A smile, like the sun bursting from behind dark clouds, appears on my face. My joy is overwhelming, and yet still my eyes threaten me with tears of grief. I finish reading and simply sit, paralyzed by the intensity of my emotions, as the world continues around me. Finally, something, probably a goat, forces my attention back to the present. Two clicks later, and the experience is repeating itself. This is how I feel when I read emails from friends and family back home. It is a curious phenomenon made all the more curious by the fact that I would not consider myself to be a sensitive or emotional person. However, this one event, the reading of letters from home, strikes me to the very core of my soul.

I have spent a lot of time wondering why it impacts me so, and I have a few ideas. Perhaps I am overjoyed to know that relationships, which at a subconscious level seem to be gone, are still alive. And maybe the grief follows close behind because I know that the people are not really here with me. Then again, what if the entire experience is a product of the stress from living in a new culture? It could be that my mind is so hungry for anything familiar that it latches on to the thoughts and words of friends and family in order to know once again that it belongs somewhere. The subsequent joy and grief would be the result of the stress lifting and then returning as I remember where I am. However, maybe I am overthinking the situation and everything stems from the common feeling of missing loved ones.

Whatever the reason, it must surely be complex and yet simple. After all, if Star Trek has taught me anything, it is that human emotions are illogical.

Despite knowing the futility of the act, I still ponder and consider the impact of these contacts with home, and one day a revelation came to me. It is a common enough statement that we, Christians, are not citizens of this world. Jesus mentioned it, and the New Testament writers really ran with the idea. Thus, the revelation was in the form of question: do we receive letters from our new home in God’s Kingdom? It is simple enough to say “Yes. We have prayer, and there are signs of God working. Clearly we receive contact.” However, where is the emotional attachment that is such a part of hearing from my earthly home?

It is not entirely absent. There is certainly excitement when God answers a prayer; especially if it is one’s own prayer. Yet for me, it is not often the same heartfelt joy that I feel. Rather, my response is more like that feeling of having successfully solved a difficult math problem. Plus, the emotional response is strongly tied to the answer of the prayer. A “yes” is success, and a “no” is woe. (Sorry. I couldn’t resist that rhyme.) This, too, is different from my experience because not every email I receive is happy. Sometimes friends are sending me notice of hardship, and while the grief is stronger, the joy is still there.

What if I responded to God’s movements in the world the way I respond to letters from home?

Prayer would become less a chore and more an expected relief. I would look forward to praying in the same way I eagerly anticipate reading another letter. Meeting new, fellow Christians would not be an exercise in politeness, but it would be as amazing as a stranger walking up to you in a foreign land and greeting you in your native tongue. And beneath it all would run the undercurrent of grief. To know in my heart that this place is not my home, that I despite the friendships I may build I am still a foreigner, and that the person who truly knows and accepts me is not here would be a high price to pay. However, I still read emails. The joy is worth the pain, and it is worth it here, too.

So, how do we make this happen? A wise man was briefly my teacher, and he answered every question I had about the “practical applications” of spiritual matters the same way: “Ask!” Ask God. He wanted us to ask for so big a gift from God that he would have to roll up his sleeves and perhaps even break a sweat. Thus, I will pray, and I will ask that God make my citizenship in his Kingdom real to me. May I be so blessed that he will.

I do want to add a brief word of caution to this. Emotions are fickle things, and it is dangerous to allow them to dictate theology or determine one’s standing with God. Who knows, if I stayed here long enough, maybe the impact of these emails would dwindle. I do not want anyone to feel that their relationship with God is worse than another’s because it lacks intense emotions. Rather, I want us all to consider the truth of our heavenly citizenship and ponder if we might live differently in light of it. It would change everything, not just our easily-swayed emotions. However, that is a topic for another time.