"Mis"carriage.

I have another confession to make.

I haven't been entirely truthful in this blog.  I've posted fairly "clean" or unemotional posts regarding life here.  I've done this out of respect for this community--not wanting to post only negative--and out of respect for my readers, since I really don't know who all of you are.  Because I have avoided some of the really difficult parts of my time here, I don't think I'm doing all of you, this community and you readers, justice.

A few of my classmates and friends know that this has been a rough two months.  It has been a fantastic two months and I really believe that I'm exactly where I need to be.  It has also been incredibly difficult.

Today marks exactly two months since I arrive in Pine Ridge.  In that time, I've participated in almost a dozen death-related events (i.e. wakes, funerals, memorials, etc.)  The first wake and funeral that I attended was for a 10 month old baby girl who drowned in the bathtub.  The second wake and funeral that I attended was for a three year-old boy who was killed when his mother drove home drunk with him in the car.  These two occurred in the same week; these two children were cousins.

Death has slowed down a bit since that first intense time, but I'm still surrounded by it.  Today is Wednesday, and in the last two days, since Monday is my day off, I've taken at least four phone calls from family members looking for help with their deceased loved one's wake and funeral.  People have actually begun to describe death here on the Rez as an epidemic.  People are dying too often and at far too young of an age.  The average life expectancy for men is early 50s.

The most recent "death" experience was being invited to do a service at the home of a woman who had a miscarriage.  The miscarriage happened early enough into the pregnancy that she didn't even know the sex of the baby; however, we still held a service, much like a funeral, to honor the child and grieve with the family.

I wasn't sure what to expect going into this, since I hadn't been to anyone's home here, nor have I ever formally tried to process a miscarriage with someone through a worship setting.  I was really thankful to be there though, since it felt right to acknowledge the death of this child.  So often, I hear the word "miscarriage" and I feel like the word itself implies wrong action or an incomplete action.  I guess a child dying in utero is an incomplete action, you could say, but it's not a "wrong" action.  Some close friends of mine had a miscarriage last year and I struggled with how to walk with them in their grieving, as well as my own grieving.

How do we honor parents who have experienced the death of a child in the womb?  Do we have a funeral?  What about a memorial service?  Perhaps some prayers?  Or do we just let it slip by, not wanting to force parents to deal with the death of a child?

This mother carried a child, as did my friend.  The child didn't suddenly go missing by some negligence, but the child died.  I think if we pretend that a child dying in utero is not painful, or worse yet, if that mother and father didn't begin to experience the life of that child, then we are lying to ourselves.  While this service was simple and allowed for space to acknowledge that the child had been created and was a precious creation, it also allowed the family to grieve the death of this child, mourning the future incompletes that were to come.

I wish I had some profound reflection on this otherwise, but it's late and I'm tired.  I'm not feeling particularly eloquent, but I am thankful for the way that this family chose to grieve together.  I also hope that we continue, as a society, to reflect on ways of talking about families and children, knowing that so many people in our midst have experienced the death of a child in utero, not knowing what the life could have held for their precious infant.

Music is my boyfriend...part numpa.

Mer, you wrote one blog post about CDs, do you really need to write a second?

Yes.  Yes, I do.

Part numpa (two) of the music series is a reflection on a recent mixed CD, made for me by my dear friend Alex.  He made me a stack of CDs to "get me through the drive" from Chicago-Pennsylvania-Chicago-Minnesota-South Dakota when I moved out here to start internship.  He titled them with some clever titles, referencing the long drive, such as, "Are we there yet?"  He made one that he titled "One hour to go" and instructed me that I wasn't allowed to listen to it until I was an hour away from Pine Ridge.

The anticipation killed me as I headed west.  I desperately wanted to know what was on that CD.  I popped it in the other day as I was driving back to Pine Ridge from a meeting.  The song that played as I pulled into town was Adele's "Hometown Glory."  To be clear, I did listen to it when I was an hour away from Pine Ridge.  Don't worry, Alex, I followed your instructions.

