Settling and Scrabble

Story by M, photography by Kym van der Plas

It was the word ‘homey’ that did it. Lately, my husband and I have taken to playing Scrabble on our phones. Relaxing on the sofa with his feet up, I couldn’t quite believe that he had beaten me three games in a row. I started to investigate. Do you know what “ragees” means? The skepticism in my voice was unmistakable. Do you know what “gnar” means? What about “homey”? Granted, I was being cheeky and possibly a poor loser, but I was confused by how he could find top-scoring words when English is his third language. 

The first two words were a fortuitous stab in the dark, but I was wrong on the third word, “homey.” It turns out my husband did know what it meant. From his vantage point on the sofa, he looked around our living area, freshly reorganised, and he said, “This… this is homey.”

Homey. A month ago, we began the process of settling. It has been a long time coming as our 18 months of marriage have included at least three homes across three different continents. We have been holding out to feel settled. My phrase to friends has been, “We want to be somewhere long enough to water a pot plant.” I have been craving routines and the rest that comes from being able to put things away. Finally, it has arrived. The boxes have been unpacked, the suitcases stored away and trips to the op shop have been made. We have dropped off old books and picked up coat hangers, a bookshelf and a laundry basket. After floating from place to place, we now need a season of stability for our sapling marriage. We are eager to settle into this nook.

Lately, one particular TV show has caught our attention. After finishing a season of Alone Australia, we dipped into the American series across the pond. These episodes are often set in stark locations, such as the Arctic Circle and Patagonia. I can attest to very much enjoying the armchair experience of a nana-blanket over my knees for warmth and a cup of tea in hand, whilst we watch survivalists push into extreme conditions from dawn to dusk.  We notice the comparisons between the contestants as the scene flicks from person to person. It struck me that some of those who fare better are not those who necessarily enter the competition with experience, but those who plan a shelter that enables them to enjoy their temporary home. These survivalists build chairs to sit on and make sure their beds are comfortable. They carve out spoons to eat with and create a cosy living space to return to after hunting and fishing. For them, settling and thriving is about taking time to enjoy beauty and thus design a home of comfort and safety. Like the Alone survivalists, I have come to see that one aspect of settling involves beautifying a space and thus creating a place of rest.

Having recently returned from the Middle East, we have many friends who are refugees there. They are living in a country that is not their own and they lack the freedom to put down deep roots because they are refused residency. They are refused the right to call it home. Some are living with a scrappy tent over their heads whilst others are crammed into dilapidated apartments. Just over a year ago, I walked through a refugee camp with friends. As we walked through the side streets, I noticed that some had paved a colourful, tiled entrance way into their home. Across the camp, people had made the temporary feel permanent. Balancing an acceptance of their situation with a longing for future stability, they pursued contentment by choosing brightly coloured floral tiles around their front door. It reminded me of an Old Testament passage from Jeremiah. The weeping prophet’s exhortation to the exiles is to pursue the good of the city you live in, to take the time to plant your food and grow your family – even whilst living as displaced people. 

Another aspect of settling is having an attitude of openness to building again. Perhaps this is harder for me; it feels vulnerable to find and begin new relationships or re-warm the coals of friendship where the norm has been messages and phone calls, not walks and a stop at a cafe. Building communities means that we soon hope to open our home to others and we hope to find local communities to sow into too. Whilst church is our main community, we enjoy being part of a swim group and a futsal meet up or meeting with others to discuss a book over plates of Turkish mezze and shish kebabs.

Strangely, I notice that alongside the desire to settle, there is another pull on my heart.  Stopping and planting some roots always brings out some discontent in me. Inevitably, I compare the old with the new and eventually I come face-to-face with the culprit: me. It should be no surprise but I am sinfully present in each location move that I make. As I squeeze my body into new spaces and places, I lament that I don’t have what I had previously, and I complain that the way others see things is too narrow for my liking. I am not alone in facing a wave of discontent as I settle. The story arc of the Bible reveals a people constantly on the move. The Israelites were rescued from slavery only to complain that their new freedom was not as good as they had had it before. Perhaps the view from the tent had changed, but the journey had not changed their hearts. 

Sometimes on my morning walk, I stop at some free gym equipment to try out the resistance machines.  These machines maintain a constant tension as the muscle moves through flexion and extension. Perhaps I feel a similar tension as I long to settle down yet feel a little afraid of putting down roots in case we need to move again. It is not just discontent that knocks on my window. There is some fear too. So how can I respond to the other pulls on my heart and the murmurings of discontent? 

I have decided to plant some sugar snap peas in our garden beds.  Knowing that I lean towards assuming another move is visible on the horizon, I am trying to walk in Jeremiah’s counsel and push back against keeping my roots shallow. This is not naive; there will be another house move ahead of us. Many, most likely. In fact, whenever my husband and I pass another council pick-up on the side of the road, we joke with each other that we can’t look… we don’t want to accumulate “maybe one day” treasures. We live with the inward tussle of wanting to build roots and connections, forge new friendships, discover new bushwalking tracks and planting into the earth to nurture it and enjoy what it can give us in a season of stability. At the same time, we want to be movable people, willing and able to let it all go and start again. We want to remember that this little corner of Australia is not our ultimate home, but we are sojourning through. The Bible describes us as having our citizenship in heaven, reminding us that our deep longing for settledness will only be fully realised in heaven. 

We are so thankful for this sunny apartment. We truly have so much. Next month’s job is to print out some photos and put them on the walls. Beautifying and enjoying our home notches up our thankfulness for this season of settling and Scrabble. Actively letting down the anchor and putting down some roots leans our hearts out of fear and into contentment and community. It is a good antidote against anxiously scanning the future for change.

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M—Regular Contributor

Until recently, M was an overseas cross-cultural worker, so she is now processing all the transitions whilst still in transition herself. She is grateful for her Latino husband, acts of kindness and grace and friends who have prayed for her in seasons of loss. She enjoys taking photos of beautiful doors and is dipping her toe into the world of birding. You can find more on Instagram @booksonfridays