Summer 2009.
There is something about drinking coffee from fine china that I absolutely love. Oh, I have loved coffee as long as I can remember, but somehow, drinking it here and now, from the white china cup I hold in my hand, it taste better than ever before. Better then the cup I had this morning, or the latte I had yesterday while shopping. Absolutely the best cup of coffee ever. I look down and can see the pale yellow rose design that adorns this cup and think how beautifully real it seems. I can make out each petal and the stem, and the most perfect shade of yellow. So perfectly apart of the cup, yet you would never drink coffee from a rose petal. They don’t really belong together. Sure, the colors match and having the rose design in the china does add a little something other than just having a plain white china cup, right? Yet as I stare down into the cup I have to wonder if it actually belongs there and then I realize…I am not really wondering about the rose, I am wondering about myself. Do I belong here?
This is a question I have asked myself every day since I arrived. Oh, I would never tell my brother and his sweet new wife I have felt this way. They have had nothing but pure joy and excitement since the day I called and told them I felt God was leading me to move closer to home. I know it was God’s calling, because I loved my life before making this change. I would have never in a million years thought that I would have left my job, my friends, my church. I had been in Florida for five years and though I was lonely at times with no family around, I have never felt as miserable as I have been these last six weeks of my life.
Miserable. That is such a harsh word, but as I type, the word simply spills out from my finger tips. I must say it has been hard to understand. When you move forward in an area where you know God is leading you, it is suppose to be perfect right? I mean, all the goals I have for myself seem to make more sense coming to fruition here. My family is here and lifelong friends from childhood are just a short road trip away. Before, I was a day in the car or a couple of hours on a plane. I was not near anyone that was a relation, or had known me all my life. There was logic written all over this scenario, yet being logical had never hurt so much. What on earth was I doing here?
Jackson Mississippi. This is the place I was calling home now. Yes, my roots are here, but up until a few weeks ago, I had never lived here. Both my parents called this place home and my family has significant ties, but this place is new to me. I do remember going to the beauty shop with my grandmother or shopping for groceries at her neighborhood Jitney, but other than visits here for long weekends and holidays, there is not much I remember. My older brothers and sisters have spent much more time here than I have. Other than the house on the corner of Galloway and Pennsylvania, there is not much I have known about this place. Yet here I am working every day, looking for a new church on Sundays and trying to get in a routine. Routine. I have always thrived on routine, yet I do not like this routine at all. I look outside and can see the smoldering heat beating down on the pavement. The thought passes through my mind once more as it has from the moment I arrived…Why am I here? I left a great job, friends, wonderful church, for what? Smoldering Mississippi heat that you can actually see in the air.
“I believe I see Fannie B. in your eyes.” I look up from the cup to hear this lovely compliment come from Dot, a beloved and long time friend of our family. From the moment I walked through her door this afternoon, she has looked at me so intently, as if there are memories stirring in the surface of her heart. When she looks at me, she is a young girl again and sitting on the front porch of my grandmother’s duplex in Fondren. A grandmother I never knew, yet resemble just the same. Her memories are vivid and they are very fond memories, but I do not have a connection at all.
I have heard stories all my life of Fannie B. She is my mother’s mother and died before I was born. She lost two children and a husband in a period of four years. When my parents met, it was just she and my mother. She was a strong woman. I have pouted for days since moving here feeling sorry for myself, yet when she was my age, she was a widow and had already buried two children. I need her strength right now. More than ever it seems.
Winter 2011
It has taken some time, but that miserable feeling I had has diminished. I know we will always be a part of places we have lived and people we have loved, but I also know that God has a plan for me here. A plan to prosper and give me a hope and a future. It my my desire that his plan consist of a husband and lots of children, but as my new favorite blogger has reminded me, only God knows what your family portrait will look like. That is so comforting to me. More than you will ever know. (not too sure my direction to the link is correct. Kinda new at this!) Yes, I am new to blogging but not writing a journal. I have journaled my whole life. I love writing letters to the Lord. Putting my thoughts to paper. Noting a funny story or lesson learned. OK, so I am starting a blog, but I will never, and let me repeat NEVER give up my notebook and pen.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. Not sure I will post everyday. I know that there is a lot that God wants to do in my life and I am determined to let him have his way so I will be posting my journey. Painfully at times, but posting just the same. We shall see