I've heard Adele say that she wrote the song to honor her hometown of London.  I've never spent time in London, aside from a layover, but I think the idea of pride or love for the place you come from is important.

As I spend more time at Pine Ridge, I find myself figuring out what it means to call this place "home" for a year, knowing that it is finite.  I will leave in August of 2013, regardless of how much I fall in love with it here or how much I hate it here.  Driving back into town, listening to Adele serenade me with "Hometown Glory," I realized that Pine Ridge has become home.  When I'm in Sioux Falls, Pine Ridge is home.  When I'm in Oglala, Pine Ridge is home.  When I'm in Rapid City, Pine Ridge is home.  And while I'm not completely sure what "home" means right now, I'm appreciative of Adele's words from the first stanza:

No, and thank you, please madam, I ain't lost, just wandering.

I'm not lost, I just keep wandering, moving from place to place, going where I can learn and try and be challenged by what God has created in this world and what we have destroyed in this world.

Music is my boyfriend.

I have a confession.

My name is Meredith and I am a mixed CD junkie.

I've got hundreds, probably, of mixed CDs.  Some are new, as recent as August, some are old, dating back to when I was in middle school.  Part of my love for mixed CDs are for the obvious reason: music.  I almost always have music playing in some form.  If I'm working at my computer, it's Pandora radio online.  When I drive, I alternate between the radio, my MP3 player and CDs.  I'm obsessed with music.

I also love mixed CDs for the time-keeping effect.

Huh?

I guess I see these CDs, mixed with a list of completely random songs, as a snapshot of history, perhaps even a journal entry.  I listen to the songs and remember how much I loved that song or that other one, when I made the CD.

Recently, I decided it was time to switch out some of the CDs in my car.  I pulled a few random CDs out of my book and headed out the door.  One of the ones I had pulled is labeled "TURKEY TIME" and is dated 11/22/06.  I remember making this mix CD when I was in college, headed home for Thanksgiving.

So, Meredith, why exactly are you blogging about a mixed CD from six years ago?

Because it showed me how much I've changed in the last six years.  I made this mixed CD to "get me through the drive home" from college.  I went to college an hour away from my family's home.  An hour.  One.  Hour.  And I needed a special mixed CD to get me through it?!  Hah!

I have literally flown across the world and back, several times, since that CD.  I've lived in four different states and two different countries.  An hour is a long drive?

But here's the thing: an hour was a long drive six years ago.  This CD was a tangible reminder of how much I've changed over the last six years and it makes me wonder how I'll change in the next six years.  Also, this CD was fun to listen to, because it included "I Need a Hero" from the Shrek soundtrack...which we sang in our seminary musical this spring.  Who would have thought that six years later I'd be learning a dance number to this song, using glowsticks and flashlights, to perform in a Katie Luther musical, all while being in seminary??!!

South Dakota ain't so bad...

Last week, I had the privilege of attending the Bear Butte Pastors' Conference Clergy Retreat.  The Bear Butte conference, pronounced Bear Bewt (rhymes with mute, as in, the button), is the collection of ELCA pastors and lay leaders in western South Dakota.

For the last two years in seminary, I've heard a lot of negative comments towards the 'Otas and Nebraska.  Let me back up.  Seminary is basically the most stressful four years of your life.  You begin your junior year, panicking over this transition to a new place with a new career path in mind, because you know, GOD IS CALLING YOU TO BE A PASTOR *said in a booming voice with thunder and lightening*.  By Christmas, you should have already applied to Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE) sites.  By Easter, you should have put in your preferences for your Ministry In Context (MIC) site for middler year.  By June, you've started CPE.  By mid-June, you've watched people die in the hospital and had at least one breakdown over frail human life and how are you incapable of ministering to people in this place and blah blah blah.  By August, you're back at seminary, starting your middler year.  By December of middler year, you've put in your internship paperwork.  By spring, you have an internship site, and BOOM, out the door you go to internship.  I can't tell you much about the timeline of internship for most people yet, but here's how mine has been:

1.) Oooh...new place!
2.) Oooh...new place.
3.) Ooooooooh....this....place......
4.) .....
5.) WhatAmIWritingAListAboutBecauseIDon'tHaveTimeToProcessInternshipOrEvenShower....?

