In the midst of fields and the Blue Ridge Mountains (which was in the backyard of my friend's childhood home), I watched one of my closest college friends marry her best friend. During the ceremony we sat on barrels of hay and during the reception there was a very typical blue grass band playing, we played corn-hole (or as my northern friends call it: bean bag toss), and for dinner we ate bbq, coleslaw, and green beans. It was the epitome of everything I left behind when I moved back to New Jersey. I held a dear college friend's baby, was corn-hole partners with another friend I hadn't seen in three years, and hugged the friend who lead me to the Lord [whom I hadn't seen in a year].
Through the smiles and the catching up, the laughter and the dancing, there was a piece of my heart that was aching.
I missed these friends. I missed the mountains. I missed the blue grass music and the southern food and the sweet tea. While Fredericksburg, Virginia had been my home for four years, this more "Southern Virginian" friend group represented home in a different sense for me. These were the friends that brought me to faith my sophomore year. These were the friends that discipled me and developed me as a leader. These were the friends that welcomed me into a makeshift family when my own mother died and my family in Jersey seemed to be falling apart. These were the mountains I camped in every summer as an InterVarsity student during our Rockbridge conference. These were the voices and the music and the scenery that spoke into my soul when everything else was falling apart. These were the seniors that during my sophomore year, taught me how to make Jesus Lord over my life.
These were the memories of healing of my past. A close knit friend group and a southern culture that I will probably never experience again. A culture that I left behind--probably permanently--but that was once sewn together with my understanding of Jesus and healing and love.
And so now in New Jersey I listen to Mumford and Sons and remind myself of the difference of sweet tea and sweetened iced tea and jokingly roll my eyes when my friends in Jersey think bbq means cheeseburgers instead of pulled pork.
I'm elated to be in New Jersey. Honestly. I love my church, my students, and my co-workers. I see how I'm becoming more like Christ and I see why He has me here.
I don't think a place has ever completely been home for me, but the culture of Southern Virginia very much represented home for me for a couple of years. I miss the quiet of it. The peace. The comfort.
I'm embracing this new mission field in the northeast. Really, I am. And I'm learning what it looks like to be obedient to the call--whether that's in Virginia or New Jersey or someplace abroad.
But when I hold my friends' kids and hug long lost friends and laugh over college memories and see people that I haven't seen in years, there's a part of my heart that grieves because I miss it and I'm so very far away.
Virginia was where I got saved. It was the place where I grew into the person I am in Christ today. It was where I received my calling to InterVarsity Staff and where I met friends who carried me through my mother's death.
These friends and this culture and those mountains will always hold a very special place in my heart.
