It’s nearly midnight on a Sunday night. I’m surrounded by cardboard boxes and crumpled newspapers and packing tape, once again putting my life into temporary containers in preparation for another move. (Indeed, this will be my seventh official change-of-address within the past 10 years.)
As I’ve been saying to friends lately, this move doesn’t feel real–yet it doesn’t feel surreal, if that makes any sense. I’ve moved plenty, both within my own country and outside of it; I am no stranger to the barrage of feelings that can come with uprooting yourself and settling into a new place. But this move just feels different. I suspect it’s because I’m not moving to somewhere new, but rather somewhere old. Back to the place where I began. Back to the place where “home” means the town grew up in, rather than the place I currently abide.
But although I’m going back to a familiar land, I know there will also be new things to experience. New people to meet. New opportunities to explore. New journeys to take with God. Hence, the new blog.
If you’ve known me long, you might know I’m a writer–although it’s also likely you might not know, because truth be told, I haven’t written much the last several years. At least, not in this format. I took the plunge into seminary, so four years of my free time was spent writing academic papers and a Master’s thesis. I’ve filled personal prayer journals, scribbled a rogue poem or two, and even had a blog with like, six posts on it. This style of wordsmithing has either lay dormant by necessity or fallow by choice all this time.
However, much like going back to old places for new reasons, I’m entering a season of life that leaves me space to write in a way my heart loves again. This coming week will be filled with more packing, errands, and shoving boxes into my van. But 450 miles from now, there’s new ground to rediscover. You’re welcome to come along for the journey.
Angela At-Large 