After internship, senior year starts up fast.  By December, you've got assignment paperwork in for first call.  By February, you've got a region of where you'll be going, and it's all downhill from there.

So, for the last two years of my life, in addition to being stressed and exhausted and "stretched," I've tried to envision where my first call will be.  As I said earlier, we talk at LSTC about ending up in the 'Otas and Nebraska a lot, these states being less-than-ideal first calls.  For me, I think being out in the middle of nowhere scares me for first call, regardless of what state it is.

After getting to know the pastors in the Bear Butte Conference, I'd be okay with coming to South Dakota.  They are some FANTASTIC people!  I was also happy to attend a clergy retreat, since it's good to talk with others who are "in the field" trying to balance all of life's components, and keep healthy.

Some highlights included extraordinary conversations, lots of walks in the beautiful surroundings at Outlaw Ranch in Custer, SD, worship with beautiful voices and staying up late to laugh over ridiculous things.

In one of the smaller conversations, one pastor shared with me the reality of what it means to be a pastor in simple, rough terms.  "When we put on that stole at our ordination, we're putting on the bar, or the yoke, of our peoples' shit.  We are carrying around their shit with us."

And that, my friends, is why I am simultaneously honored and terrified to be a called and ordained minister in the ELCA.  We all walk around with so much weighing us down that, as a pastor, to be invited into that shit, I am happy to share that yoke with you.  At the same time, I need to learn how to process all of your difficulties as well as my own, in a healthy way, so that I don't get pulled down by that yoke.  So what do most pastors do?  Retreats.  Therapists.  Screaming.  Crying.  Whatever it takes to get it out.

After reading this blog post, please take a moment and honor the people who have carried a bit of your burden for you, at some point in your life.  I invite you to "honor" them in whatever you feel appropriate--send a note/email, perhaps pray for them.

Another highlight of this awesome weekend with these awesome pastors, was some awesome Taize and Iona worship.  Having spent time at Taize, I'm a fan of this worship.  I've never been to Iona, but I think I need to add it to my "Sabbaticals to Take Someday" list.  I'll leave you with these words from the Iona worship:

"We affirm God's goodness at the heart of humanity, planted more deeply than all that is wrong."

And, if the Church sends me to South Dakota, I know that God's promise to never again flood the earth,
also promises that God is there, holding me up as I am wearing the stole of the peoples' shit.
Thankful for this surprise rainbow reminder on my drive home from the clergy retreat.  

"So, you're a girl headed due west, then?"

On Thursday, I drove to Sioux Falls, South Dakota, to attend the ELCA South Dakota Synod Council meeting, presenting on behalf of my supervisor, who had come down with a nasty head cold that captured her voice.  I was excited to drive through Sioux Falls, since as a Pennsylvanian Lutheran, I've always heard about the Midwest Lutherans.  Through different Lutheran functions, I've met lots of people from Sioux Falls.  I felt like I was connecting with all those people as I drove through Sioux Falls, South Dakooooota.

I arrived in town in time to have dinner at the Bishop's house with the council and other members of the community.  I often feel at church-related functions that I get zeroed in on as a "young person."  People always seem to ask me where I am in life and where I see myself in ten years.  I sometimes get a little ornery with this focus, such as when a man at the Dakota Presbytery asked me if I'd like to come be the youth worker at his church.  I, as politely as I could, responded to him by saying, "Well, I'm actually working towards my Masters of Divinity, so that I can be an ordained pastor.  I think I might be overqualified to be a youth worker."  I think it's great to look for fun, passionate people to work with your youth.  I also need you to know that I'm training to be a pastor, just like the 60 and 70 year old ministers in the room.  My degree is just as valid.  I'm also tired of people saying, "The young people are leaving the Church.  Why aren't there any young people involved in the Church?"...when I'm sitting in the room.

