There and back again - a Hannah's Tale

2 years ago I sat on the shore of a lake, earnestly praying for God's will to open up to me. And as I scribbled scripture and thoughts into my journal at that picnic table, I listed out three cities. Three places I could move to. What I heard was, “Go west young (wo)man.”  That decision quickly became the biggest leap of faith I’d ever taken. It was 1500 miles away from family, friends, and most of everything I’ve ever known, and though I wasn’t moving to a completely unknown area, I was still terrified. And with only a short bit of change in my pocket and a car held together by duct-tape and a prayer, I moved west. 

El Matador Beach | Malibu, CA

And what an adventure it’s been! It’s been the scariest, most-exciting, gratifying, terrifying, exhilarating, and faith-building two years.  I’ve had some of the most breathtaking beaches and views at my fingertips and have ventured into new and really cool places. I’ve taken dance classes from the best dance teachers with the best dancers in the country, and some might even argue, the world. God has placed some incredible people in my life to help me grow, to encourage me when I needed it, and to just be the friends I needed. But most importantly, God grew my faith. He required me to hang onto him in blind trust and lean into his comfort instead of relying on what normally had comforted me before.

When I moved here, I already felt comfortable in Camarillo. It was a town that simply was an immediate fit and I sank right into it. My neighborhood, my church, my friends, the familiar drives along the PCH…it all just seemed so easily like home. 

But no matter how at home I already felt in Camarillo, there were some major adjustments. A lack of true seasons, a lack of lakes, my family 1500 miles away from me, no Caribou coffee, no random trips up north to Grandma and Grandpa’s farm…and that caused some major homesickness. There were times I was ready to pack up and move home. I remember just a bit past my 1 year mark here I was having one of those fits. And I wanted so desperately to move home no later than 6 months later, because I simply couldn’t imagine being here another year. I didn’t want to commit. I didn’t want to stay. But I also knew that if I moved home because I was so homesick, I would regret it. I needed to move home because it was the right decision and that’s where God was calling me, not because I wanted to go back. Little did I know God had plans for me to stay a whole year more. And it was totally worth it. This past year has actually given me more trials that have opened my eyes to discovering who God created me to be. It’s given me time to really become dear friends to people I probably wouldn’t have as much, ESPECIALLY my roommates. And again, God gave me more opportunities to grow my faith, and it’s hard to say I would want it any different, though at times it was incredibly hard.

Back to the 651. Or close to it, at least. ;)

But, as they all say, all good things must come to an end. God has been closing the door on my adventure here and opening opportunities for me to move back to the Twin Cities. 

So, after a 3-year-hiatus from the TC, I am excited to be heading back! I will be moving into a house in uptown with a good friend of mine I’ve known for many years. I will (hopefully) have a full-time job nannying, as I’m in that process right now with a family and an agency. And I couldn’t be more excited to come home again. I will have an actual autumn and winter (though I’m sure I’ll be begrudging it come February/March) and a spring and a summer. I’ll be back near some of my favorite restaurants again, like Caribou and Annie’s (I can’t wait for an andes mint shake!). I can’t wait to take the canoe out onto the lake, head to Taylors Falls - or better yet, up the North Shore, - in the autumn or go ice-skating on a pond followed by sipping a cup of hot chai next to a fireplace at Caribou in the winter. (Yes, I am that excited for Caribou to mention it twice.) I get to reconnect with old friends and make new ones. And one of the biggest things I’m excited for - I’ll have family close enough by I can take a weekend trip, or if needed, just a day-trip. (I can actually see them more than just once a year!)

And so on July 21st, I will watch as one home passes by in the rearview mirror and then look onward to home again. 

To all my friends here in SoCal. It’s been a true pleasure. Thank you for everything. 

And to all my friends back in the cities…I’ll be seeing you soon!

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30 Years

My incredible parents have been married 30 years today. They've spent their entire marriage devoted to ministry in one way or another. It's been a struggle sometimes to be a part of a "ministry family," but I honestly am so grateful God placed me in this family. I really would not be who I am today without the parents I was blessed with.

In honor of 30 years of marriage and 27 years of parenting, I thought I'd give you some of my favorite stories a couple of their past anniversaries.

It was the spring of my 7th grade year. They had made plans for a weekend getaway at a bed and breakfast less than a couple hours away. My dear sister, who was only 2 at the time, had a babysitter, and I had the freedom to spend the night with my friend Lydia (who lived down the street) camping out in her backyard. But the perfect child in me got away that night, because we thought it'd be fun to go running around town at 2 in the morning with boys. God must've thought that was a dumb idea, because he stopped that escapade short about 2 minutes into it when I fell down a hill and went hands first into the pavement of the street. The fall was so jarring that it dislocated my left elbow. I, as a 12 year old, was simply in pain, but the boys (ironically) thought it was really gross. After a call to my parents (whom I'm sure really appreciated that call) Lydia's mom was driving us to the hospital (after she had just gotten off her shift as a nurse at another hospital). And another few hours after that I woke up from the anesthesia and had an elbow wrapped in a sling. Nearly 15 years later and I still have a click in that elbow when I bend it sometimes. 

A number of years later when I was in college, I had come home for the summer. I had just finished finals and was home for the summer, with a few bonus perks. After a year working on the newspaper, I acquired some Chanhassen Dinner Theater tickets that we never used. So I gave those to my parents for them to use for their anniversary trip, which was meant to be a lovely full-weekend getaway to the Twin Cities. And sometimes, as a parent, you just have to laugh about plans. The day before they were to leave, my sister discovered several spots. A family friend who is a pediatrician came to check on her and found they were, indeed, chicken-pox. I was to babysit my sister at this time, and though my parents were apprehensive to leave, they did. So in order to try to make my sister as comfortable as possible and keeping her quarantined away from my grandmother (who was living with us after her stroke, and was at risk of getting shingles), I brought in the 13 inch TV with the DVD player so she could stay in bed and watch her favorite movie at the time, Flicka. 

So that night while they were enjoying a great show (I think it was "Oklahoma!") with dinner, I was up with my sister watching Flicka. And then watching Flicka again. And again. She was uncomfortable and couldn't sleep and really had a hard time doing just about anything, including any movement of any kind. Just when I thought she had fallen asleep, I'd go to my room next door to try to catch a few zzz's. A few minutes later she would prove me wrong and I would again be up. At one point I tried putting in another movie. We got about 15 minutes into it and she was complaining that she wanted Flicka, still. So Flicka it was. All. Night. Long.

The next morning after a phone chat with my parents, they decided to finish off the rest of their day plans then come home early. After getting in late that evening, my sister learned they still had a piece of their cake left, which she immediately asked for. And my parents decided to appease her. So I grabbed the slice with a fork and brought it up to her. And as I walked into the door I saw her trying to sit up with obvious pain on her face, since it hurt because of the shifting of cloth on her chicken pox. She groaned, "oh, this is the part that hurts." And as soon as she saw the cake in my hand, her face turned to a puppy-dog and partially stuck out her tongue in a pathetic, half-hearted attempt to get me to feed her, which, by the way, did not work. And although the description might not be as the real-life event, it was truly one of the funniest sister moments I've ever experienced. 

My childhood was filled with many great memories of camping, going on trips, dinners and picnics, family evenings at home, but mostly, unconditional love. 

I pray, mom & dad, that God would bless you with 30 more…and then some more after that.

If you know my parents, please comment and tell them an encouragement, a funny story about the two of them, or a simple congratulations! 

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