So, I know it is already Monday….
Here is not always easy for me. I grew up a wanderer in and community of wanderers. Every two years, like clockwork, I get the itch to move on. My skin itches to start somewhere fresh.
Yet somehow I am here in this little town. Putting down roots. Making deep friendships. Establishing traditions and patterns and routines.
On Sunday I get an email informing me of the death of a girl I knew in Africa when I was a child. Of course she was grown into a young lady and according to the memories and pictures posted on her website she was accomplished and adventurous. This girl that I played with in the dusty African soil and slept next to in our twin beds at boarding school had gone on to travel the world and impact lives and do big stuff!
All day I am aware of my childhood. The strangeness of it. The different-ness of it. This other life I had that looks so different from the Sunday best, the mini-van, the homeschooling, the comfortable house, the two blonde boys and sturdy husband that mark where I am now. Of course I start to question, is here enough? (Whatever enough is.)
That’s when I realize that no matter where I am, here is always uncomfortable. I never quite fit right. Even though it doesn’t appear that way I am as much a fish out of water here in small town, Southern America as I was in Africa, or suburban Philadelphia, or high school in Holland, or evangelical college on the mountain. And that’s okay. It’s even a gift.
Here, is always enough, because God is here.