Here's a newsflash: Young people ARE the Church.  Old people ARE the Church.  Middle-aged people ARE the Church.  We aren't a separate entity.  AND...a lot of us ARE involved and ARE participating.  These questions are asked as if every person over the age of 37 is involved in their local congregation.

But, I'll step off my soapbox now.

At the Synod Council dinner though, I think it was more about seeing a young person representing a ministry of the church.  I answered the questions with excitement, as I realized the people asking me the questions were curious and hopeful for my future.

On Friday, I went to the official Synod Council meeting and presented information about Pine Ridge Retreat Center.  Upon introducing myself as a seminarian from LSTC (we're Luther Sem country out here!), but that I am originally from Pennsylvania, the Bishop said, "So, you're a girl headed due west, then?"  I guess that I am.  I call Pennsylvania home.  I call Chicago home.  I call anywhere that I've lived home, since I'm always up for the adventure of immersing myself in a new location, a new culture and a new situation.  Aside from not realizing that my presentation was supposed to be 10 minutes, it was a great experience to meet the Synod Council and other Mission Partners, PRRC being a Mission Partner.

Some interesting learning things from the Mission Partners were:
--The ELCA has a ministry called the Evangelical Lutheran Deaf Association (ELDA) that includes congregations, ministries and individuals who are deaf.  ELDA will also work with congregations to provide interpreters to attend worship if a congregation includes a member who is deaf.  There are 11-12 ministries like the Heartland Ephphatha Ministries located in South Dakota.  HEM offers an interpreted worship service every Sunday at Peace Lutheran Church in Sioux Falls, in addition to providing interpreters, bible study and services available via podcast for people who are unable to attend worship in Sioux Falls.  There is only one ELCA pastor who is deaf.

--Luther House of Study is a collaborative ministry between Augustana College and Sioux Falls Seminary.  "Its mission is to strengthen Lutheran leadership and ministries throughout the Northern Plains region for the proclamation of the Gospel."  They work with future ministry professionals, current ministry professionals and congregation.  They're working on resources to ground these three groups in Lutheran theology in leadership.

--There are six new mission starts in the South Dakota Synod this year, which is awesome!

--There are 22 congregations going through the intentional renewal process.

--Mission support is down, as it is everywhere.  Someone made the point though, "What does it mean that God is moving the Church to a less-resources functioning out in the communities?"  Some people speculate that we will move back to the early house-church model of worship.  I'll certainly be interested to see what the future of the "Church" looks like.

All in all, experiencing Synod Council was a great experience.  I also got to have a coffee date with my friend Sam, who lives in Sioux Falls.  After we said our goodbyes, he said, "Keep blogging!"  Not knowing that sweet Sam had been reading my blog, here's a shout-out to him.  Thanks for your support, Sam, and everyone else who has been reading my ramblings thus far!  :)

Welp, y'all know me!  I've GOT to stop for roadside adventures.  This is the Corn Palace in Mitchell, South Dakota.  The outside is made entirely of corn and corn products.  It's redone every year with a different design, partly to change it yearly and also because the birds eat it.

Corn products

Corn...corn...corn...corn...

A picture of a picture of the First Corn Palace.  Built in 1892.
That's a lot of corn hanging out for a long time.  

Toksa ake.

L-R, Karen (my supervisor), Asa (Presbyterian minister), Alicia,
Tresita (Asa's wife) and me.  I don't think I'm that tall...until I see pictures.

I've mentioned Alicia a few times before in this blog, since she has been not only a co-worker, but a companion on a few adventures.  Alicia has been living here at Pine Ridge for the last year, since she graduated from the Lutheran Theological Southern Seminary with a Masters in Arts in Religion degree.  She is going through the candidacy process to become a rostered Diaconal Minister in the ELCA.  A Diaconal Minister is someone who feels called to a Word and Service ministry.  As a pastor-to-be, I feel called to Word and Sacrament ministry.  As a DM, Alicia hopes to serve in a ministry setting as a leader in the church, but with a focus on service.  Most would say that pastors are also responsible for service, but with a different focus than DMs.  She will have her official approval interview in January, then enter the call process to be placed as a DM.  To my recollection, she will be the first DM to come out of the South Carolina Synod of the ELCA, which is pretty stinkin' cool!

