Where I Belong

There was a time when I thought Texas was for cowboys and Cowboys, for tumbleweed, for people who liked to say, "fixin' to," because why waste time on the letter "g", people who rode horses to the store and an endless horizon of flat land.

That time was 1992. I was a high school freshman and I thought the Air Force had lost its mind. I was sure they couldn't have known what they were doing, moving a mountain loving girl from Colorado Springs to Dallas. You know, where there were no mountains. Just lots of people with horses and no letter g anywhere on that huge horizon. I liked our life in Colorado, just like I liked our life in South Korea and in Virginia and in all the other places we lived before then. They were all home until the Air Force uprooted us. 

Here's the thing.  I'm not sure I've ever known where home was. My mind alway races when people ask where I am from. Do they want to know where I was born, where I went to high school, what my nationality is?  Is my Mom from North or South Korea?  (SOuth, people, South. NOrth Korea looks down on the idea of leaving.  Think of it as, "SO what, you're leaving?!" And, "NO way you're leaving!" Never say you didn't learn something useful from this blog). Being a military brat meant we lived anywhere from 11 months to three years in a place before the Air Force decided Dad was needed elsewhere.  It never took long to feel like I belonged, but there is a difference between feeling like you're accepted and you belong and feeling like you're each other's people. As in, I get how and why and what they think and I also think like them.

Over the nearly 20 years I lived in Texas, it happened. I felt them becoming my people.  It probably began to take root by my senior year of high school but I nearly missed it when it came down to my college decision...the Air Force Academy or Texas A&M. One offered a $250,000 scholarship, four years in the mountains, men in uniform, a chance to see the world and to continue in our family tradition of serving our country. In the end, oddly enough, it was the lure of the Aggies' "Howdy" tradition that made me choose to stay in Texas.  That and they also had men in uniform. (Tee hee).

I am not really sure how it happened, but the transformation to becoming a Texan became complete when, for my 18th birthday, I asked for WESTERN BOOTS and an ENORMOUS BELT BUCKLE to wear with THE ROCKIES my friends and I wore so that I could go DANCING three nights a week where I could really implement what I was learning in JITTERBUG and COUNTRY WESTERN DANCE LESSONS.

Which becomes a problem when your parents send you to college to learn stuff for your future and things of that nature and all you wanna do is dance, Daddy. It became increasingly clear I wasn't learning enough in class as I ended up on scholastic probation my first semester.

Maybe I should've done a little less boot scootin' and a lot more studying. 

Evidently. 

Anyhow. 

Which of these doesn't belong?



Listen, I know it was the '90s and all sorts of talk of diversity was happening, but there is still something even I find humorous about an Asian chick donning boots and going boot scootin'.

It's okay. You're not racist. I am giving you a pass on that one. 

Somehow, as "Redneck Girl" found its way into my heart as my favorite song, as I began to date a Texas panhandle boy (who wore a uniform...tee hee), as I learned to spell "y'all," as football became so important to me I was hoarse every weekend, as I learned to recognize what a sky looks like before the tornado sirens come on, as I began to call every soft drink a Coke and as I finally ventured beyond chips and salsa in my foray into Mexican food, I became a Texan. I was a candidate for one of those "I wasn't born in Texas but I got here as fast as I could," bumper stickers. Aside from a short stint in Scotland after graduation, from 1992 to 2012, you could find me somewhere within Texas boundaries. Me, Jerry Jones, Dairy Queen and the Alamo.  

Can I just say, I saw a promo for Honey Boo Boo and I had a little concern they might be from Texas but then I was relieved to learn that particular "redneckognize" crew is in Georgia. We dodged a bullet, Texas.

Anyway, if Texas is special (it is), I can't even begin to tell you how special McKinney is. I knew it when we went to a wedding there in 2001 and Brian and I agreed that was where we wanted raise our family. We moved there later that year and my hunch was right. Over the ten years we lived in McKinney, I had more than one conversation with others who sensed the same thing I did - there is something special about that piece of Collin County. There's a reason it is in the top five best places to live in the U.S.  There are just a lot of quality people there and it's a great place to raise a family. But I better hush or y'all will move there and some things are just better left a secret.

