Home?

One day last week I realized I have lived in Tuscaloosa longer than anywhere else in my life.  This may or may not have induced some shortness of breath and an urge to grab some essentials then jump in my car and keep driving.  I love this place.  Really, I do.  I’ve had the joy of going from someone that didn’t think she’d ever belong to being somebody that can’t go to the store without running into somebody she knows.  But understanding I’ve been in one place this long, especially after a rough patch, was a bit of a shock to my system. 

That same day I was driving the road along the river during sunset.  It was one of those July dusks that you can feel, almost as though the folklore of this place was tangible alongside the water and the trees and the tug boats.  That view reminded me being from this place means something.  It has a funny name and a history. People write books and make movies about it. You can’t just brush that off or discount that truth.  I thought of when we lived further North and my mom and I would tell people we were from Tennessee because it technically wasn’t a lie and it was so much easier and came with fewer preconceived notions.  Then there are all of the other times I’ve publicly defend this place. You can’t claim Tuscaloosa then melt into a crowd unnoticed.  It comes with responsibility and some days I'm tired.

The road along the river was taking me to a friend’s house.  She was one of the first people I met in this town and I was going to her house because we’ve been meeting with the same group of women of and on in some way for twelve years.  Driving there was my saving grace that afternoon because it reminded me that true community is why I am still here.  Or, as my mom put it, “If you move, who will bring you ice cream when you’re sick?”

There is value to truly living and serving in one place and I have the gift of being a part of a precious handful of lives.  Last Wednesday I witnessed the baptism of two precious little brothers.  I had watched their parents date, fall in love, then survive and overcome a horrible accident before marrying.  For the longest I thought the mother would be defined in my mind as my Alabama friend that had to sit in a chair for her own wedding.  After that there were their struggles to have children and I thought that redemption would be how I remembered their family.  These days, I don’t think about any of that stuff anymore because I’ve had the chance to live more of their story.  I’ve been the boys’ church preschool teacher and have their artwork on my refrigerator, I have their mom’s artwork all over my house and have a deep appreciation for her soul that lives in peasant skirts, and I tagged along for their trip to Despicable Me 2.  Sometimes I forget their past because that relationship has moved so far past a snapshot to an entire narrative.

This expanding narrative is the same reason I had to contain the ugly cry twice this week when I watched a certain foster child testify at VBS (aka Summer Blast) and then later blow out the candles on his birthday cake while surrounded by people that love him and who work tirelessly to create a safe place for him.  (Not to mention the privilege of seeing his momma throw her first kids party).  This community is also how I had the opportunity to stand by another friend at this birthday party while she said whatever she needed to say about watching her mom fight her last days of cancer.  Furthermore, living in this town every day is how I have finally convinced my 18-month-old great nephew to not be afraid of me, even if I do paint my toenails bright purple.

So, the place I now officially call home is a small-to-mediumish size town most often defined by the outside world by football, civil rights, and natural disaster.  We always have the choice of perspective.  I came here thinking this was a temporary place holder until I learned my next move.  I can see this place as suffocating or I can see it as a place holding untold adventures that also makes one heck of a home base.  I’m choosing to see it as a place that daily proves to me the promise that God puts the lonely in families.