When we got back from the Dakota Presbytery meeting, Alicia announced that she felt she needed to leave. She had been living here on donations and there wasn't money coming in at an appropriate rate to support her.  To take care of herself and her finances, she felt it best to move back to South Carolina.  She may still be called to Pine Ridge as the DM for the center, but she is in discernment over where life will take her now.

It was hard to say goodbye to this co-worker and friend, especially since it was a rather unplanned goodbye and it meant a lot of reshifting for my supervisor Karen and me.  Fortunately, in Lakota, you don't say "goodbye."  You say "Toksa ake" (toke-sha ah-keh), for "See you later."  Some traditional folks don't even say goodbye on the telephone, which has been an adjustment for me.  We said "Toksa ake" to Alicia, knowing that even if she doesn't return to Pine Ridge for full-time ministry, she'll be back to visit.

It was hard to have my first "goodbye" or "toksa" quite so soon into my year.  I've been saying a whole lot of  hellos, not really expecting to say goodbye to anyone, especially not so suddenly.  I watched Alicia tell each of the people who mean so much to her, many of whom already mean a lot to me, that she'd be leaving so quickly.  Some took it harder than others.  One of the grandmas even said, "What do we have to do to get you back here then?"  This dedication for continued relationship was inspiring.  People love and support Alicia so much that they want to know what THEY can do to call her back here.

Toksa ake, Alicia.

Cultural Event

As I live and work with the Lakota people, I'm constantly seeking out experiences to learn more about the deep history and culture here.

On Tuesday night, I decided to experience another part of rez life: the casino.

Alicia and I found out that there were penny slots at the casino and neither of us had been yet.  Again, most of you know my love of adventures, especially ridiculous adventures.

So, I took a bag of quarters, thinking that I'd need some money for the slots.  I didn't need the quarters, since first time players at the casino get $10.00 promo credit to play with!  AND they made me this personalized play card with a lanyard!  

I spent my $10 of promo credit, won a few times, but walked away no poorer, no richer, but a little more cultured to the rez casino experience.

Native American Day

Today is Native American Day.

The rest of the United States knows it as Columbus Day.

Deep sigh.

I warned my mom before I moved to Pine Ridge that living here was going to change me.  I knew that I would become passionate about the Native people, more than I already was.  In fact, I was keeping my mom company in her garden one day before I drove out here and told her that I was worried about seeing Mount Rushmore.  I shared that I was curious how Native peoples felt about the faces of Euro-American white men being carved into the land that they call home.  My mom responded, "Meredith, you've gotten so radical in your old age."  We had a good laugh, but it's true.  I have gotten radical.  I do care.

I'm glad that Columbus Day means a day off of work for some folks, but I'm not glad that we celebrate and honor a man who raped and pillaged thousands of people.  Call me radical, but I'm not a fan of good ole' Christopher.

So how did I celebrate Native American Day then?

I voted.

I have stayed out of the Facebook debates over politics this season, simply because I think people tend to remove all restraints when they post and comment about politics.  It's sad and hurtful.  I have been keeping up with the debates and reading up on the different candidates, requesting my Pennsylvania absentee ballot well in advance.  I wanted to be sure that my vote counted.  After filling in the ovals and promising Indiana County that I was who I said I was, I placed my ballot in the envelope and sealed it.  Then, I was faced with a predicament: Which stamp do I choose?

The set of stamps that I bought a few weeks back had presented me with a difficult decision for a simple task of placing one stamp on one envelope.  My ballot is my voice in the United States government system, so what do I value most in that small voice?  Freedom?  Liberty?  Equality?  Justice?

When I visited Mount Rushmore a few weeks back, I started to get nauseous as I read the displays.  The four presidents chosen for the faces on Rushmore were chosen because they were men who represented, essentially, "freedom for all in the Land of the Free."  This information, of course, was on the same display board explaining the Massacre (many white historians call it a battle) at Wounded Knee.

