Incognito

For weeks I've been banging my head against the invisible wall of knowledge, trying desparately to understand what on earth prompted the need to move to the Frontier. I've alternately spent days awash in waves of homesickness for my life "back there in the other place," and days where I eagerly anticipate not being pregnant, so I can fully explore my new surroundings.

On Sunday, someone asked a question in Sunday School, in relation to Mary Magdalene's failure to recognize the Gardner's true identity, "How many times have we pleaded for something, only to not be able to see the answers because of the tears in our eyes?" It struck me. Hard. So I stopped banging my head and asking why. Instead, I decided to just give in.

Interestingly enough, while I still don't know why, I am starting to see the good things on my own, without having to be reminded. Himself and I both have jobs with brighter futures and incomes that are higher than what we were making before we moved, which will hopefully allow us to become more financially secure in the long-term. Being pregnant through a Frontier summer instead of an East Coast summer has definite advantages - the air is not quite so suffocating and, being a child of the desert, I've easily settled into the lazy, dry summer heat (Himself is another story, but he's not pregnant, so it doesn't matter so much). I can now sleep in my own apartment - somehow, having someone to curl up beside and talk with as you're falling asleep makes almost any place (even the Hobbit Hole) feel like home.

Nothing big, but a little sense of peace, of "okay, I'll stop fighting this and recognize that some good has come, if you won't make me feel guilty for missing Virginia sometimes still."

Then today, I had my first experience where I felt like I belonged.

I was downtown for a meeting with a major newspaper. After, I was standing on the sidewalk, speaking with my boss, when someone came up and said, "Excuse me, is that Sara...?" I turned to find my neighbor, one of the few people with whom I've had any kind of meaningful conversations with outside of work - and that was only on the walk back from a women's activity last week. She said, "It is!" and hugged me, apologizing for interrupting. Then she continued on her way.

I stood there, silent for a few seconds, and thought, "Funny how things come in disguise, a little at a time."

Little messages. Little reassurances that while I don't know why, and while everything seems to be swirled in intrigue and mystery, I'm not forgotten. I will make this desert Frontier my home, and I will grow to love it, to feel I belong.

One day at a time.