Wherever you go, there you are.
The adage packs a punch.
When a person relocates (whether across town or time zones) he encounters a lot of “New”. Things about the place are simply different. New. The person himself, however – the relocated individual – has for the most part typically changed only a little, if at all. A hairstyle might alter, a wardrobe get tweaked, but the actual person at the core stays the same. We don’t get to don a sudden new-and-improved set of character traits in the way we might spring for an upgrade in workout sweats.
I had long ago ventured from Okmulgee County for employment in Cody, Wyoming. Afterward, accompanied by my young bride, I took up residence in far-off Africa. Decades later here I was, having landed on the campus of a local university. Still, the fact remained. In each instance I had brought “myself with me”. Jerry Lout – my cultural and character baggage (healthy and otherwise) moving about day by day in shoe leather.
But the tidewaters were about to change.
The routine Sunday morning found Ann and me at our usual place of worship. We had moved to a new church and had come to sense that we were home.
Stepping to the pulpit, Pastor Roger began his sermon. Minutes in, a delicate story of self-disclosure unfolded. This I had not expected, nor would have envisioned being shared within a Sunday morning sanctuary venue. Vulnerably but sensitively conveyed, the earthy account set a spark of hope flickering within me. For myself, a good serving of hope seemed overdue.
“Back when I was a teenaged kid in my hometown”, Roger began, “a buddy and I one day decided to go dumpster-diving. We came upon a Playboy magazine”.
The audience leaned in.
©2024 Jerry Lout