The Land of the Free hasn't been free for the Indian people for a couple hundred years now.

So what is my most important value then, when voting for the next American president and other leaders?  Freedom, liberty, equality and justice for all.  FOR...ALL.  Those are my values.  For everyone.  For Euro-Americans who came here for freedom.  For the Native peoples who were free until those Euro-Americans took that freedom away.  For the people who still immigrate to this country in hopes of getting away from violent and oppressive governments, religious orders and poverty.  Ultimately though, it's not just up to Obama or Romney to decide what "freedom" looks like for all; it's up to us as well.

So, which stamp did I choose?  After a five-minute ethical debate over a stamp, a stamp that doesn't actually show my support for one candidate over another, I settled on "Justice."  The desire to have my stamps by symmetrical and even won.

Dakota Presbytery

This past weekend, I had the joy of traveling to Sisseton, South Dakota, for the Dakota Presbytery meeting. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this, the Dakota Presbytery is a non-geographic collection of Presbyterian congregations that gather together for partnerships and administration.  For the Lutherans in the crowd, the Presbytery meetings are like Synod Assembly.  The Dakota Presbytery is non-geographic, which means that instead of being a part of the group because of location, such as the South Dakota Presbytery, the Dakota Presbytery (DP) is made up of all the "Indian" churches in South Dakota, North Dakota, Minnesota and Montana.

The meeting was held in Sisseton, which is located on the Lake Traverse Indian Reservation.  I was amazed by how much my mind has already been shaped by my time at Pine Ridge.  Being a Pennsylvania girl, I grew up around more Amish than Indians on reservations, so I had no real concept of what life on the rez looked like until I came here.  When I arrived in Sisseton, I didn't realize that I was on a reservation.  You see, there was road construction, building construction, nice houses, nice cars, healthy looking dogs, minimal garbage in the streets, lots of businesses and visible growth.  My understanding of life on the rez does not include those things, at least to this point.  It was a really uncomfortable feeling for me to realize that I had this box of what I expect reservations to be...and that box was not pretty.

The meeting itself was a fascinating experience.  It was different than any Synod Assembly gathering that I've attended!  All of the meals were cooked by the different local churches, which meant frybread...for every meal...which excites me.  There were some hard decisions made at the meeting that will affect one of the congregations that we work closely with, so keep the congregation in your prayers.

They also didn't plan out the worship services prior to the beginning of the meeting.  I am accustomed to "church" events where things are planned out to at least have the backbone of preacher/presider figured out; not here.  We went through each service and devotion on Saturday morning, looking for the volunteers to lead and preach at the different services.  Sunday morning's devotion was to be led by a "Corresponding Member," which I was one of about six CMs.  The Stated Clerk, the one who runs the meeting, said, "We need a Corresponding Member to do the devotion for Sunday morning.  I know we have a young lady in seminary, so I think we should ask her...."  Cue all eyes in the room turning to me, the tall, Lutheran white girl, easily the youngest person in the room.  My response?  "*breathe*  Okay."  I panicked for a moment, since I had to pick a text, come up with a message, some prayers and oh, lead the entire Dakota Presbytery in singing Lakota hymns.  No pressure at all.  I ended up leading the devotion and I think it went pretty well.

This is a star quilt hanging in the building where the DP met.  There was some debate over it, since everyone thought it was orange and blue for the Denver Broncos, since people around here are either Broncos fans or Minnesota Vikings fans.  I proudly corrected everyone to point out that it was actually Chicago Bears fabric.  Now, most of y'all know that I will claim the Steelers as my team when I'm in Chicago, but it's really just to antagonize my Chicago friends.  I secretly feel some home pride with the ole' blue and orange.  Just don't tell Zak Wagner.  Da Bears.

Home.

