On Sunday, I finally understood what I
will be sacrificing in serving the Lord overseas or in a place far from home. I've always known that I generally push aside
my feelings and anxiety in regard to change or leaving home – it’s never until
I am actually on the plane during take-off, or a week after I've arrived to
some place new that I recognize what I have left behind and lost. This time, the process took over a month.
It’s October now in Los Angeles,
and the temperatures this past weekend rose to the 90's. Wearing a tank-top, shorts, and sandals now when
at home I would be wearing a sweater and scarf, jeans, and boots is a very
strange sensation. Since being in
California, I have attempted to compensate for my loss of home by talking often
of my Minnesotan heritage, referencing phrases like, “uff da!” sharing Sven and
Ole jokes, and talking about casseroles and baking. I've purchased teas flavored like cinnamon
apple and harvest pumpkin, and I longingly look at my scarves, hoping and
waiting for the temperature to drop.
When I study, I choose to listen to folky style music, reminiscent of
the Midwest, envisioning the changing color of the leaves and the cool, crisp
breeze that I love from the Midwestern fall.
I've finally come to realize
that in the direction that I am heading, I’m giving up more than just modern
conveniences, a materialistic lifestyle, and access to technology – I am giving
up everything that is reminiscent of home.
I’d always known that this path
would lead me to leave my family and friends behind, and I had accepted
that. Having grown up moving almost
every three years and going to college out-of-state, this had become a normal
and natural part of my life – although not particularly pleasant. Friends would phase in and out, family stayed
constant, and I would visit all as often as possible. Certain friends would remain close in spite
of the comings and goings, and I experienced only limited loneliness. I learned to make friends quickly and to
adapt to where I went.
But, all of this occurred in the
comfort and safety of the Midwest. Sure,
there were slight cultural differences between Minnesota, Wisconsin, and
Michigan, but nothing too drastic or difficult to adopt. Now, I have left the Midwest completely
behind me. And I miss it.
I miss the landscape of the
woods and lakes – the countless trees and the sound of the wind whispering past
the branches and through the leaves; the smell of a spring rain; fresh, cut
grass in the summer; the slight decaying of leaves in the fall; the
bone-chilling cold of a winter wind.
I miss the northern culture – potluck
meals at church, baking cookies and brownies for your neighbors and coworkers,
spending time with a friend by walking through the woods, going to apple
orchards in the fall, drinking countless cups of coffee or tea, playing cards
or board games to pass the time with friends, regularly wearing rain boots,
conversing with neighbors after the workday.
Currently, I am desperately
missing the season of autumn. It doesn't
exist here in Los Angeles. It’s much too
hot to bundle up in a sweatshirt and scarf or enjoy a mug of hot
chocolate. The crisp, fall breeze
doesn't come out until 7 pm. I miss
raking and jumping in large piles of leaves, going for evening walks without
worrying about the danger of it turning dark, going to apple orchards and
forest trails with college friends, and the thought of a big Thanksgiving
celebration with my family coming up (I won’t be able to attend this year).
What makes this sensation even
more striking is the recognition that I may not experience this wonderful,
cozy, nostalgic autumn with any given frequency for the rest of my life. My plans are strong, yet vague, as I am
pursuing holistic community development in areas of poverty – not knowing where
the Lord will physically direct me to go.
I may not be returning to the Midwest after this program, and soon, it
may lose its homey feel. This loss
slightly frightens and saddens me.
While I may have left the
Midwest with no guarantee of return, it has molded me into the individual I am
today. Over the years, it may begin to
feel less and less like home, but it will always hold the people that are
dearest to me (primarily my family in Minnesota), the landscape and places most
familiar to me, and the culture that raised me. For those reasons, it will never entirely lose
its tie to my heart or its context as home. I will always be a Midwestern, Minnesotan,
girl.
