When I think "belong," I think of walking into the grocery story and seeing familiar faces and chatting while buying milk. I think of recognizing the cashier and her asking how my babies are doing, and me asking about her grandkids. I think of waving to people while walking the dogs down the sidewalk, greeting the same people in the park every day. I think of knowing the name of the person taking my order in the McDonalds drive through. I think of knowing when there is a visitor in church, because I know everyone that's normally there by name and face.
I think of inviting people over and they know where I live. I think of having people nearby that I can call and say "can you keep my kids while I run to the store?" I think of having my children's friends over after school, providing milk and cookies and helping with homework, and having their mom call and ask "is my kid at your house? Can you send them home?"
I think of people who know my story. Who understand if I cry on certain days. Who know enough of my history to know what to ask and what not to ask.
In this time of transition, it's very difficult to feel I belong anywhere. I'm not staying here. I'm not there yet. I don't even know where "there" is, beyond a city. Which is more than I had a week ago.
But like all, I desperately want to belong. I want friends. I want a community.
My next agenda on the prayer list, after a house, is friends. Perhaps I should bump that up the priority list, and realize that belonging is more about people than a place.
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