Adventures—every day holds a new one. I am constantly
discovering more about myself, like a new person is coming to life. Who even was that person I used to be? And even
more importantly, who am I becoming?
There is so much mystery in this time of my life, I have realized. But the good
kind, like wondering what presents are under the Christmas tree or if the
wishes you used on your birthday candles will come true.
There was an impressive amount of anxiety building inside
me leading up to the big move. I was so nervous that even thinking about
it would give me the jitters. My family probably thinks I was quite stoic and
void of emotions leading up to the end, as I have mastered the art of hiding my
emotions.
But of course, the moment I said the final goodbye and
watched my parents and aunt drive away, leaving me here, in Idaho so far away from home . . . I
finally broke down. Every tear I had suppressed, every cry I had held back . .
. it all came out. I remember I felt so
alone. So. Alone. Those words swam in my head over and over. So alone so alone so alone so alone
so alone so alone. I thought
to myself, what am I doing here? Is this where I’m
supposed to be? Is this place worth leaving my home?
I bawled my eyes out for a long time after that. The grief
felt like someone had died. And in a way, someone did. The child inside me that
needed to be looked after, the child who needed a hand to hold—she was gone.
But then, just as suddenly as the grief swept over me and
took me with it, it was gone. I had used it all up. And so I wiped off my
smeared make-up and moved on. In an instant, I was someone new. I was ready.
These past few weeks have been wonderful, and they have
also been very humbling. I am enjoying the excitement of living in a foreign
place and adjusting to the new time zone and weather patterns that come with
it. This might sound funny, but I’m convinced that the sky is different in
Texas. Elaborate pinks and oranges and reds bleed together at both sunrise and
sunset back home, whereas here the sky is rather simple, with standard shades
of blue and wispy little clouds all the time.
I also miss the trees. I miss the heat. I miss my beautiful
sun that always seemed so close. Just to be clear: everything I see here is
seen through the eyes of a homesick Texan. And a proud one, at that. And trust
me, I have made sure that my roommates are all informed on Whataburger, Blue
Bell, how Fort Worth is most certainly better than Dallas, and the
like. I think I even have them a little homesick for Texas.
But the air is fresh here. There are tiny mountains that
swell in the distance. The grass is so green that it’s almost obnoxious
(almost). Everywhere I go, I see familiar friends from the past. I see my
little sister Bailey in the girl who walks past me, wearing that same purple
and white shirt my sister loved so much. I see my coworkers in the faces of
random passersby. I catch familiar smells on the way to places, the kind that
you can’t pinpoint but for some reason it reminds you of home.
Rexburg feels more and more like home every day. One thing
that coming here has taught me is this: it doesn’t matter where you are or how
far from home you are, as long as you remember that the Savior is your home.
Wherever you go. Everywhere. I see His House, the temple, every single day.
This is an incredible privilege. To all the people who have said, “Idaho?
Why Idaho?” It has nothing to do with Idaho. I despise the cold and, quite
frankly, I wish I was in a tropical place right about now (*cough cough*
BYU-Hawaii, when are you going to start up a nursing program so I can
transfer?!). I chose to come here so I can become a nurse surrounded by
like-minded people who love the Lord.
And He is with me. He is here. He knows what lies ahead of
me, and even though I don’t, that’s okay. I trust Him. After all, this is the
adventure of a lifetime.
