Belonging

"Home is a place not only of strong affections, but of entire unreserve; it is life's undress rehearsal, its backroom, its dressing room." - Harriet Beecher Stowe

I've never considered myself a homebody. When I was younger, I'd always planned on going to college far away (or at least Chicago), studying abroad, teaching English in Taiwan... none of those things panned out, but only because God forcibly (and against my stubborn will) led me elsewhere, and not due to a lack of interest.

I had a great childhood in Michigan (though my teenage years may have bordered on angsty) but I never felt any particular loyalty to my hometown and I wasn't at all surprised at my post-graduation decision to move six states away to a foreign city where I knew exactly one person (or two, depending on if you count TJ as a separate entity from his wife). Unlike my counterparts, Kristen and Hannah, who are so needy for human interaction that there were times when they literally couldn't let me nap for 20 minutes, I've never minded being alone (earning myself the nickname 'Hermit' in college, thanks to my penchant for locking myself in my room and generally refusing visitors). So I'm continually surprised at how much I miss my friends, family and my home.

Monroe is not a place I would recommend living. Situated halfway between Toledo and Detroit, cities with two of the crappiest reputations I've encountered, it doesn't have much to boast except a failing economy and a river that floods its banks every few years. Everything about it is, at best, mediocre. Honestly, unless you are writing your doctoral thesis on General George Custer (while not his birthplace, we do claim to be his boyhood home), I can't think of a single reason you would ever pack up and move your life to Monroe, MI.

In contrast, the residents of Greenville, where I currently live, love to say that they live "in the best place in the world". On the radio, in the supermarket line, during casual conversation- I really do hear this line once a week or so. And I can't really argue with them; Greenville does seem to have a Renaissance man kind of thing going. With mild winters, and gorgeous springs and falls, it's close to the coast, the mountains, and only a short drive from both Atlanta and Charlotte. In a few hours drive you can be surfing, snowboarding, hiking the Appalachian Trail, or taking in a show at the Fox. And beyond its convenient proximity, Greenville itself is both a big town and a small city, where you find yourself driving beyond someone you know on the highway, but you can get still buy Eagles tickets for the Bi-Lo Center downtown. The city seems to truly care about the happiness of its residents, and spends its time and money on things that improve the space, offering beautiful parks, extensive trails, and countless free entertainment opportunities.

All that being said, my heart is not really here. I do love Greenville, and I'll miss it when I eventually move away, but a big part of me really does just want to be back in Michigan. Monroe may be flatter than one of my dad's apple pancakes, its greatest draw the creepy castle off of Telegraph Road, and the most exciting thing happening on any given evening is probably the teenage outcasts swordfighting at Munson Park, but it's where I spent 22 years of my life and I really can't imagine ever calling another place "home".

Green and White for me

When I moved south, I knew a lot of things would be different. I expected lots of confederate flags, fried chicken and unbearably hot summers, and I haven't been disappointed. However, there are a number of southern practices that caught me by surprise.

Every South Carolina native I know aligns themselves with either Clemson or USC (what the hell is a gamecock anyway?), and they are passionate about both their love for their school and their hatred for the opponent. I can't tell you how many get-to-know-you conversations I've heard that start with "Oh, you went to USC? I'm so sorry..."

Though Clemson is an hour away, when I'm on the highway on Saturday mornings during football season, as far as the eye can see are cars that look as though the Clemson Tigers threw up all over them. Multiple flags, tiger paw decals on the windows, and my personal favorite- the tiger tail attached to the hitch. Classy.

Anyway these people bleed orange and maroon down here and I just haven't quite wrapped my head around it yet. I had, at least, heard of Clemson before I moved here (only because my second cousin is an alumna) but I certainly don't stay glued to FoxSports.com on game day and I still find it laughable that other people do. Every time the Clemson/USC clash surfaces in conversation (which is often), all I can think is "nobody cares about your stupid so-called "rivalry!" Now let's talk about something that really matters, University of Toledo destroying Michigan last fall."

And don't even get me started on the USC Upstate Spartans. Sorry guys, real Spartans come from Lansing.

Vocations, schmocations

"Many people mistake our work for our vocation. Our vocation is the love of Jesus." -Mother Theresa

Vocations seem to be the theme of my life lately, which I guess shouldn't come as a surprise, considering I'm a fresh-out-of-college 22-year-old and facing all the cliche questions that the rest of my peers are, all questions which fall under the heading of "what am I doing with my life?"

