I read Miss Holly's thoughts at Falling Upward tonight, and as usual, she made me reflect on my own life.
Sometimes I feel like I'm waiting around for my life to start, and I'm afraid it's going to be nine more years before I'll truly be rid of that feeling. The reason? Lovely Judge Clayton has us planted in the town where I was born and raised until my daughter is eighteen. We're half way there this summer.
When my friend circle seems particularly small (though never lacking in quality!), when the activity choices for my kids seems sparse, when I'm forced to move my kid to our public school instead of a different Catholic school, I dream about what life would be like had we been allowed to move closer to the city where my husband works. I detest the fact that I've never lived outside my hometown of 3,500 people. Though I never want to live in the heart of a city, it disappoints me that activities like ice skating lessons or quality performing arts are two hours away. While I love my small-town parish, it makes me sad to know that there are next to no other young Catholic families to befriend. These are the thoughts that go through my head, the ones that I struggle to push out of my heart at least a few times a week.
I know, without a doubt, that God has kept us in this town for a reason. I believe with all my heart that He is working through us somehow, or that we've been kept here to learn a precious lesson. If nothing else, I'm learning that patience isn't just needed while my kids are asking the same question 82 times in a row. No, patience in that context is a breeze for me. It is in the long waits that I struggle. The eighteen year wait to start fresh, to not be known as the girl who had a baby in high school, to find a community where I truly feel at home (instead of only feeling at home inside my the walls of our house), demands my daily prayer for patience and peace.