Last night, something in the air made me particularly homesick. We'd had a soccer game earlier that night and I was angry about it and I just wanted to talk to somebody. . .but there wasn't anybody. I think this was the top of the hill, and my little snowball started rolling.
I lay in my bed wondering what actual friends I've made since I've moved down here. I've met people, I've hung out with people, but I'm not sure if I've found someone I can just call anytime and say whatever I need to say.
I moved down here because I needed peers. I needed a change because in Michigan, I had friends but they were all several years older than me, and all married--some with children. I needed people in my same stage of life. Oklahoma (for whatever reason) has them. And two nights ago I was reflecting on what it was about peers that I really needed.
I needed to move down here. God provided me with a job, a house, and the security of a familiar town. But last night I realized that I just wanted to be home.
I want to see my parents every day, and my brother, and my dog. The familiar sight of my street as I'm coming home from wherever I've been just gets me all excited inside. I want grey skies 3/4 of the time, and green grass all the time. And I want a brown February that's too cold for comfort. I want to feel like I'm in a place I can consider my home.
I still feel like I'm living in a dorm room--I've got my TV in here, the bathroom in here, my music in here, I have roommates. I spend most of my time in my room. If I was at home, I'd wander from family room, to living room, to game room. Watching TV's, reading books, sneaking fruit roll-ups from the pantry when mom isn't looking. When I'm at home, there are neighbors coming in and out. I can walk down the street into a neighbor's house and sit down with their dog and watch tv. I don't have that here. And I can't get over it.
I still can't get over the bad attitude I have about nothing about the churches being remotely familiar. Last night--dreading Sunday morning service, I lay in my bed and cried. I was so homesick, I couldn't do anything else.
I woke up this morning on my own. I looked at the clock, and my alarm hadn't gone off. I quickly showered and changed. I was mad that I overslept because I was planning on going to class at church this morning, and I missed it. But I was glad I hadn't missed church altogether. I know that God is going to help me get over this, but it's not going to happen if I just stop going to church altogether. So my roommate and I left and made it in time for service. Then it happened:
The preacher gets up and announces that he's going to introduce today's guest speaker. Today's guest speaker, who was one of his professors at Abeline. Today's guest speaker who was in town for a week teaching a Bible course and headed out of town today. Today's guest speaker who currently teaches Bible classes at Rochester College, up near Detroit Michigan. (My ears perk up.) Today's guest speaker: Dr. David Fleer.
I was so happy I almost started crying. Dr. Fleer had preached at Livonia for about 6 months when I was in high school while our church was looking for a new preacher. Dr. Fleer delivers some of the most entertaining, yet poingnant seromons and lectures I've ever heard. I love Dr. Fleer because you can see the sparkle in his bright blue eyes from the back of a dimly lit auditorium as he's preaching and whatever he says you can't help but hold on to. Finally--for the first time in the 9 months I've lived down here, something was familiar.
God moves in mysterious ways. I'm not so sure he's trying to tell me anything right now about where I am being the right place. But I know I've comitted at least the next 2 years to living down here. And it's going to be hard. But God keeps me remembering that he will take care of me. And that even when I'm down, he will take the time to remind me that he knows. He understands. And he's working, and moving, and will do what it takes to keep me on track. To keep me from giving up. Or shutting down. Or quitting. I like to quit. He listens, and when I'm homesick, he'll send a day that smells like Michigan--just so I can be reminded that it's okay for home to be somewhere else right now. He'll send a message to remind me that even though I'm far from comfort, he came with me.
I've said it before: I will probably never be able to call Oklahoma "home." But at least, now, I know that it can feel like home if I'm open enough to let it.
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2 comments:
hey! i can completely relate to this post. especially the part about feeling like there aren't any really great, close friends to tell stupid-but-important-to-you things to. i'm glad dr. fleer was there! good job with the timing, God:-) i get excited whenever i meet someone from the states, even if i have no idea who they are and we spend just 1 minute saying hello and saying, "hey, where are you from in the states? oh yeah, that's cool. nice meeting you." it's refreshing, because i don't feel blocked off from everything. and i know that things will be better, like you said. transitions are always hard, and some are particularly hard. i'm glad we're going through a particularly hard time at the same time, so i can tell you about it and know that you get it:-) one day when we live next door to each other and are helping our children make a lemonade stand we'll be SUPER happy that God kept us friends for so long.
love you!
Oh, it's been too long since I've checked in and boy am I glad that I did today!
I miss seeing you, randomly and in different places. You are "a MI person" to me. And so I am glad to hear you miss us. We miss you.
Keep on working at being ok, it only gets better when you work on it. And I believe it is ok to have one place that is always home, or at least more like home than any other place. And it doesn't mean other places are bad, just...different! :-) Vermont will always be that place for me, that's more like home than anywhere else.
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