Home February 17, 2009

As I sit in my living room, I am admiring the view from my window.  It’s one of those rare winter days when the sun is shining and it’s snowing at the same time.  That usually means that the snow won’t amount to much but none the less, it’s beautiful.   Beyond the rows of houses in front of mine, I can see Fletcher’s Mountain, Angel’s Rest, and Centennial Point.  I hope to explore them once the weather gets a little warmer—not hot, just warmer.  Living in Georgia and South Carolina for 11 years ruined my tolerance for the cold.  From the back of my house, beyond the cliffs and the New River, I can see Stock Pen Mountain, Powell Mountain, and Peter’s Ridge.  I’m amazed at how tall all of the surrounding peaks are!  Even though they’re the Appalachians and not the almighty Rockies, they’re my mountains and I love them.  I love how small they make me feel.  It reminds me how big God is.  Last week, about 30 acres of Stock Pen Mountain was on fire.  I could see it perfectly from my porch.  Despite how scary forest fires are, I must say, the fire was very pretty.  Fire is so devastating but so refining at the same time.  Imagine how rich that soil must be now.  How beautiful and thick that forest will grow back.  Maybe I’m just a cock-eyed optimist but that’s how I see things. 

So as I’m sitting here watching the snowflakes play in the rays of sun with the mountains as their backdrop, I am thinking of how blessed I am.  Few people are allowed the opportunity to start over in life but that’s exactly what I’ve been given.  Kind of like Stock Pen Mountain, I went through my own fire.  And like Stock Pen Mountain, I’ve come out richer on the other side.  (Unfortunately I have also come out thicker and fuller as well but I’m working of taking care of that problem.) 

Shortly before my 18^th birthday, I moved away to go to college.  My mom said that when I left, she knew that I’d never be back.  I had the pleasure of proving her wrong this summer.  I finally came home.  In December, I bought my own house.  Even though my mom says it’s still not close enough, I take comfort in knowing that if I need my mom or dad or grandmother or sister, they’re only 15 minutes away and I love it!  Who said you can’t go home?  Whoever it was, I’ve made them a fool. 

As I made my way home from work today, winding through Cloyd’s Mountain, past Angel’s Rest and into the narrow part of the valley (as a Spartan, part of me still gets hung up on saying that I live in Narrows), I was remembering that I once looked at these mountains as if they were the walls of my prison cell.  Containing me in my own little world and not letting whatever was out there in.  Now, I’ve seen what’s out there—beyond this little valley.  I’ve come to realize that these mountains weren’t keeping me from my dreams, they were holding them gently in their ridges—cradling them until I returned.  What I once thought sheltered me, I now realize protected me.  What I once thought held me back, I now realize gave me my wings.  I can imagine myself soaring from the mountain tops that once towered over me, choking the life out of me.  I can see that the river I once thought carried my hopes and dreams away, now feed them and help them grow. 

I used to run from who I am.  I remember sitting on my parents’ roof one night where I used to go to sunbathe and think.  I was crying and telling my sister that all I wanted was to be anybody but me.  What a fool I was!  I guess in a way, I was just trying to figure out who I wanted to be.  My biggest mistake was that it’s not who I want to be…but who I AM that matters.  We all want things from ourselves that may not be bad…they just may not be “us.”  How many of us have said to ourselves, “I wish I had his perspective on things,” or, “I love her hair–I wish my hair would do that.”  Why did I try so hard to live other people’s lives?  Not that there is anything wrong with seeing, trying, and experiencing new things, but there comes a point when you just have to decide for yourself for what you want to be remembered.  What I have found now is that I knew who I was the whole time.  I’m just a simple mountain girl who happens to be a little quirky.  I am a child of God.  I am a granddaughter, a daughter, a sister, and a friend.  I am a musician.  I am a teacher but also a student.  I am a dog person.  I am a hiker.  I am a kayaker.  I am a procrastinator.  I am introspective.  I am pink striped knee-socks with  gray Capri yoga pants, a sweatshirt that totally doesn’t match, and pearls that I forgot to take off when I got home (which happens to be what I’m wearing at this very minute).  And I can honestly say that I love who I am.  I love who I was.  I love who I’m becoming.  I love my life.  I love my family.  I love that I’m in love.  I love my job.  I love my students.  I love my new house.  I love my dogs.  I love my past because it has made me who I am.  I love my future—whatever it may bring. 

The sun has set now but the snow is still coming down and despite the fact that my heat is almost turned off because I can’t afford my gas bill, I am warm because I am blessed.  There’s just no other way to put it.