I know, this is the second post in a row in which I’m starting out by apologizing for not writing and updating in some time. I could say it has something to do with working more hours than I anticipated, or undergoing a lot of canning projects, or getting super-involved in church, all of which leave me with little down time. I could say it has something to do with my acclamation to Ripon and the midwest in general, which means nothing seems quite as blog-length comment worthy. Both are true, to a certain extent. But if I’m honest–both to you and to myself–it’s not the whole story.
Really, I haven’t written anything about our “grand adventures” in weeks because I’ve been homesick. Deeply, mood-altering-ly homesick.
I kind of knew this was going to happen. But I thought it’d be fine. I traipsed across the Atlantic on a whim by myself one summer and barely looked back. Here, I’ve got David–I’m not by myself. I have free time to do all the things I love doing, but can’t when reading mountains of books each week and writing self-imposed 30 page papers on church or hymns or ancient women or the like. So I made jam. And pickles. And dilly beans. And mustard. And ketchup. And quilted coasters. And arranged a song.
side note: Don’t make ketchup. It’s not worth it. Tasty? Yes. Ridiculously time-consuming? Even more so.
But at the end of the day, I’m 1,100 miles away from the city that I love, the friends that became family, and the schools that shaped me into who I am. I’m working at a job that, while it’s good work, is fraught with the same staff politics of a small-town church–which we’re also attending.
Don’t get me wrong. I like our new church. The only time I’ve felt truly alive, truly “me,” in the past few weeks is at church–where I’m teaching Sunday school, going to be leading worship services, and have found a community of characters that I’m enjoying getting to know. But…it’s not Union. We can’t sing “Marching to Zion” out here the same way we did back there. And then when I found out that my beloved pastor and mentor would have become my District Superintendent, I felt irresponsible for leaving the conference. I so want to be a part of the mission-moving work that is bound to grace the District. It took me two weeks to get around to transferring my membership to our new church, simply because I couldn’t bear to say that our time in Boston was truly over–for now.
I know it makes me sound petty. It’s very “Gen-Y” of me to sound like I’m complaining about not working at my dream job right after graduation, or to not have everything I’ve ever wanted immediately. I seem very entitled when I’m complaining that I’m not happy with the fact that I’ve found a job, bought a house, gotten married, and earned a graduate degree in the past three months. And so I try to quiet myself, knowing that I should be feeling grateful for all the good things in my life, rather than pointing out all the complications inherent in merging two lives together OR moving halfway across the country OR ending your 22-year stretch of constant schooling (let along doing all those things at the same time).
But if I’m being honest, it’s been really hard. I know it’s worth it–my marriage to David makes all of this worth it. Because, at the end of the day, he’s right beside me. But during the day, as I see updates about my friends’ classes or ISGC’s first rehearsal, I yearn to be in the city I love, doing what I love, with those that I love. And until Ripon becomes that place (and I can only pray that day is soon), this moving thing threw me much more than I was prepared for. And, well, that’s all I can say about that.