Heart Ache.

So I've officially been home now for 12 days, but I don't think all the pieces of my heart know that yet. I am nestled back in the comfort of my Illinois homes in Beardstown and, more often, my beautiful new apartment in Greenville. But I miss Rising Hope and my friends there more than I could possibly say. My heart aches to be back with them. My heart aches to know what's going on, how everyone's doing...and I want to know it first hand. I literally ache to be closer to the hard stuff, closer to people who are being shoved aside. Thing is, I know that those people are here, too.
They're just harder to see in the camoflage of my backyard.

Readjusting to life here has been both humorous and difficult. I go for walks at night and, even after being out for 40 minutes or more, don't see a living soul or even a moving vehicle. I can lie down in the middle of the street and know that I probably won't have to move for at least ten minutes. Granted, these things used to be totally common and normal to me. But in the first few days, my thoughts were, "Oh, wow. This is WEIRD!" I guess to a certain extent this mission has served to make me a stranger even in my home. I think that's a good thing, though.

It becomes more difficult when I go chest to chest with prejudices and misconceptions harbored by people I love. My first and last Sunday with my home congregation was just such a difficulty. Although I understand that we had little time to share together, it seemed as though my home congregants simply wanted to pat me on the back and praise me for doing such a good thing instead of hearing what I actually did. I knew better to be in story mode...truthfully I was too flustered and tired to even share much of myself at all. But....well, let me just give one conversation for an example.

As I was headed out the door of the church, an older woman stopped me. I didn't know her name, only her face, but when she greeted me I turned with a smile. She embraced me and said, "I've been praying for you this whole time. I'm so glad you're back." Hearing that made me smile, and really feel like someone was going to care and be sensitive to my heart at that transitional moment. I thanked her and told her that I deeply appreciated it. Then she continued, "Well, I've been so worried about you in that situation. Dealing with those homeless, those vagrants, those (politically incorrect monikers that I can't remember the exact term of). I've seen those types around. I just can't imagine...I was so worried about you."

At that, my soul grabbed its side and stumbled back from her, wounded. But my mouth said, "Oh, no! It was a great experience! I never once felt really threatened or in danger. They're lovely folks. It's just so difficult to live out there. People are working three jobs and it's still not enough for rent because it's so expensive. Really, ma'am, they're just like you and I. If I moved out there, I'd be in their same situation...most times they're just one check away from a home, or they're homeless because one check didn't come through. Really, it could be you or me."

She smiled and said "But for the grace of God, I suppose." But, to the best of my perception, she said it with no understanding. Thinking about it later, I realized she couldn't possibly--just like three months ago I couldn't have possibly understood.

I left the church feeling exhausted, aching to be back at Rising Hope with my friends. My dear, dear friends.

My family.

Yet, being back in Greenville has opened a window to parts of me I'd forgotten. Being back with friends from here makes my heart do a little jig. Angela and Josh's wedding was crazy and breathtakingly beautiful--not to mention the scenery. Having the chance to be ensconced in the Holy Spirit and watch the mysterious beauty of two people becoming officially one in the eyes of the state, the country, their friends, and the Holy Spirit gave me chills and sent tears down my cheeks. Moving in to and goofing around in this beautiful apartment with 4 beautiful women has been glorious and leaves me feeling as though life is moving forward in a trustworthy (though still disconcerting) way. My lungs have filled back up with clean midwest air and I'm back with my beloved, beautiful corn fields and the plain country beauty I've grown to love.

I do feel whole, even though I realize that pieces of me are scattered across the nation and the world. It's beautiful, it really is. And I love this. I plan to keep living it.

But oh I do miss everyone in Virginia, and all my dear GBGM-SMI (jib-uh-jim smee) friends.