In grad school, we studied the “border figures,” those who found themselves in the middle of two places, not really belonging to either of them. (You know, like Rudyard Kipling’s “Kim,” not really British and not Indian but a mix of both. Or, you have the figure of Jane Eyre, floating somewhere in between middle and upper-class society, enjoying all of the ills and none of the charms of either) At the time, I could only theorize about those at the borders, but now I can empathize with them. Feeling displaced or uprooted is generally not a very good feeling. But, not having a physical “place” has brought me a deeper sense of belonging than I’ve felt before.

Cecelia came six days after we moved out. What a time for a baby to come. Here we were, living in a kind friend’s house, just thirty minutes from the hospital. We arrived at 1:45 a.m., and she was born at 5:23 a.m. In such a tumultuous time, having a new, perfect life was (and is) such a gift to our family. Still, I felt a little sad that I wasn’t going to be bringing my precious newborn girl “home.”

With Adeline, I had relished the opportunity to create the perfect nursery. I found some antique frames to frame her initials, and hung them over the crib. The room was cozy and beautiful, complete with a crystal chandelier I’d found on Craigslist, and spray painted myself. This time, Cecelia wouldn’t have a fancy nursery designed just for her, but a pack-n-play hastily set up in someone else’s living room.

But this season is so typical of life—full of mish-mashed sadness and delight. Part of what I am reminded at every happy and sad times is that Jesus knows. He knows what it’s like to be homeless. His mother had no crib for him, but a manger.

At other times, my ability to retain perspective wavered. It seemed like not everybody could ever be happy at once. If Cecelia was okay, Adeline was in tears. If Adeline was okay, Cecelia was sobbing. If both of them were peacefully sleeping, Adam was upset because the girls were stealing any moment we could have alone together. Add to this the stress of our family of four finding itself in a foreign environment. I tried to cook a couple of times, but gave it up after having to first locate and then dig through our box of spices. Packing for a short interim presents its challenges: you need the bare essentials, but a little more than you would need for a week vacation. This means that everything you need is conveniently shoved away in a box somewhere.

One night when things were feeling especially grim, I picked up a copy of Ella K. Lindvall’s Read-Aloud Bible Stories Vol. 3. (If you haven’t yet discovered these gems, I’d highly recommend them). Maybe my sleep deprivation made these toddler level stories about the right level for mom. But I do think that the particular story I read to Adeline was actually meant for me that night. The story was about Joseph, and the line kept repeating: “Was Joseph happy? No. But God was there.” What a good reminder that God is there, and God is here.

Another reminder came the following week, when I needed it the most. I’ve always had an NIV Bible, but this past summer I spent a birthday gift on a new ESV. I had always read “The Lord your God is your refuge, and underneath are the Everlasting Arms” (Deut.  But this time, this familiar verse read “The Lord your God is your dwelling place.” When I am displaced, I am finding that He is my dwelling place. He is the One in whom my hope is securely found, thankfully, when I can’t seem to find anything else. I am thankful for the chaos and loss of the familiar, that drives me to find my home wherever He is.