Hey, Friend

Back to a familiar place of discouragement and, if I'm being honest, sadness. For whatever reason I can't shake this theme. We call this place "home" but that's just a label we put on it. Void of meaning. I'm not talking about my home, home - as in the place in which I dwell. I'm talking about this city. This region.

NOTE (1 day later): Before you read on, please know that comments made below certainly are not a blanket statement. We have a very WEE community here so we are not forgetting those of you who do invest in our lives. I cannot tell you how grateful we are for you. (You know who you are.)

Oh, God, I so long for community. You'd think that after growing up near here, it would all make sense, but it doesn't. As I sit here, I'm shaking my head in absolute bewilderment. (I even just scratched my head, but that's only cuz I had a small itch.) Maybe I've spent too much time in other places. Places where people have time for you. Where people don't cling to their cliques. Where people in the name of hospitality welcome you into their homes, into their lives for no other reason than just because. They always have room for one more friend. They don't call you "friend" because they can't readily remember your name, or because it seems friendly, when, in fact, it actually comes across as shallow. They call you friend because they appreciate your uniqueness. They always have time to spend, even if only once a while. The time spent is genuine. You can feel it. It isn't just a gesture born out of guilt, or because this is just their way of getting it out of the way because you've asked so many times before.

The desire comes in tides. The tide is in for a short time, covering me in a blanket of warm bubbles. This happens when someone greets me with an authentic hello, how are you doing. And actually stops, looks me in the eye and waits for an answer. But when the tide goes out, it's out for a long, long time.

Is it just insecurity? I don't know. God, I think, created me with a desire to commune with others - to be present in each other's lives, to welcome the newcomer so they know that there is always a soft place to fall, always a warm home and a warm meal waiting for them, even if they come unannounced. My idea of community isn't penciling each other in at some future date, or keeping the date tentative because a better offer might come along. Of course, they would never say that, but, really, that is what they mean. (And I don't mean a tentative date when there is really a possibility that something might conflict. I'm talking about the "I'll have to check my calendar" tentative date, which is just their way of saying, "Please let there be something on my calendar, and if there isn't, I'll put something there just to give me an excuse.")

I don't think that people in the Pacific NW try to be this way. I don't think they know any better. I've never in my life had such troubles finding people who naturally just want to know other people, and walk through life with them. I've always had a house full of people - regularly. For dinner. For a movie. For a walk. For a deep discussion, or just a goofy one. For a glass of wine, or a bottle of water. For Thursday night TV. For a road trip. For lunch. For a morning cup of coffee. People here are very good at keeping to themselves and keeping to people who look just like them. God forbid you commune with people who are different or who don't necessarily share the same pastimes. I say, that's more interesting conversation!

My heart hurts. It hurts when we hear about a group of other "friends" who get invited to something and we're not. It hurts when I invite someone to do something, getting the answer "I'll let you know", then they never let me know, or they tell me "I'll check my calendar" only to find out that the better offer came in.

I try very hard to be hospitable... I grew up in a family of welcomed strangers. Family wasn't just the title we put on the group of folks related by blood or marriage. Family included the neighbor, the friend from work, the gal at the grocery store who told you they were spending Thanksgiving alone that year, long-time friends and the children of long-time friends. We called it our family of orphans.

Just a side note to that. My father passed when I was 8, and since that time, my mother and I haven't really been on the best of terms. I ended moving out of my mom's home at 16, and moved in with my uncle (dad's brother). When I think of the most significant contributions to my life, I think of them. Those were very difficult years (teenage years always are). So, when I talk about my family, I'm typically referring to my aunt and uncle, and not my mother. My sister, however, fits in both. She's my buddy, always has been and always will be.

So, when I think of family, I think of a group of completely random people. That, to me, is community. It isn't just the folks you get along with best at work, or just your bible study, or just your shepherding group, or just the people who are volunteering in your area of ministry. My sense of community is the gal who used to live next door, but still stops by out of the blue to say hi and let my son hug her dogs, and coworkers, past coworkers, people from my bible study, neighbors down the street and the friends of these people. If I invite you to dinner, and you want to bring a friend to tag along, GREAT! My home is open to you and your friend. You may walk through the doors of my home a stranger, but you leave as a friend; as part of my family. And rarely does anyone leave without a hug. That's just who we are. We love people. So, when there is no reciprocation, it's painful to me.

And I don't buy that time and distance separates people. That's such a BS excuse and cop out. In this day and age of email, blogging, text messaging and cell phones, there is no fricken reason why you can't stay in touch. Every few months, I send a long email update to a ton of people - just to stay in touch. When I get emails like that, I read every word. And I almost always respond, even just to say, "It's good to hear from you." Cuz I mean it.

I have a friend who, shortly after we became friends, moved to California. I think we've been friends longer when she's lived 1200 miles away than when she lived in the same city. And somehow, we find time to keep in touch. A random text message when sitting in line at Dutch Bros to tell her I miss her, or during the Office to quote a line from the show. It's little things like that that carry friendships. Why? Because they show the other person that you genuinely care for them, and that they are in your thoughts. We've talked on the phone maybe once since she's been gone. And, ya know, to me, it doesn't matter. I appreciate the long conversations, but there is something so sweet about the random, "I was just thinking of you and wanted to say hi" that matters so much more to me.

I have another friend who I haven’t seen in about 8 years, and every once in a while I get a call at work. I usually, hear, “Kyra. Hello.” I know exactly who it is. We may not talk for another year, but we’re still friends.

I have another friend whom I have known since I was 2 years old. That’s 34 years, people. We haven’t lived in the same state in over 18 years. Yet, we’re still friends.

I miss friends like that. I miss friends like that HERE; the daily friends. I love that I have friends all over the world. But I miss having people over. I miss being able to call someone spontaneously to go to Target and have the answer be “yes”.

We have been so blessed by another couple we met about a year or so ago. We have just fallen in love with them. They LOVE to do life with people. And they’re enthusiastic about it. There is nothing pretentious or fake about any word they speak or action that take. We don’t have everything in common with them, other than just a super-joy that comes from the center of souls. Man, I love people like that. We spend a lot of time with them. They have room in their busy lives for us.

I guess it’s all my way of saying I’m lonely. (Yeah, and a little pissed.) Don’t get me wrong. I have an incredible marriage, and an incredible friend in my husband. He shares in these feelings. He misses community, too. We both have lived in several states, and we both have had the same experiences. We’ve found community everywhere but here. Frick, what is it with this place? I don’t think it’s us because I cannot tell you how many people we have talked to that have the same, exact experience. But… maybe it is us. Maybe we’re all the weird ones that people try to avoid – you know, those crazy out-of-staters. (Apparently, you must be an Oregon Native to be in the “in” crowd… which is funny cuz, see, I am an Oregon Native. What the frick does that even mean? I’ve NEVER seen “Wyoming Native” or “Colorado Native” or “Florida Native” on a bumper sticker. What’s so special about an Oregon Native? Does anyone care? Does it even matter? Seriously?)

So that’s where I am today. Sad. Lonely. Pissed. Disappointed.

But grateful nonetheless. My marriage is stronger than ever. My home has become my retreat. My worship is deeper. My relationship with Jesus is all the more prominent.

But it would be really cool to move to Colorado or Chicago or Charlotte or Santa Fe. Hey, I'd rather sacrifice flushing toilets than community. I’m just sayin’.