leave it to beaver...

I woke up late for the Illini game on Saturday.

Before I knew it, Dad had highlighted directions in my hands.

And Mom went all June Cleaver on me, sending me off with piping hot, hot chocolate and cautions to be careful.

I guess living with my parents isn’t so bad after all.

(Though, now that I think about it, they could have just been anxious to get me out of the house…)

I shouldn’t say nice things about living at home, lest my parents get wind that I’m getting comfy. They’ll start charging me rent.

But I’m surprising myself a bit, in how my feelings toward the ol’ Illinois Valley have changed.

When I graduated from LP, I was out of the door (literally) the next day to Iowa, to work until I started school (again, literally the next day) at U of I. II was ready to be gone.

But now I feel drawn to be part of the community. I’m subbing while I’m getting a good support base, and I’ve found I enjoy being at the old stomping grounds of LP. I enjoy getting to see the same students again and again. I even took my niece and nephew to an LP volleyball game the other day. I love my church here, obviously, and would love to give as much as I get, to serve as much as I’m served.

And I, of course, mean no offense against the fine folks here—it’s just that I was always the one who was ready to get away. I think that’s simply in some of us.

But now it’s different. Since I’ve been home, it’s been sneaking up on me, this reluctant fondness for life here.

Maybe it’s the sense of community that I miss from Sudan. The sense of having a part and playing it—however unique and awkward my part was in Lopit. And with such a greater level of “belonging” possible in my home culture, it’s all the more desirable.

Maybe it’s just a dreamy, rose-colored thing that’s a part of coming home. I really came to miss the Midwest when I was out there. I came to appreciate it. Small town life, right? I mean, wow. So perhaps it’ll just be a matter of time before that wears off and I’m ready to skedaddle again, to leave home, to uproot, to life the missionary life.

Because home isn’t really something most missionaries get.

It’s not in the job description. One of the reasons I picked JESUS Film was because I thought it was OK not to have a real home, that I was “tough enough” to grab hold of my singleness and my no roots and just bounce in and out of Orlando, to strange countries. I know I have to be a self-feeder, independent, flexible. And I was ready to hit that full speed.

So it scares me that I’m liking the comfort, the sameness. I never wanted to be comfortable—comfortable is bad, right? I’ve gotta keep moving, keep pressing. But I feel a little lulled to sleep and charmed to comfort by the idea of something so nice—so constant, so steady, something I can snuggle into.

Or, better, something so nice, so constant, so steady and I can snuggle into… and even find God in?

All that to say… all that to ask, rather… pray for me, that I’d wake back up, pick up the pace and charge on.

Or, at the very least, submit to whatever God has for me.