Another Transition

Vacations are necessary parts of life.  They're meant to be relaxing, adventuresome, memorable, and a respite from work and the craziness of home life.  The sign that it's been a good vacation is when you feel recovered and ready to return to the daily grind.  I felt that way on a trip to the Parks of southern Utah last summer, a trip to Atlanta for the SBL conference last fall, and even on several day trips to Bozeman for groceries last winter.  And I feel that way now.

The problem is that I'm not on vacation, at least not with the intent of returning to work and home.  I am home, or so I'm told when people say, "Welcome home!" to me time and again.  Over the last two years, this place I formerly referred to as "home" has definitely turned to "my parents' house."  I don't feel at home, and I'm ready for my vacation to end so that I can get home.  If the old adage is true, "Home is where the heart is," then home is definitely Cooke City, Montana. 

Transitions are always difficult, either for good reasons or bad.  I know because I've experienced quite a few in my relatively short life.  Transitioning from the Roman Catholic Church to the world of American denominationalism; from college to Lithuania and back; from college to Kyrgyzstan; from Kyrgyzstan to Massachusetts; from Massachusetts to Wyoming; from Wyoming to Montana.  In the midst of each of these was roommate, school, work, daily-life, cultural, spiritual, and even personality transitions.  I feel like a very different person returning to my parents' house now than when I left approximately ten years ago.  Maybe that's why this transition seems so rough.  I'm not returning as the same person, and no one here knows who exactly I am.  I barely know exactly who I am.

Out of all of the places I've committed myself for any length of time and previous to Cooke City, the only place I felt was "home" in any way was Camp Victory, the place I met Christ, was discipled, encouraged, shaped into a leader and teacher, and given a foundation for my faith.  Over the years of fading away from Camp Victory, my heart has found healing, but very slowly.  I don't long for Kyrgyzstan or Lithuania or Crown College or Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary, or any of the other places I've been.  I do long for the former days/months/years at Camp Victory and I have a feeling that the transition away from Cooke City will require a similar healing process.

I guess I'll just consider these two months a very long vacation; and, hopefully by the time the day rolls around to head to St. Andrews, I'll be in a better place than I am right now.