Thirteen Hours and a Million Miles Away

This time last year, I was in a car somewhere between Memphis and Little Rock, a car packed full of moving van leftovers, two tired little girls, a long suffering husband, two Beta fish, and my six months pregnant self. This time last year, that car had Alabama plates and my girls still dropped the occasional "Yes, ma'am" or "No, sir." This time last year, I felt scared and alone, uncertain of the future and sad for what I was leaving behind.

In the past year, so much has changed: new house, new job, new church, new schools, new baby, new friends. These things are blessings.

In the past year, there has been loss. And lots of it. I don't have any theological perspective on that right now.

I have done a lot of looking back over the past 12 months. I will admit that I am glad to finally be in a place that when I play the "Where Was I a Year Ago" game, I will find myself here, in Joplin. When I wake up tomorrow, I will remember signing loan documents. And meeting Sallie at the house that she and a small task force lovingly cleaned and painted for us. I will remember buying Subway for the moving crew and how beautiful the paint colors (chosen in about five minutes at the Eufaula Wal-Mart) actually looked on the walls. I will remember the girls' excitement (short lived as it was) over the prospect of sharing a room for the first time. And I will remember the hot, musty smell that came with our sweet, old house. With the return of the summer heat, it smells like that again. I love it.

Looking back can be a great thing, but unchecked, it can and will drain today of its joy. I don't want to live in Alabama anymore. Not because it's not a great place to be, or because I don't like the people, or even because its average summer temperature is just slightly lower than the temperature of the sun (you get used to it). It's because it's time to stop living there when I no longer live there. And it's because I have a new home. A wonderful home. I have had it for a while now; it's time to lean in to it, as my friend would say. There is joy to be found here.