When I was a young girl I wanted to travel the world. I
yearned to enter a new country, learn the language, connect with the people and
thrive in a new and intriguing culture. I often envisioned myself in a chic yet
old apartment, sipping my morning coffee or walking to work along streets lined
with buildings that weathered several centuries. So when I went off to college,
I determined to fulfill this dream in one form by studying abroad. I figured
that those adventures would only be the beginning of a life of exploring the
world.
As I neared the end of college and began planning my
post-graduate life, I noticed something had changed within me. While studying
abroad, I noted the importance my host families placed on family and community.
I witnessed multi-generational relationships, in all their glory and
brokenness, as highly valued in these people’s lives and culture. My heart
began to move away from the prevalent American point of view that upholds
independence and the pursuit of dreams at the expense of community and familial
relationships. I became more willing to consider that living near my family and
my hometown community, while full of imperfections, could be a great source of
encouragement and growth in my life.
However, while my perspective had changed internally and I
was no longer averse to moving home, I was not ready to put my new perspective
into action. I still planned on living far from home after college. Daniel, my then
fiancé now husband, and I were making plans to get married and then return to
live in Chicago where he already held a job. As we searched for apartments, it
felt as if we were trudging through mud, either because of too highly priced
units or too many spam listings; it seemed like the search was much more
difficult than it needed to be. One night, after another unsuccessful period of
scouring apartment websites, Daniel and I sat discouraged at my kitchen table.
It was then that I blurted out, “So why are we not considering moving to
California?” At that moment it felt more like I was asking myself why I had
never actually considered this as a real possibility. After all, I was the one
who told my husband I never wanted to live there again, it was I who took the
option off of the table. Of course, Daniel agreed, excited at the opportunity
to live in a new place. At that moment, we felt an overwhelming sense of peace,
for we knew that this was the way we needed to go.
In hindsight, I can see the silent
hand of God keeping all the doors shut for those apartments in Chicago because
he didn’t want us to stay there. It wasn’t enough for me to simply realize that
living where I grew up wasn’t such a bad idea – I had to be shown by God that
it was His will for me. While we were still starting at square one in regard to
our living situation, we knew that we would be brought into a rich community of
friends and family who would be willing and able to support us as we began our new
life together.
Today I can testify of God’s
goodness in bringing me back home. He is restoring and strengthening familial
relationships, growing us closer to Him through likeminded friends who
challenge us, and using us in the lives of others. He has provided jobs for
both Daniel and I and opened up opportunities to fulfill some of our dreams.
Now two years out I see more clearly why God pointed us to move to the exact
place I told myself I would never go. His ways are not my ways and I could not
be more grateful for that.
…
Spending time with some of our dear, encouraging friends at the lake
several weeks back.
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