Without Borders

When I moved to the bustling city of Madrid, Spain, last year, I hardly expected to find myself homeless. OK, physically, I’m not really homeless, but I’ve found that God has awakened a homelessness in my heart since I started living and working here.

What is this strange tension between these two worlds? I’m living in Spain, but I still long to be at home in the United States. I’m American, but my heart beats for the Spanish culture and its people. It’s a bizarre phenomenon, but it’s my reality. Let me try to explain.

When I studied in Sevilla during my last semester of college, God birthed in me a connection here. He never let me get over this country and its people. He created a certain restlessness in me that reveals itself when I am in the States - a sense that part of who I am is in Spain, and I don’t feel completely “at home” when I’m home.

The adventure, romance, and wonder of Spain and its people captured my heart years ago, and I found that I felt at home among these delightful people. So when I got this incredible job opportunity in Madrid, I jumped at the chance to immerse myself again in the country I called home for a semester.

However, now that I’ve crossed the big pond and am settling into the day-to-day, I’m seeing the realities of life as an American in Spain. I realize that, as much as I say I identify myself with the people here, I can never truly be a Spaniard. I mean, yeah, I knew that; but now, it’s painfully obvious to me - and everyone else.

It doesn’t matter how much I dress like the people here, try to talk like them, live by their schedules, or adapt to their social customs. I still stick out like a sore thumb at times, whether it’s because of my accent, smiling so much, or talking to strangers. My worldview and approach to life seem to scream, “American!”

I guess I could cope with that tension by trying to completely hang onto my American identity - wearing tennis shoes in public, speaking English, and frequenting the McDonald’s and Starbucks nearby. Or when I’m in the States in the future, I could try to keep my Spanish connection by attempting one heck of a smoking habit, staying up until all hours, and speaking Castilian.

But neither of those approaches actually gets at my conflict. The only thing that has worked for me - on either side of the ocean - is remembering that my citizenship really doesn’t have anything to do with political and geographical boundaries.

Above all else, I belong to God and His kingdom. My identity rests in His ownership of my life. And in Him are the best of all worlds - the openness and charity of Americans, the passion and close relationships of Spaniards, and anything else that makes a place feel like home.

Experiencing some of this tension and the knowledge that I may not fully “fit” in one country reminds me of my heavenly citizenship. I am created to be with and experience God no matter where my physical home is - with the understanding that ultimately, my citizenship is in heaven, and my heart will be fully satisfied only when I am with Jesus face to face.

And with that in mind, I can be open to wherever God wants to move me, whether that’s across the street or halfway around the world.