The One Word That Will Change Your Monday
Native—one of the original inhabitants of a country
Dear wandering & wondering you,
Today is the day that the history books taught us about—ships graced with romantic names, uninhibited land, courageous expedition, brand new beginnings in brave new worlds.
But the shifting tides are turning over new waters of truth, and we are seeing that a day like today didn’t come without cost.
We now acknowledge that the untold story in the back pages of history books screams to us the truth about lives spared at the expense of settlers taking sail, death entangled with the cough of new breath.
We’ve celebrated exploration all these years when we should have been mourning extinction.
So, if you’re wondering where this leaves you, I’ll tell you plainly—it leaves you to wander, leaves you to see that, even you, are a stranger in your own land.
It leaves you to wade waters that slap hard against the cheek harder than any harsh wave that Christopher faced all those years back.
History is hard. It tells us stories that we learn to believe and then it pulls its raggedy and rusty rug right from under us, telling us the stories we once believed no longer have any truth to them.
Yes, the books were wrong. They have always been wrong, and they will always get it wrong. Even on this day—especially on this day.
I say this, with every trace of my family’s thick, red man blood pumping in my red blood—There is no one native—we are all pilgrims here.
This earth, and its boundaries etched in erasable ink, is not our home. It is not our beginning and it is not our end. It will only ever be our disease-stricken and soul-enslaving glorified version of a New York City crash pad—there will always be a crack in the wall, always a broken brick needing upgrade.
You are not home. None of us, in the here and now and even those from days dead and gone, have ever been home.
We have always been wandering, we will always be wandering. Wondering for truth about a place where our souls might find eternal rest and total belonging.
And I will whisper this to you before the waking of a new day whisks you away.
A soul can only stake ground in the sacrificial love of a savior.
In the nail-pierced hands of Jesus, God come man, God come into the world to charter the land of a people fully known and loved by Him.
And He did not come to take. He came to give.
And home can only be found in Him.