My proper place

Yesterday I found myself in the Pittsburgh Airport’s interfaith worship room. I removed my shoes and laid down in the corner designated for prayer.

A Welcome Wagon song popped into my head and I found myself humming it while sorting through a lot of thoughts from visiting Grove City this weekend and the place my mind goes when I have to answer old friends’ “so, what are you up to?”s 20 times in a day and wanting to give an honest answer.

And to be fair, it’s the question I’ve been asking God 20 times a day, so I don’t mind it much.

The song is very simple. It pretty much goes, “Jesus, help me find my proper place.” I’ve sung it as a prayer while walking around New York. I sang it quite a bit driving around Greensboro, too. And I think about those words a lot when I travel. It’s a wanderer’s prayer to belong.

The switch happened yesterday, lying prostrate in an empty room in the back of an airport: those words have always been so much more about posture than location.

The posture of my heart has always been more crucial than the current coordinates of my heart in the universe.

It’s okay to be a bit of a wanderer. Jesus was. But it’s not the most important thing. Bowing is more important than having my bags packed. He has more of my attention there.

If you are waking up like me this morning wondering where your proper place is, it may be your posture and not your location that’s throwing you off your rhythm.

I love you, wanderers. May your Monday be full of a deep sense of place in all the holiest of ways.