I’ve got to get something off my chest: three weeks ago, I was preparing my heart to return to England.
But things change quickly, and if I’ve learned anything this year, it’s not to fight it.
We’re moving, alright, but not overseas. We’re not even moving out of state. We’re just moving west: toward the mountains, toward the cooler weather. Toward trees that turn red and gold in the Autumn, and where there are hills to sled down when it snows – which it does more often – instead of miles and miles of flat, flat cotton fields.
We’re moving to Winston-Salem. To the home of tobacco – (I went to college up there on a Reynolds’ Scholarship, my student mantra: “Keep smokin’, folks. You’re payin’ for my education.”) – and Moravian stars, and Krispy Kreme.
We’ve been talking about this possibility for over a year. We’ve got amazing friends in and around Winston, but now it seems right. And it’s funny how God can bring you full circle, back to something you already considered and ruled out. It wasn’t the wrong place, just the wrong time. Our hearts weren’t ready yet.
Now they are.
And so I covet your prayers: for a house, for jobs, for a church, and for a community where we can feed and be fed.