I feel like it has been eons since my last blog entry...time is funny like that, isn't it? I get busy and suddenly it's been nearly four weeks since I've posted!
Though the busyness of my life as of late has been simply lovely. Not only did my parents get to spend a week with me in TX over my birthday, but I was able to fly back with my mom to enjoy some time in NC.
Coming home for the first time in over a year with the newest addition to our family has been perfect. Beckett got to meet his Great Granny Sue for the first time and Blake has been loving our daily nature walks. Home is truly the best place to be.
But...enough with the updates. Let me paint you a picture of this glorious place I call home: Mitchell County, North Carolina.
Some places you experience with your entire body. You're not simply...there. You become apart of it...and it, in turn, becomes a part of you. The mountains are like that. When I'm here I feel like my body physically responds. I feel like my heart slows down to the perfectly relaxed pace of this place. My accent suddenly becomes a little thicker. I actually used the word "holler" (as in a hollow, not as in yelling) in a sentence the other day...and I liked it. I find myself yearning to churn some apple butter and go berry picking. And I can't help but hear Nickel Creek playing in the back of my mind as I stand in awe of how beautiful this land is. Something about blue grass music and the Blue Ridge Mountains just go together. If in NYC my heart beats to the rhythm of a socialite's stilettos, then at home it beats in time with the fiddler at a square dance on Saturday night.
The oldest mountain chain in the world is something quite wonderful to behold. The way the mountains fold gently into each other. The way the fog nestles in the valley in the morning. The way the light hits the mountains at sunset making giant shadows across the fields. I stood on the top of Roan Mountain on Saturday morning with mountains as far as I could see and I suddenly felt the impulse to pray. Afterall, God seems so much closer up there, surely my prayers would reach his ears first. No, but seriously, I felt the strong need to thank Him for this beautiful place that He created.
The beauty of the mountains is only accentuated by the kindness of the people that inhabit them. When we first moved here I found myself frequently frustrated by little old men in their pick-up trucks that would stop in the middle of the road to chat. Not at a stop light, not at a stop sign, just right smack dab in the middle of the road. One would be going one way and one the other and they would slow down and roll down their windows and chat...for several minutes. Somehow we always seemed to be stuck behind them. I asked my dad one time, "What in the world is so important that we have to wait for four minutes while they chat?" He told me they probably weren't talking about anything important, it was just part of the culture here. I eventually got used to waiting for little old men in their pick-ups chatting about their tobacco crop or the weather or whatever it was. I got used to people waving and smiling at anyone that passed by. I got used to the cashier in the checkout line asking questions that sometimes crossed personal boundaries. I got used to it. It has only been in leaving this place and returning to it that I have begun to appreciate it. I appreciate that people always have time to chat with each other, even though it may be about nothing in particular. I appreciate that neighbors always have time to lend a hand. I appreciate the conversations in the check out line that may add a few measly minutes onto my busy day. I appreciate the beauty of these mountains that strike me so much more coming home than when I actually lived here.
I appreciate that no matter how long I am gone I come back to find that nothing has changed. With so few things you can count on in this world it's nice to be able to count on my home.
The mountains are a part of me now. They have influenced so much in my life. One of my favorite bible verses is: "I lift my eyes up to the hills. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth." Psalm 121
It reminds me of my mountains. And it makes me smile with the knowledge that even though I may currently live far away....I always have this to come home to.
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