Dear Charleston,
I didn’t expect to like you.
I was so mad when we moved here: Pregnant, just moved nine months prior, I didn’t appreciate our circumstances.
But God knew this place would be a balm to my soul.
I love waking up in the morning and watching the trees sway, listening to the many birds that grace the area. I love our nearby pond and all the animals we see out our window. And when we are out and about, I love all the marshland. The tall grass dancing in the wind reminds me of the prairie where I’m from. The brackish waters surprise me with the creatures they hold.
Then there are the people of Charleston. The kaleidoscope of locals and transplants (and don’t forget the tourists!) Our family has found beauty in the community. We’ve discovered our hangouts. And we love it when friends and family come to visit, so we can try another tasty restaurant (why are there so many good ones in the area?)
But now that I like you, Charleston, in the back of my mind I’m thinking about the if and when we’ll move away from here. I hold my breath, not wanting the enchantment to end.
You see, we’ve lived in five different places in the last ten years. I’ve learned I can live anywhere, but it seems like just when we get settled, we move again.
There are pieces of my heart in places and with people all over the country.
I get homesick for the weirdest things: Our shaded patio back in Minnesota. The school community I was a part of in Kansas City. The turkey sandwich I always ordered at my favorite restaurant in Wichita, Kansas. Our neighbors in Georgia.
I wonder when my son grows up if he’ll be homesick for this beautiful Charleston, which is so unlike the Midwest where I grew up.
I wonder if my daughter, who was born here, will even remember the place. Will we move away before she can form her first memory?
Will Charleston just be another notch on our family belt? Another place we’ve “lived,” or can we find a way to make this our “for keeps” home?
In the meantime, Charleston, I’ll push those thoughts aside and savor where I am. I’ll sit outside, drink my coffee, and enjoy my little piece of South Carolina, and whisper, “Thank you, God, for bringing me to this place.”
