Today is one of those days when I'm hating it here. Not necessarily New England here … but this little rural place we find ourselves in. It comes in waves - this feeling of isolation and separation. We knew when we bought out here we would have a very different life than the one we were used to. And with every house purchase comes some kind of sacrifice. This time we sacrificed location so that we could have affordability, and space, and outdoor space to play. But man … some days that sacrifice seems almost too much to bear. Some days the sacrifice just doesn't seem worth it.

Some days I would rather have a smallish condo with very little outdoor space so that I can walk outside and be in the hustle bustle right away. But even those places are hard to find in our price range. At least for a price that doesn't feel financially irresponsible. I could go on and on about my disgust over the Boston-area house market … but that’s for another day - another post.

I'm not sure there is ever a day that I truly love it here. I do love our house … I dearly love our house. I even love our mess of a yard. But when it comes right down to it … I don't totally love its location. There are days when I allow myself to like it. I like that we are close to the commuter rail. I like that we are close to Concord - without the Concord prices. Some days, I like to pretend it's a retreat center. A quiet place away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. I mean - once I’m home - I do love it. It’s when I head out for a walk that I get frustrated at the ruralness of this place.

So I try to convince myself that we will rise up out of this rut. We just need time to adjust. In time, we will learn to love the feeling of living in the middle of nowhere. We'll learn to love the fact that there's nothing around you. We’ll start growing our own food, and we’ll create a safe haven here in this place - not just for us, but for everyone we know. We'll adapt to a life of mindfulness - and truly appreciate the beauty of the simple.

But some days I just long for hustle bustle. I long for people all around me - for human connection, for art museums, for live music, for a front porch, for my old life.

Sometimes I just want to curse that old neighborhood of mine. It wasn't perfect - we actually can't imagine ever moving back - but damn we had some good memories there. And damn it was easy to connect with people. At least a hell of a lot easier than here.

It's funny - because that old neighborhood wasn't really any more walkable than where we are now. Sure, we could walk around the park, and we could walk to friends’ houses, but it's not like we could walk to get a gallon of milk. Or to a farm for fresh produce.

But we could walk to the zoo. The splash pad!! We could walk to get ice cream - or a good cup of coffee. We could walk to our chiropractor, and to the library, and to a pool.

It’s a give and take, this big move of ours. In just 9 months - has it been that long already?! In just 9 months, we’ve made connections and community here in a way that we always longed for while we lived in Atlanta. We’ve found a church to call home … in a way that we haven’t had since we left Resurrection 5 years ago. We’ve made a life-lasting friendship with a family that is far greater than any friendship we’ve ever had … as long as we’ve been a family. David is flourishing in his job in a way that has never happened before. I have stepped out on a ledge in temporarily going back to work - and trying to build a new business - while planning to homeschool and making a home … all at the same time. We can bike to the train station - to the library - to the playground. Heck, we can walk there if we really want to ... it just takes a little bit longer.

Our hearts are so full of love and joy here - and yet some days there’s still a tiny bit of wandering happening.

Just a few weeks ago I heard a sermon at church that really struck a chord with me. Our pastor was talking about homesickness … and how there are times in our lives when we long for the past. But we aren’t really longing for the past because it was so great … we long for the past because it’s what we know. And if we really dig deep within our hearts, we realize that it’s not the past we are longing for at all. Instead, we are yearning for something greater - we are yearning for something which we haven’t experienced yet.

I know that's so true for us here. We are longing for something greater than we've ever had. That's the reason we moved here. We've begun to experience that in small ways - and I know greater things are still yet to come.

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Sunday was dark and gloomy around here. When I woke up and looked out the window, I discovered the ground – and my car – were covered with a blanket of snow. Because it was Sunday, and because we couldn’t imagine staying inside at home all day long, we got ourselves ready and headed to church. As I sat through the service, I couldn’t help but think how fitting it was that on this gloomy snowy day we were hearing about Thomas. The one who doubted. As I sat there, I realized that I, like Thomas, was in a serious place of doubt.

Doubt that spring will ever arrive.

Doubt that I will be happy here for the long term.

Doubt that the day will come when I no longer long for Atlanta.

Doubt that I will ever find a community that I love as much as the one we had in Grant Park.

Doubt that God is ever going to show me what in the heck She is up to.

It’s only been a week since Easter. And I, like Thomas, have already forgotten the joy of Easter morning. I’ve forgotten the sunshine. Forgotten the promise of friendships. Of community. Of a future so much greater than anything I can even possibly imagine.

Maybe it’s the weather that has me down. But maybe I’m more like Thomas than I’d like to admit.

Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.

The hardest part of faith is that it is, by definition, believing that which we cannot see. It’s believing that, even though we can’t see Jesus in the flesh, he is there right beside us, through everything we are feeling. It’s believing that Christ prevailed over all the dark and gloomy – no matter what our emotions are on any given day.

This story of Thomas … it pretty much sums up all of our lives, doesn’t it? Haven’t we all had times when we just weren’t quite sure we believed the things our church proclaimed? Haven’t we all had times when our emotions got in the way of what we know, in our heart, to be true? Haven’t we all had times of doubt?

I am intrigued when I sit down to think about just how connected my doubts are to what I’m feeling on any given day. My doubts and my emotions seem to be intertwined. When I’m feeling happy and optimistic, I don’t really have many doubts. I take things at their face value. I don’t really dive in to thinking about them on any deep, questioning level – I just believe … no questions asked. But when I’m feeling dark and gloomy, that’s when the doubt begins to take hold. It’s when I begin to wonder if all the things I’ve proclaimed for so many years really are true … or are they just empty words on a page?

The beauty of faith is that it isn’t about emotion. My faith in Christ can stand strong even when I doubt. Because this story of Thomas – this story of Christ’s resurrection – it isn’t about emotion. It’s about belief. It’s about belief in a God that is so good – that loves us so much – that He promises a good and right relationship with us … forever. This story isn’t about how we feel on any given day. It’s about knowing, deep within our hearts, that God’s word stands forever. It’s about remembering that no matter where we live, no matter where we go, no matter what we do … our relationship with God will always be there. It’s about remembering our baptism – remembering the promise that God will always love us.

It’s about remembering who we are. Whose we are.

Photo by Jake Blucker on Unsplash.