One Year

One year ago today, I moved away from Tennessee, the state I called home for six years.
Since that time, I have lived in Glacier National Park, travelled all over the country, and lived out of a suitcase.
As a sidenote, all of my earthly possessions are still in boxes. If and when they are ever unpacked, it will be like Christmas morning because I am fairly certain I will have forgotten 90% of what I own.

I was able to return for a visit last weekend to the place I consider to be my hometown, even though I only lived there for two years.
I passed house after house where I had been as a social worker. Aside from a few cases that are forever seared in my memory, I did not remember most of the names. I was surprised. 12 months of distance, both time and mileage-wise, from the stress of those two years had helped ease many of the painful and unpleasant memories.

“And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in." ~This quote sums up my experience as a social worker for the state.

It was good to return and hear that many of my kids were doing well.

I have worked through the anger and frustration of the experience. I can now say I am thankful for the lessons God taught me during those two years. The lessons were painful and overwhelming, but necessary.

I walked away from the experience having made lifelong friends; friends who had my back in dangerous, hostile situations. We stood face-to-face with some of the darkest aspects of human behavior, and knew we could count on each other.

I was also able to visit my piano teacher. The weekly piano lessons and our conversations throughout the two years kept me sane. I found a friend who was as crazy about historic homes as me, understood the nature of the stress and frustration that came from working in the field of social services, and believed in adventure, travel, and following dreams.

And, my church family---well, there are no words to adequately describe them. They opened their hearts to me the minute I walked through the door. Their love, support, and friendship made the most stressful and heartbreaking days bearable.
As I sat in worship service Sunday morning, surrounded by the people who had become my second family, Brother Bill led the song 'God's Family'. I smiled and silently thanked God for sending them to me. Growing up, I never felt like I belonged anywhere in particular, especially within the church. It wasn't a lonely feeling; just a sense of solitude, standing outside looking in, detached. It followed me to adulthood, always wandering, feeling most at home on the road. That tiny church in Tennessee became one of the few places where my spirit could settle and belong.

I will probably always be a wandering traveller to some extent; seeking opportunities to drift with a backpack in places where there is no schedule or agenda, no one knows my name, and I can just walk along, observing.

But, whether it is joining hands for a prayer around the dinner table in a foreign country with strangers, becoming an honorary family member of a co-worker, or discovering a sense of belonging at a congregation in the hills of Tennessee, the Lord ensures I find family wherever I go.


"God settles the solitary in families." ~Psalm 68:6a