I can't explain why, but "home" seems to be ringing in my ears this morning.  Over the last few weeks, I've been struggling with guilt over my brain starting to plan for home.  I've only been here about six weeks, but I've thought several times about what I'll pack to leave, how I'll say goodbye, what I'll leave here, what I'll take and where I will go along my journey back "home."  Part of this is the planner in me.  I actually really enjoy packing.  It's a fun game of Tetris, moving blocks around, trying to find the perfect spot for each strangely shaped object to go into my bags.  Sometimes, you feel like the Tetris block either doesn't have a perfect spot or it comes too quickly to place into the correct spot, thus leaving a little, or even big, gap of space that could have been filled by something.  As I was writing this bit about Tetris, I realized that I stopped talking about literally packing and started thinking about my life.

Now, now, Mer, don't get TOO contemplative on us.  It's not even lunchtime!

But here's the thing, for the last several years of my life, I have been playing an epic game of Tetris.  Yes, it's involved packing and unpacking, shifting boxes, making decisions about books, candles, pictures, clothes, shoes, food, etc, etc, as I figure out how to "physically" move from Marion Center to Greensburg to Palestine to Marion Center to Chicago to North Carolina to Chicago to South Dakota..  It's also been a crazy game of Tetris as I figure out how to fit all of these pieces into my heart.

Last night, some of the women who are here with a retreat group, a group of sewing ladies from Minnesota, asked me what I thought the best solution for Israel and Palestine was.  I let out a deep sigh and found myself crawling onto my soap box.  My cheeks began to flush as I started talking about the facts and figures of water, land and history, but my heart started to swell as I remembered Majdi making me mint tea everytime I visited.  And the time that Im Nadim told me that Nadim didn't want to come back to school if "Miss Merry wasn't there."  And that time Im Yusif's face lit up when she saw me walk unexpectedly into her living room when I last visited Bethlehem.  "My heart is still in Palestine." I always say.  And that's true.

My heart is also in Marion Center, as small and frustrating as that town has been over the years.  My heart is in Greensburg, where my alma mater, Seton Hill University, just celebrated another year's Homecoming; I wasn't there...again.  My heart is still in Chicago, where my seminary community is alive and flourishing with a new year, a new group of students and a new president.  My heart is still in North Carolina where my "summer parents" made me fall in love with pimento cheese, "Blueberry Yum Yum," grilled peaches, cornbread...and even watching some NASCAR.  Gasp!  Not to mention the places where my heart is currently stretched: Bethel, Williamsburg, St. Paul, Chicago, Chelan, Denver, Austin, etc, etc, as my friends and family are all over the United States...and the world.

So, Meredith, this is turning into a rather whining post about how much you miss people.  Yes, I miss people, but it's not just "missing" them.  It's realizing that with each new move, with each new place, with each new community of people, I'm playing Tetris.  I'm moving things around as fast as they come, trying to squeeze every new experience in, terrified of making a gap where something or someone else could go, and worried about my heart filling up and running out of room.

My "home" is not a house.  It really hasn't been for a long time.  My mom bought a house during my senior year of high school, where I lived until going to college and on breaks.  That's "home" as in where my family gathers, but not really home anymore.  Home is in my family and friends, stretched far and wide.  Home is also in my experiences, my memories of sunsets over the Mount of Olives and grilled peaches on a warm North Carolina night.  My home is in the way I am re-energized by Skyping with a friend or sending a care package.

I began this post by admitting some guilt over my brain trying to figure out how to pack when I leave.  I think I'm busy playing Tetris again.  Where does Pine Ridge fit into all of this?  When people ask me how internship was, will I answer, "My heart is still in the Badlands with the people of that reservation."?  Who's faces will flash when I hear the name "Pine Ridge"?

The scary part is that I already know the answers to these questions.  I will answer that it's where my heart is.  I will fit Pine Ridge into the Tetris puzzle space.  I will see Gabby's face, and the toothless grins of children and the arms of an auntie reaching out to hug me.  I will be changed by this, since it already has become home.

A lot of this contemplating occurred after reading this awesome article that really describes me, I think.  Not to mention this song called "Home" by Philip Phillips.  My favorite lyrics are:

This is where I called "home" for this week's day off.

Just know you’re not alone
Cause I’m going to make this place your home

That's where I'm at folks.  Thanks for being "home" for me over the years, whoever you are, wherever you are.