We are closing in on three months of our new normal. Even if we’ve not quite shed that “new kid on the block” label, we’re slowly acclimating.
While the people we miss loom large in our minds, we’ve thrown ourselves into the rhythms and routines of this place. Not so long ago new, it’s starting to feel like home.
Eighty days in, I’m relying less on Siri and more on my sense of direction. Though my “accent” is apparently a bit of a tell (who knew?), at least I’m no longer giving myself away by mispronouncing the non-phonetic names of certain streets and suburbs.
It took us, um – awhile – to unpack every last box. And while I’d love to tell you that my NIV Bible was one of the first items I put my hands on post-move, it wasn’t.
But when the time came last month to set up our nativity and do the traditional reading of Luke 2, I was sort of glad we had to fall back on the Good News Bible I’d received in middle school. Truthfully it was the only one we could find, tucked into the middle drawer of a china buffet we’d received from my husband’s grandmother.
The inscription on the inside cover took me back 25 years – to VHUMC lock-ins and weekly studies of Methodist beliefs and the life-defining significance of what it means to become a member of the church.
As the novelty of our recent major life change had worn away, and the reality of leaving behind our entire network had set in, this was a beautiful reminder of His perfect timing.
Having just returned from a family wedding in Alabama, I am filled with gratitude for both the home we left and the home we’ve established here.
Instead of feeling wistful for the familiarity of what we had, we embraced the visit for what it was – a time to hug the necks of many who are dear to us, a time to laugh and swap stories and plan our next get-togethers – but also a time to realize, blessedly, that He has us in the palm of His hand, and we are right where we need to be.