When I despair because I'm not Paul evangelizing people by the thousands, or Mother Theresa caring for the unwanted, or even Alycia, married and expecting a child... all calls that seems so clear and so great, I remember that I already am living my vocation. Whether I'm a nun or a mother or a school secretary, it is only a means by which I carry out the vocation we are all called to. Our state in life is not an end, but rather the way God uses us to act as an instrument of love.

Alycia recently relayed to me the advice once given to her by a nun, that often times the call we may feel toward a particular vocation is really just the desire to do something great. We hold up examples of saints and priests and religious who changed their world and when we feel that burning desire to bring people to Christ and set the world on fire, it seems the only (or at least, best) way to do this, is as a priest or religious, or even a single person, without the demands of a family. But of course, you can not have one without the other. A world without priests dedicated to the work of God and monks who give up their life in prayer could not function, yet that same world without families and children and the regeneration of people makes no sense either.

God created us each with a unique purpose and while God's plan for me often seems so unclear, I sometimes think we make it more difficult than it needs to be:

"Whatever it is, the signs are universal: it's what makes you burn, brings you joy, makes life good, gets you up in the morning (sometimes keeps you awake in the night, too) and, even with the knowledge that it'll never be fully perfect nor without its sufferings, burdens and trials, you really can't see yourself doing any other thing with your days and giving it everything you've got. Your call is that one thing above the rest which makes you happy and brings life to you and others. " - from Whispers in the Loggia

My Valentine's Day present to myself

Just bought a plane ticket to Hillsdale for February! (To Indianapolis, technically).

Woohoo, chicken chili, here I come!

Winter Wonderland

Greenville is supposed to get "up to 4 inches of snow" tonight. My boss emailed me with instructions to stay home if the roads are too bad for travel in the morning.

I'm not even sure how to process that.

I think the last time I heard about 4 inches of snow, I was a senior in high school, and my mom was squashing my hopes of a snow day by telling me not to get excited because "we're only supposed to get 4 inches of snow".

Passing the Time

2008 was a big-ish year, I suppose. Graduated college, new job, new car, new state... I've now lived in Greenville long enough that if a cop pulls me over, I can't make the excuse "but I just moved here and I'm not used to driving in the hilllllls..." So that's kind of a bummer. But on the bright side, I'm able to give fairly accurate directions (as in, you'll get there eventually) and I no longer need to consult google maps every time I run to the grocery store. I'd say that all comes out of the wash on the positive side of things.

It was a bittersweet year characterized by big decisions and difficult good-byes- but that only made for joyful reunions later. Looking back, these are the moments that stick out to me:

• Walking around Hillsdale on a balmy day in early January with Mike, Maggie and Zach during a 72-hour vacation from reality. Wearing only Maggie's fleece, full of stromboli and utterly happy.
  
• Giving my Little her disk while we waited at the steps of Central Hall in the freezing cold. She screamed into my eyes as I tried to put it around her neck and she jumped up and down so that it nearly choked her.
• Going to Wal-Mart on Sunday night after leadership with Kristen and Hannah after receiving some shocking news. Tears and a stomachache and their laughter.
• Our last Club at the Cavity. Pictures, balloons, driving the bus, telling my life story.
  
• The Hamiltons' apartment the night of graduation. Being made to lie down on the bed by Maggie, sitting on the tiny couch with all my favorite people present. Kristen was sober.
• Cooking at the house on Lake Bawbeese. Fish tacos and wine with Margaret after biking home from work, pasta and pineapple all day with Natalie and Zach, chili dogs before listening to Mike tell stories from the corner of the living room.
• Sitting on the floor of Zach's empty apartment my last night in Hillsdale, listening to music and talking about lesbians, eating ice cream from the tub and crying my eyes out.
• Driving home from Flat Rock in my new car, absolutely giddy.
  
• Waking up with Margaret the morning of her wedding and talking between our beds. Surreal.
  
• Buying herbs at the Farmer's Market with Alycia on a perfect Greenville Saturday morning. Affirming her decision to buy a $5, passed-on-through-the-generations high chair for their then-unconceived, now-conceived-but-unborn child.
• Speed-walking through the airport terminal in Boston to see Mike, Maggie, and Zach at Thanksgiving. Literally trembling with excitement as I hugged them all and each, Mike talking loudly, Maggie's crazy face, Zach's genuine smile.
  
• Skyping with Hannah in France at 5am her time, sitting at my kitchen counter, sharing a brain. She, to me, is a channel of Christ's peace.
  
• Sitting down to play the piano when I arrived home on Christmas Eve. Mom in the kitchen, Mark and Ryan playing Wii in the family room, Dad at the computer.

I started 2008 the same way I ended it- watching TV at the Agauas house in Sterling Heights, and as lame as it might sound, I'd be okay keeping up that tradition for years to come.