Philippians that he has learned in all things to be content. By our standards, Paul had every reason not to be content. He went through unjust imprisonments and shipwrecks. He knew hunger and want. He should have been unhappy, but he wasn’t. 

By that comparison, I have it pretty good. I have a 3-bedroom apartment, plenty of food (especially after our trip to Costco the other night!), air conditioners in almost every room, friends, income, and plenty of creature comforts. 

The only thing I lack is that one place I would prefer to be. I have to imagine that Paul had a place he preferred. Maybe it was his childhood home. We don’t know. We do know that not only was he content to be away from that place (if he indeed had such a place), but he was also content to be in the midst of all manner of hardships. Why? He had Christ, and being in the center of Christ’s will is always home.

God allows hardships and longings in our lives for a reason. We should always come back to the same question. What does God want me to learn? In this case, the answer is laid out pretty plain and simple by Paul.

“I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.”

At the hot springs in the mountains outside Taipei