there's no place like home

i feel the need to call this posting the same as the one before, but with a completely different connotation.

This blog was initially intended for Switzerland alone, but I can't help it; God is moving in my life, and I am itching to write! I want to yell it from the Swiss mountaintops right now! I love designing, but sometimes using words as your paintbrush can be the key to my soul satisfaction.

God speaks loudly in my life these days. I still do not understand why, and I don't think I ever will—why Steph had to leave us so soon—but I do know that God was with us today, and will mend our hearts, and show us Himself through all this confusion. 

Going home for this was especially difficult, because I had lost a friend, and because I would need to face my nemesis Napoleon head-on in the process. For as long as I can remember, I have been dying to wriggle out of the small town trap, mainly because growing up it was always stressed to escape Napoleon and "really succeed." I have been ashamed of my roots, that I came from a dinky farm town with roads so narrow there aren't yellow lines, and Wal-Mart as a category of entertainment. I felt insecure about coming back unless I had an accomplishment to flaunt, or at least something to separate and convince myself I was never connected to Napoleon. I had let my friendships rust over, and my disgust with small town life taint seriously good memories. In all aspects, I had alienated myself; in trying so hard to be better, and finding droplets of success, I still wasn't content; there were missing pieces.

At the viewing and the funeral, it finally clicked. I miss these people, I miss laughing with them! I am sick of being ashamed of a good thing. I kept searching for something I already had waiting for me. It's a Citizen Kane Rosebud moment..."Maybe Rosebud was something he couldn't get, or something he lost...I guess Rosebud is just a piece in a jigsaw puzzle, a missing piece."

Friendships were rekindled, and my life thoroughly changed within the last 48 hours. Hugs can be so powerful, and can bridge time gaps and conversation droughts. I thirst to find more of my past, admit I was a complete IDIOT for abandoning it, and ready start excavating new memories while building new ones with the people I love. I am the prodigal son.

You practically had to peel me away from Napoleon today. I found memories embroidered on every street, storefront, and person that walked by. I floundered in excitement remembering all the wonderful things, like John L. Johnson, stargazing in the NHS parking lot, the feel of uneven field ground on bare feet, Speng's, how dark the country is at night, the wonderfulness of a conversation at the bank or the BMV.

So thank you, Steph. Thank you so very much for helping me gather my missing pieces. I am home.