Clearly Something Changed

Clearly, something shifted in the last few weeks. Lent has passed me by, commitments to the Lenten season have been shifty, and blogging just stopped.

It is clear that something has changed.

As recent as a few weeks ago I was fairly concerned about the journey up ahead. I had no idea what was coming and I dreaded it. Moving to Alaska has been the most difficult thing I have ever done. The transition to life here has been dreadful at times. We moved from the big city where "liberalism" reigned to the country where "conservativism" reigns. The sharp dichotomy is shocking to us. I grew up in Iowa, but Chicago changed me. For good and for ill.
I don't remember what it is like to know everyone at the grocery store.

I don't remember what it means that the person at the next table at the coffee place could hear your conversation and know the people you are talking about.

I don't remember how to eat meat and potatoes every night for supper.

I don't recall what it means that I can't just pop over to the Asian food market when I run out of tamarind paste or rice noodles. (Or curry paste or coconut milk or bean sprouts).

I don't remember the difficulties of working with people whose opinions, voices, and concerns are so vastly different from mine. For good or for ill, seminary was a place where lots of people believed lots of the same things. We disagreed on some things, yes, but top concerns tended to remain fairly stable in my own realm of friends.

I never knew what it was like to be the new kid. I was always the kid who had lived there my whole life. I never knew how hard it was to be the kid who tried to fit in when everybody else already knew everything about everybody else and they also knew everything about you because, duh, you're new.

I forgot what it is like to be concerned about sirens.

I forgot that you have to look out for wildlife because you really could die.

I have never known what it means to work somewhere long term. I have never known the 9-5 lifestyle. I have never known 'normal work life'. Sure, I have worked at my share of places. I have done my share of menial labor. I did ministry in a church for almost a year working crazy hours.

But I have never known what it means to commit wholeheartedly to something other than school. I have never known the pain that can ensue when you believe in something so much and want desperately for it to succeed. I have never known what it means to truly work and invest fully into a foreign culture. Both Alaskan culture and Native culture are different. It has been like being thrust into 2 foreign cultures instead of one.

I have never known the heartbreaks and joys of fundraising. I have never known, as I have received many support letters, the hours of hard work it took to produce them and the sincere hope that lies in their words. I never knew how vital it was to know that people cared, that people listened, that people were praying, that people actually read the letter. That people read the letter. That they valued the words. I never knew.
The sun is beginning to shine again. Light has broken through the clouds and is shining on my tired, broken, weary limbs. I am starting to love Alaska. I have realized my sincere love for AEC. I am beginning to learn that I am different in many ways, so I should just keep my mouth shut a lot of the time. I have also learned that I do have a voice that people need to hear and sometimes I need to speak that voice, even when it is difficult and painful. I have learned that boundaries matter because people will push them for all they are worth.

I have learned that although circumstances may change a lot, I am where I am supposed to be.

I will remain the Director of Student Services at AEC, but I will be moving off campus. My job will still be focused on spiritual formation and discipleship, but it will also include admissions, recruiting, financial aid, and many other tasks. It is a good and needed change. I don't do well in communal living. It is good to know this. It is also good to know that I am where I am supposed to be, even though I am afraid of what comes next.