When God Gives You a City

Most of you think this post is going to be about Paris. It's not. It's about Columbus, Ohio.

The flight to my connection in O'Hare gave me the time I needed to mourn, process, deal. The older I get, the slower I transition. When I went to Virginia Beach for a summer during college with Cru, I didn't even pack until the night before, let alone think about it or get excited. Even more so with Paris. And watching the last bits of Ohioan shores on Lake Erie drift away beneath me, I realized what a homegrown Midwesterner I am.

Now, this is a scandalous admittance for me, saying I love that ol' scarlet-and-gray flyover state. This from the girl who wanted none of that hometown stuff, but oh! to see the world, to move to exciting places as soon as her feet touched the ground! I begged God every night of my senior year of college to send me somewhere amazing, somewhere I would meet my destiny. And he stuck me with a job in Columbus.

I remember riding my bike last fall, and watching a glorious sunset behind the cityscape and scornfully pouting, "Here, God? You want me here? I'd rather be any place else in the world."
And God's response was something I'll never forget.
He said, "Love the city I gave you."

How many of us really love the city we live in? I don't mean just put up with it. I mean drink in its smells and colors and sounds. I mean learn about its history, its future. Study its streets and flowers and buildings. A city is an organic thing, constantly growing, stretching, repairing, restoring. In order to know and love your city, you have to check in with it constantly. You have to know its needs, its pleasures, its problems. To love a city requires commitment.

The funny thing is, I didn't want to do any of this. I didn't want Clipper's games or Short North gallery hops or Red White and Boom. And I certainly didn't want to commit to the same state I'd been living in my whole life. I wanted to be as far away as possible. In Nashville, in California, in...Paris?

But it was the way he said it. He gave it to me. Gave. Had he said "the city I put you in" or "the city I assigned you to," how different my approach would have been. But he said gave. As in, a gift. As in, something that someone specifically picks out, with you personally in mind, hoping you will choose to keep it and cherish it. Something not to be suffered through or tossed aside. Could I learn to cherish this hand-me-down, everyone-stays-here city?

During my year of working in Columbus, I was blessed to see more sides of her than I ever saw before. And that didn't happen on accident. I thought, Well, if I'm going to be here, I'm going to make the most of it. I joined clubs, tried restaurants, went dancing, and eventually become a certified tourism ambassador (which is why I ended up in Paris today, read this post.) I got involved at a church, not because I wanted to, but because I knew I needed to. I found there a most unexpected and deeply loving community. I worked hard, really hard, at making friends and keeping them.

And in the end, I fell in love with Columbus, Ohio. Who would have thought I would ever say it was hard for me to leave Ohio for Paris? Not me. But God knew.
What we think is only as a bridge can sometimes truly be our anchor.

What about you? Has God given you a city? If so, what are you going to do about it?

Last Days in America

Sitting on a cushiony velvet sofa, listening to the cool blasé buzz of the city streets below, and reminding myself that the past few days weren't a dream. I really am in Paris, and this is my new home for a year. Let's recap.

Saturday: Family wedding for my cousin Ryan and his gorgeous wife Ashton. The venue was a romantic rustic brick summer home tucked in the backwoods of Xenia, Ohio. 

Just look at that happy groom!

Sunday: Goodbyes with my parent's church and my grandparents. So much encouragement and prayer from my spiritual mommas and poppas who have watched me do crazy stuff like this since I was born. And an impromptu early Thanksgiving dinner with my family at my grandparents...how perfect! Thank you Bob Evans and Starbucks (especially for the early PSL release date).

Monday: Playing games and recovering from a full weekend. Goodbyes with my sister and brother-in-law, who are, may I just say, completely awesome. Watch the Sound of Music, a most appropriate choice given the circumstances. Realize how much I have let me driving skills slip in a final Payne family MarioKart Wii tourney. Say goodbye to my baby sister. That was hard.

Tuesday: The big day. Desperately trying to slim down a 66 lbs suitcase to 50. Running last minute checks and getting my parents up to date on all things technology for cross-sea communication. 

--Pause--

We live in amazing times, people. Like, just stop and think about it. Really think about it. I am an ocean away from all my loved ones, yet I can still instantly converse with them, even have face-to-face interactions, in a few simple clicks of the button or taps on a touchscreen. We live in unprecedented times. 

--Continue--

We drive to the airport, stopping one last time for a single combo meal from Wendy's. Because they sure don't have that in the land of crepes and boeuf bourguignon. The drive to the airport is quiet. There comes a point where there isn't anything else to say. Just holding hands and holding back tears.

My friend Hannah came for a few minutes to wish me goodbye. She is my travel buddy, having studied abroad in Europe and Asia, so having her there made me feel a little more confident. Then we go to check my one suitcase. It's 3.5 lbs over.

Travel tip 1: Take the baggage policies at face value and don't overpack.

Travel tip 2: If you're like me and blatantly disregard the first tip, have someone come with you to the airport with a suitcase for things you have to ditch last minute. 

With my suitcase checked and an hour until boarding, my parents and I waited as long as possible before I had to go through security. I wish I could tell you I was full of excitement and anticipation, going on the adventure of a a lifetime. I wish I could say all I could see was life in pink waiting for me, like the name of this blog.

But sitting in the chairs outside security, looking into the eyes of the two people who have loved for me, cared for me, treasured me the most in this life, I felt my heart tearing. We held hands as I sat there, mourning the year of separation that security line meant for us. I felt silly, but somehow rightfully so. Even technology can't imitate the soothing solace of sharing moments with the ones you love and who know you.

I have had trouble with my family relationships in the past, due to my own selfishness and immaturity. This past year, God has mended those relationships and renewed my love for my family in astounding ways. And now that I felt I truly understood their significance to me, I was leaving them. It's hard to be excited about the unknown when you're in love with the life you already have.
But perhaps that's why I had to leave, to know that life is more than I think it is at 23.

Finally I walked through security. Every time I looked back my parents were there, waving as high as they could, straining to see me until they couldn't anymore. I think I may have hyper-ventilated once or twice as I turned around for the final time.

No going back now.

I know something you don't know

Last night I sat amongst friends during bible study and wept. They didn't see me weep. Or at least they pretended they didn't notice, to give me privacy, I think. Or maybe they just aren't surprised anymore. Most had their eyes closed and voices lifted in worship. And so I wept.

This is now the second time where I find myself sitting amongst a group of people I love knowing that I will be all too soon be leaving all their quirks and inside jokes and familiarity. I sat marveling at how each person sang in their own world, making the words matter so much more than they knew. I wept for the love that I had for each person that had slowly crept in these past 6 months. It's funny how quickly love can rush in, yet how long it lasts.

 I wept for the knowledge that they would go on and live their lives without me and be perfectly fine. Sometimes it is healthy to recognize one's own insignificance. That when you leave, the impact stays. The work, done. The season, closed.

I almost told them, as we lazed in happy summer dreams and planned out the next few social months together. I almost told them, as we talked of camping trips, pool parties, and baseball games. But God put me at peace. Nothing needed stirred up here today.

Here friendships have been planted. Here bonds have been made. Here love has inhabited. And my part in it is coming to a close.

One more week. And I will tell them.