Love Where You Live Now

As my friend and I wound our way from Stowe, VT to Woodstock, VT in my trusty RAV-4, the trees exploded with red and yellow, growing more vibrant from moment to moment, a colorful backdrop for our conversations about life, maple syrup, and everything in between. Season of the Sticks by Noah Kahan was probably playing in the background as we switched topics to my current apartment and life in New York. Knowing me, I’m sure I shared about how much of a blessing it’s been, but I’m sure I also shared about how dark the walls were, how I was anxious about the winter, and how I didn’t want to invest too much time or money in making changes to the physical space because I wasn’t planning on staying long-term.

Then, she said something simple, but it’s been echoing ever since, “Just paint. You have to love where you live now, you know?” I couldn’t get it out of my head, and before I knew it, I was at Lowes comparing shades of white for days, and not long after that, painting, rearranging furniture, and hanging up a gallery wall.

But it does take more than a coat of paint to love where you live.

If you’ve been around here for any amount of time, you probably know that I never meant to move to New York, but in many ways, it has been an unexpected blessing. I was 8 when I moved away from this place, so coming back has given me the chance to reconnect with extended family, to get to know them now that I’m “all grown up.” Not to mention, I’ve been able to pay off all of my debt. Yes, these are all good things, but I still feel a restlessness, Holy Spirit reminding me that this isn’t my “forever.” Right or wrong, that knowing in my soul has caused me to live with one foot in and one foot out for the past year.

Instead, I find myself preoccupied with planning my next steps (or my escape) rather than truly seeing the people, places, and experiences right in front of me. I think this is a defense mechanism combined with a sprinkle of apathy, meaning that moving will be significantly more painful if I have great relationships or allow roots to grow deep, so what’s the point of putting in the effort if I’m confident I’ll one day leave? The point is, this isn’t JUST a year of my life, it’s a WHOLE YEAR OF MY FREAKING LIFE, one that deserves to be fully lived, breathed, and experienced.

We all have seasons like this, seasons we know are transitory before we even step into them. If you’re anything like me, that knowledge makes it hard to invest in the now, but the cost of making that choice is high: it is time we will never get back. I’ll be the first person to tell you that planning or preparing for what’s to come is important, but I’m also learning it’s not more important than actually living right where you are (and loving it, too).

As I’ve been wading through these thoughts, I’ve also been reflecting on my time in the mission field, specifically how intensely I loved and lived in places I knew I would only be for 3-4 weeks, and I must admit, my time here pales in comparison. My time here is also not done, and it’s probable the same could be said for your current season of life, so we both can take heart in knowing we still have time to love people more deeply and live each day more fully, even if we know the place or the moment is fleeting. After all, we were created for community - to break bread together, to teach and pray for one another, to live in fellowship, and to share life beyond our family units (Acts 2:42-47).

I hope that as the last of the leaves fall from the trees, I’m able to embrace life exactly as it is, for however long it looks like this. Maybe I’ll start a book club, or a brunch club, or a book and brunch club (hah). Maybe I’ll do some more volunteering or make new friends at the gym. Maybe I’ll fill the frames on my newly hung gallery wall with pictures of those life-giving experiences, and then, when it’s time to leave, I will get to take them all with me. Whatever I do, may it be for the good of others and the glory of God.

The future will always be there, waiting much more patiently than we are, but imagine how much brighter that future will be if our light grows where we are now, and we get to carry that light into whatever comes next.