Take me home, country roads

I'm not from West Virginia. But for most of my life, country roads have led to my home of the moment.
I've moved a lot, and several times in college I had to call my parents for directions home. So, home for me is not a place, but a feeling, memories of times and people who guided and shaped me.

I was talking with some friends about what is the best idea for a first appointment to a church. Now, I don't want to be appointed to a church, but they do. And their position was that being an associate at a larger church is good because it offers a mentoring atmosphere. Plus, there's the whole city vs. country thing -- it seems it's hard to find a mate as a minister in a small town.

I argued for the smaller church, the smaller town. Country roads. People whose families have lived in that place for generations. Stores owned by real people who say hello and remember your name. Friends who live on streets named after their relatives. Folks who will invite you to eat homecooked Sunday dinner with their families.

Don't get me wrong, I love living in Atlanta. And parts of it feel so right to me. But I feel at home when I drive along the backroads in South Carolina or the canopy roads in Tallahassee, when I walk along the Market in Charleston, when I see miles and miles flat farmland and black dirt in Minnesota, when I turn onto my grandmother's street in Gainesville.

Moving into a small town, you are bound to be an outsider for a while. Perhaps quite a while. But I want those friends to know that in this case, being the minister affords you some grace. And once you get the rhythm of the place, it's home. Home for a while. And then you leave. Because that's what Methodist ministers do. As the daughter of two of them, I've been an outsider most of the time. And I left a lot of times.

I started over a lot of times, and that means that I don't have the same kind of friendships that other people have. Recently, I contacted some folks I went to elementary school with. Immediately, I realized how weird that was. For me, they were my friends from ages 6-10. For them, I was a girl who was there a few years and then moved away. Most of their friends stayed.

For me, friendship doesn't end when contact dissapates. Just because I don't see someone anymore, that doesn't mean I love them any less or value their impact on my life any less. If that were the case, I wouldn't have much. Perhaps it's the sheer volume of people who have been important to me that makes it less likely that I will keep in touch. Perhaps I am a terrible friend, but I hope that's not it. I hope that people can understand that I can't possibly keep in touch with all the people that I love. But the lack of contact also doesn't mean that I would be any less responsive if they needed me.

All of this means that I get very excited when I see anyone from my past. Overly excited. And I bet that is overwhelming for them. But my feelings for old friends don't change or fade in their absence from my daily life. This can create a disconnect, since I hold the person that I knew then dear, but I don't really know the person who is now. But I know that we are all becoming, not being, and it's exciting to see the changes in people's lives.

And man are there changes. At Christmas, I got more than one family photo card from college friends. My friends have kids, and dogs, and houses, and real jobs. Life is so amazing, and I feel so blessed to get to see so many sides of it. I am so blessed to love so many people. Even if they don't know it.

Country roads, take me home to the place I belong...