How are you, really?

The last three years has been a series of undoing and finding a new way of living. I had to learn how to unhook my high heels that I let sink down into the thick, wet, prairie soil of south Alabama and put on some boots to move just a few hours north. People may roll their eyes when they hear someone “complain” or even grieve moving from the city to a small town that bears a striking resemblance to stars hollow. They may even laugh when I have said how sad I have felt living on nearly one thousand acres of land that I never spent a dollar acquiring. 

But here’s the deal: I am all about feeling like I belong. I’m a deeply connected and loyal friend who would prefer living my life surrounded by a dusty old box of old friends, family members, stories of my ancestors and the sound of my Daddy singing old rugged cross with his booming bass voice. I love the connection that comes with family and noise and memories and stories. I have lived most of my life making decisions only after I have run them by the closest 30 people in my life, a personal board of directors if you will. Deep down, every time I watch an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond, I wish I was Italian so I could feel the deep, rooted, personal connection of an authentic Italian family. I want the loud, the fights, the food and the touch. I wish it didn’t feel unnatural to me to kiss every person I see on the cheek, for good measure. Maybe in heaven I’ll be a natural kisser so people can feel my warmth every time they hug me. 

So you see, leaving home and leaving my home church was nearly surgical. No more inside jokes and best friends to pop over and see anymore. There was no more food from my favorite local restaurants that knew me by name and hugged me when they saw me around town. My cousins and aunts and uncles that I saw weekly at church would now be my christmas family and I couldn’t bare the thought of stepping into a church who didn’t know who my parents were let alone my grand and great grandparents. The depth at which this rocked me was so sickening to my core I could hardly take it. 

Within the first few weeks of moving away, I got a call that our previous next door neighbor had passed away. She had lived a long, good life but it was still a very sad event. The two of us had become comrades of sort. Some days I would walk next door and sit on the brick wall in her back yard while she shared her stories of fleeing Hitler and the detention camps her family escaped, the arranged marriage turned magical love story and all her favorite things about her grandkids. She was a soul sister, even thought we were 60 years apart in age.  I called Cody on my way home to tell him that we were going to Montgomery for the weekend and to be ready to leave the next day. 

We spent the weekend in town doing all of our favorite things. We attended the funeral, hugged her kids and grandkids and stayed long enough to go back to our home church for a service before heading back to the farm. At church, we sat through the service which felt off and strange and not the same since Covid attacked. After church I stood in the lobby and hugged every neck that could find me. I was desperate to feel known again in a place of familiarity. I smiled and hugged dozens of people who have known my family for years until two ladies approached me. Two who have known me like the rest, but maybe a bit deeper. 

Mrs. Cindy and Mrs. Jodi. Sisters in law. Blonde barbie doll women. Both mothers to kids that I grew up with. You don’t know them, but I do and in that moment, I needed their presence. Cindy’s sons were my age and some of my best friends in high school and Mrs. Cindy was always my favorite chaperone on church trips. A second mom of sorts. Mrs. Jodi was the first person in my life that made me believe that being almost 6 ft tall was actually a decent thing. She’s a natural kisser, someone who hugs and gives you a kiss on the cheek just because she’s saying hey. It’s a calling I still hope I’ll become this side of heaven. Once, in the bathroom of church, she looked me with a big smile on her face. I was 16 and painfully slumped over trying to not be the jolly green giant in every room. Jodi’s eyes glistened as she smiled and smacked on a piece of gum, “wanna know what’s great about being us? Us tall girls are optical illusions. Out of all of your friends, everyone in the group could gain 20 pounds and you would be the only one nobody would notice it on. Stand up straight.” — Ive never stood taller than in that moment. 

The two of them found me that fall morning in 2020, in my most emotional and fragile moment. Cindy hugged me; Jodi too. The two of them standing there looking at me, Cindy grabbed my hands and with sincerity unlike anything I have ever felt before she said, “How is the farm… really?” 

 I looked at her trying to muster up some sort of pretty answer that didn’t sound like I was faking it, but in that moment all I could do was crumble into a puddle of tears that had been stirring around in my gut for roughly 2 months. I crumbled into tears of knowing that someone who knew me and had known me the way I so desperately love being known could see straight into my eyes and know that I was so sad. 

“Im so lonely, Im so lonely, im so lonely…” I kept saying in-between sobs. I couldn’t get anything else out except that. The two of them stood there and held me while I released the built up tension of uprooting my life and attempting to live it somewhere else. Being known, man. There really is nothing quite like it. 

It’s been almost 3 years since that conversation happened and a lot has changed. I eventually found a church family that actually is beginning to feel like the real family I have craved so much. I have new friends and my oldest child is in pre school. Life doesn’t feel so rocky and lonely. We had another baby and I have found my footing as a mother of 2. I’ve finally perfected my path when grocery shopping at our local walmart. Life isn’t so unwavering. The stories and inside jokes are returning and my family is finding their way around noise and shift and christmases at the farm instead of Montgomery. We are making the home I so desperately couldn’t bare to leave. Someone asked a question in church last night, “What is something that the Lord asked you to do that was the harder choice but the better one?” I turned to a friend and quickly said , “Moving here.” 

She looked back at me and said, “ If you never moved here you would’ve never met me.” The two of us have become good friends since finding this church and my heart felt known for a moment and deeply proud. Proud that I had begun the journey of laying the roots that I so desperately missed. One step, one new friend, one new church, one new grocery store path at a time. 

What I have learned is that I can stand, even without traditions and roots, without the solid foundation of being known. I can go on even when my sense of belonging that I relied so heavily on is completely gone. It’s like slamming your pinky toe into a wall corner too quick and trying to walk it off, and wailing as you move through the pain. One step, another, three more until all of the sudden, the pain is gone and you start to feel like you again. Call it resilience, call it acceptance, maybe it’s a little bit of both. But I know what it’s like to leave a piece of yourself behind to follow the path you know the Lord put you on, even if it wasn’t the easier choice.  

I returned back home to Montgomery for the Easter Sunday Service in 2022. I knew I would get to see everyone because it was Easter, so all the natural non goers would appear out of the woods to pay their one Sunday a year church respects. I managed to walk over to the fellowship hall of the church to bring my oldest to the Children’s activities. I walked through the doors and immediately saw Jodi. She and I made eye contact and she bee lined in my direction. She smiled and said, “Laura Jean, it sure does feel good to see you.” As she hugged my neck and kissed me on the cheek. I returned the mutual joy and affection I had for her. 

She grabbed my hands. 

“Let’s try this again” She said, “How is the farm, really?” 

I smiled at her. 

She nodded, “Sounds better already.”