perspectives

My family moved to South Carolina from Melbourne, Florida in June of 1997.  I remember two things.  A family friend wagered five bucks that I would have a thick, southern drawl by the next time she saw me, a bet I was determined to win.  And during the nine hour drive to our new home, I sang Jewel's "You Were Meant for Me" no less that one thousand times at the top of my lungs.

The following August, I started the fourth grade at Simpsonville's Morton Elementary School.  The bus picked me up from our apartment complex each morning at quarter 'til seven, which is ridiculously early now that I think about it, and we headed towards the rather run down school, with one classroom for each grade.

After the kids from our side of town piled onto the bus, the route took us to this intersection.  The bus driver, I think her name was Michelle, would stop and open the door for a few more passengers. 

 

At that time there was no stop sign.  The stop sign was added when I was in college.  In fact, one weekend when I was home from North Greenville, I was driving to my parents house at around ten o'clock one evening.  When I turned onto this road, a police officer turned behind me and I got really nervous.  So nervous, that I blew through this stop sign because I forgot they had added it and couldn't see it that well in the dark.  I threw myself on the mercy of the courts, and the sympathy that these big, brown eyes draw when they well with tears, and was only given a warning.  I digress, though.

Every morning Michelle picked up two children, a boy and his step-sister, from this street.  If I remember correctly, they would sit and wait on this front porch, in that recliner for the school bus to collect them.

Fast forward almost fifteen years.  If your travels took you down this sidewalk, I'd say about a quarter of a mile, you would arrive at that front porch.  And the recliner.  Hard to say, but that may actually be the same exact recliner that was there when I was nine.

Or, you could just cross the street and stop in at our little house for a glass of sweet tea and something to eat.  I guess I did eventually become a southerner, meaning I owe someone some money.
 

Isn't it funny how even when things change, they somehow stay the same.  It was on that bus that I became shy, awkward, and introverted.  I remember sitting as low in the seat as my knobby knees would allow and dreading having to say "here" when the teacher called roll.  I remember being scared to open my mouth when the boy across aisle asked me "to go steady".  Actually, his seat buddy asked on his behalf, but none the less, I choked on my "no".

Little did I know, that over a decade later I would be living on that same street with that same recliner, my husband, our boxer mutt, and a little girl that takes our breath away.

Even as a painfully shy fourth grader, a heavenly Father was beginning to sanctify me.  But I still could not have imagined the beauty the Lord had in store for me.

The way I see it, I am still shy and awkward.  But this street has transformed from a fading childhood memory, into a ripe mission field where the Lord has called our family to serve faithfully, until He calls us to something else.

sag