and hundreds of miles away from the coast.
my new home is the American farmer's inland version of the ocean, and each time i am immersed in it, my heart skips a beat and work to catch a stolen breath.
Pullman, Washington. home of the Cougars, the National Lentil Festival, and the biggest beer revenue this side of the state. trading redwoods in for stalks of wheat. culture shock? let's just say it was lightning bolt level. was i ready for this?
life -- are we ever ready for it? we like to think so, but we don't really know.
my three lifesavers for my first weeks in Pullman. 1) my Bible. 2) My chacos. 3) my box of writing stuff.
Bible. oh, the grace of a Gracious Father. daily i run to Him with an empty cup, and He continues to fill and overflow, in ways i least expect. a welcoming roommate. a fun department to work in. voicemails from far friends. a car that still runs. i cannot praise Him enough. I feel like a rubberband, being stretched for the first time. I have been created for "such a time as this," and all of that preparation in Christian circles, schools, and family have readied me for this lost and empty town. When are we ever truly able to survive without the strength of Christ? My eyes are opening, as has been my prayer, and my heart is aching for the emptiness I see all over campus. I pray daily for just a chance -- just a fleeting opportunity -- that I may somehow share the love of Christ. His Word daily strengthens me.
Chacos. Going from 8 housemates to 1 is quite a shock. Its very easy for me to go from super-outgoing to super-loner...a role I felt myself slipping into in the first few weeks of being in Pullman. The ocean of people, new school atmosphere, and foreign lands threatened to drown me, and it was easier simply to stay in the comfort of my apartment. But there sat my chacos, accusing me of settling, and begging to be taken down new paths. They reminded me of adventures past and victories won; of good times and hard lessons learned; of fears overcome and of hesitancy's resisted. They screamed "LET'S GO!" And it was their battle cry that lured me away from the comfort of my pillows and put me behind the wheel, pounding the pavement, climbing new heights. Thank you, old and weary Chacos. You remind me of the girl inside who simply needs to be set free from her own prisons...
Box 'O Writing Stuff. Thousands of miles erased simply with a pen and piece of stationary. Memories stir in my mind as ink hits recycled tree. Distances are closed and hearts are opened with the simple act of writing a letter. This tangible, therapeutic act of old helped keep me sane through those first few weeks. When I had no friends, snail mail kept me connected to the ones I did have. Thinking of them took my mind off of pitying myself. Connecting across the map via ink and paper (and sometimes wax) reminds me of how the love of Christ is designed to be a communal one -- both with Him and with His bride. Oh, how I love to write letters, because in a way, I feel like Paul -- encouraging and keeping the church alive with words of the Lord. Though I do not profess to be anyway profound, I like to think that when my letters are read, people can hear my Ohioan-Californian-Montanian-Washingtonian accent and chuckle a bit, and truly see my heart for what its worth. It may be a dying art, but I'm pretty sure I've done my part to keep the Post Office in business.
So, this ocean-like scenery of fields upon golden fields that once threatened to choke me with dullness, now takes my breath away as I walk to school each day. I slammed on my brakes last night driving home because I was shocked to come face to face with an orange slice of harvest moon that zapped me to my core. This new world is fresh and waiting for me to reap its bounty of people, scenery, and adventures. No, it's not my California coastline...but this scene is still worth diving into.
ps. I bought another pair of Chacos today... a promise of new adventures ahead :)