And then, in late 2010, God made it clear that our family was moving far away from our beloved Texas and all the loved ones we stocked up there. It most certainly had to be God because nothing could ever move Brian away from his Texas Aggies and Mexican food. Unless Honey Boo Boo lived in Texas and then it might be a different story. 

So, fast forward to 2012, when our family spent our first year in South Africa. What God did was amazing. He took us to a place of belonging and contentment in a short time. So much so that, when we went home in December for a visit, my feelings smacked me in my heart and left me trying to put to words what I was feeling. Why did "home" suddenly pierce my heart after being content for so long on another continent?  What was that feeling that snuck up on me as I drove into McKinney for the first time in nearly a year?  It hit so hard, it made me literally shout at Custer Road, "You are beautiful!" 

A road. I was giddy over a road. And I talked to it like it was a human and I told it it was beautiful. Like I had a crush on it.

What can I say, a finished construction project is a beautiful thing.

I sat up tall and on the edge of my seat that first drive and probably every one after. I was so excited to be among the familiar, among my people.  I wanted to soak it all in and give it a great big hug.   To see and touch the people who have been part of our lives since 2001 and who kept us afloat emotionally because they texted and Facebooked and made us stay connected.   To drive by our old house and see what has changed.  To drive the roads I knew by name instead of forever giving directions according to landmarks.

Like we do here...

"Turn left at the slipway.  Yes, the slipway after the road slightly curves right, you will take that first robot (What is a robot, says America.  It's what we call a stoplight, says South Africa)."

I've had a heck of a time learning street names because, heaven help me, street signs are optional in some parts of the world. 

Then again, in our new town, we have to focus so much on the pavement to avoid potholes, I would never have the time to look for street signs anyway. 

"Yes, take a left at the pothole shaped like a chicken wing, then you take a right just before the pothole shaped like a leprechaun. Hang left again when you get to the pothole where someone has actually potted a plant because Sarcasm begged for it."

Anyway, so here I am shouting proclamations of love at roads and I was left asking myself,

"What is this I am feeling?"

Thankfully, a friend home from Zambia put those feelings to words in a blog post the very next day so I didn't have to. 

I know these feelings she describes. Once we left, I didn't look back. I was wholly and absolutely focused on the joy that was there before me.  And, yes, I missed my family, my friends and my church SO MUCH but there was never a moment when I wanted home over the home God was making for us. People told us we would hit a wall and we never did. God did that for us. He took that which was familiar and comfortable and easy and replaced it with that which was unknown, and hard to understand and challenging. But, there was always peace in the midst of it. He kept us focused here so we wouldn't turn back and wish for there. 

So, thank you, Mitzi, for putting those feelings I had to words so I could really grasp why maybe yelling words of affection at a road was not as absurd as it seemed. 

I spent December content to know that the time we had there was a gift, no matter how short. So, it was a bit of a surprise to me when we neared the end of our trip and I was about to meet some friends a final time and unexpected emotions snuck up on me. Once again, I found myself driving along a road when the question hit me, 

"What is this I am feeling?"  

I had a wonderful time at home but we were also really excited about getting to our new home and getting back to work. I mean, we were E*X*C*I*T*E*D. So, the feeling that hit me was unexpected. Was I longing for home for the first time in a year?  

And then, as I sought desperately to pinpoint what I felt, a song came on and I knew then that God was answering a question I didn't even know how to ask.  It was Building 429"s song, "Where I Belong."

God was taking me back to a place where "Home" is redefined...

"All I know is I'm not home yet"

He was gently reminding me...

"This is not where I belong"

And taking my eyes off the familiar and comfortable and easy...

"Take this world"

And setting my eyes back on Him...

"and give me Jesus.

This is not where I belong."

And, y'all, driving along a road in a place I used to call home, He took what little I've learned of what having a hometown means and, while I still and will always love Texas, He reminded me 

"I have this blessed assurance holding me..."

I'm not Home yet.