Home is where...

Hello, old friends!

If you've spent any time with me in person lately, you've probably heard me mention (okay...probably whine about) having to switch my license and car tags to Georgia. I may or may not be slightly sentimentally attached to my home state, so it's been an interesting experience to give up the paper trail that connects me to it. But, the deed is done. (All it took was essentially daily texts from Mom "encouraging" me to get my butt to the DMV. Sorry for the foot-dragging, parents...) Madame Blueberry is officially a peach, and I've got the driver's license to match!

Considering the places I've lived since college, the past handful of years adds up to, more specifically, five states in four years. On one hand, this bouncing around has been a blessing. I've gotten to know some wonderful cities, and through their differences and similarities they and the people in them have allowed me to grow in my understanding of myself and of other people. On the other hand, I very much look forward to an eventual day when I can again have the chance to make more long-term connections to one geographical place.

These days it's awfully tricky to answer the question: "Where are you from?" I don't feel like it's totally honest to simply answer "North Carolina," seeing as it's been a while since I really lived there. But I also don't feel right simply saying "Georgia," because Decatur is still only a small part of my story. It usually goes something like this: "Well, I'm originally from Davidson, North Carolina (but I was born in Ohio). I went to school in South Carolina, and I also worked at a camp in western North Carolina. But then I lived in Nashville and New Orleans with a volunteer program. Now I'm in school near Atlanta."

North Carolina will always be home. But I will also feel at home in Greenville, in Nashville, and in New Orleans. After some time adjusting, I'm claiming Decatur too.

So what does "home" even mean, if I feel like all of these places are still holding little (or huge) parts of me?

Home is where your family is, whether that family is defined by blood, a summer camp, a school, or a volunteer program.

Home is where you can be challenged, and challenge some things yourself. 

Home is where you grow.

Home is where you sit at table with others.
Home is where you care and are cared for.
Home is where you have a favorite coffee shop.

Home is a noun, an adjective, an adverb, and a verb. (Really.)

Home is where you can make mistakes.
Home is where there are second chances.

Home is where you live.

Home is where you love.

So, friends, here's to having long answers to "where are you from?" And here's to finding homes wherever we go.

Love,
Allison.

I may claim more than one state these days, but...belated birthday present, anybody?

Home Again Home Again

Dear friends,

As this blog is partly a chronicle of my time as a YAV, there is one more update I need to give you. Without sharing too many details with the entire internet world, circumstances are such that it was best for me to end my YAV year a month early and return to Davidson. So I drove home yesterday and will be here until I leave for Columbia in the fall. I personally am alright, and I'll explain more later maybe, or in an individual conversation if you'd like. While it was difficult to leave my community in New Orleans, I'm confident it was the right decision.

I've got plenty more to say about New Orleans and my time there, and I'm certainly not done rambling about other things either. I'll just be rambling from North Carolina now. I can't thank you all enough for your support throughout my adventures in Nashville and New Orleans (and before that), and I'm incredibly grateful for the support and love I've received in recent weeks too. I'll be talkin' to you soon, friends.

Love,
Allison

Home for the Holidays

Hello dear friends, and merry New Year!

With the advent of this newest year in our lives, social networks and real-life conversations alike have been overflowing with memories of 2011 and hopes for 2012. And here in New Orleans, the store aisles dedicated to Christmas decorations and supplies have quickly been replaced with the purple, green, and gold of Mardi Gras. Before we get into that, though, here are a few words on the end of my 2011...

If you've read my last couple posts, you know some crazy stuff has been going on in these parts. I found myself hoping rather desperately that I could find some warm fuzzy feelings about New Orleans before she and I parted ways for Christmas. I lucked out and found those warm fuzzies in the form of caroling in Jackson Square. Hosted by a group called the Patio Planters, the event has been goin' down every Sunday-before-Christmas since 1946. Each year thousands of people (natives, transplants, and tourists alike) gather in the square just outside of St. Louis' Cathedral, reading from songbooks by candlelight, singing everything from "Good King Wenceslas" to "Feliz Navidad" with a little "Rudolph" sprinkled in. Apparently, this year, 8,000+ carolers kept us company. Local leaders both religious and secular introduced the carols and special guests. In true NOLA fashion, the Archbishop worked the crowd before his opening prayer with a: "So how 'bout those Saints? Are we going to the Super Bowl or what?!" To which the crowd replied with an assortment of cheers including the ever popular "WHO DAT!" The spirit of this town just doesn't get old. Jillian, Lauren, Ashley and I had smiles plastered across our faces the entire time (except for when I spilled hot wax on my hand...), and it was even "cold" enough for us to wear scarves! And, of course, we just had to fight the post-caroling crowds at Cafe du Monde for a few beignets and some cafe au lait. It would've been a great evening under any circumstances, but I was especially grateful to have this experience just a few days before I headed up to North Carolina. For your viewing pleasure, here are a few pictures of the occasion (none of which I actually took)...


Caroling by candlelight in Jackson Square. (That's Lauren, Jillian and Ashley.)

Excited about our songbooks. Can you say free souvenir?!

Lauren's sister Lindsay was in town to experience the NOLA holiday magic.

Just a few days after our caroling adventures, I was off to Davidson for Christmas with the family. Holidays have turned out to be an interesting thing in YAV land. Sometimes going home is a welcomed break from a stressful placement, and a chance to reconnect with friends, family, and the local coffee shop. But there is also the fact that I am not the same person I was a year and a half a half ago. Of course, the Allison that graduated from Furman also wasn't the exact same one that graduated from high school four years before that, but this seems to be a little different. It's also one of those things that I don't think I can fully put into words, but it has also been a very real part of my YAV experience. And I couldn't help but think about the rest of the YAV community, many of whom were either struggling with returning home a changed person or were struggling with not being able to return home for the holidays. Maybe it was the Christmas warm fuzzies, but again I just found myself thinking of how much I love this little YAV family, and how thankful I am that it's a part of my life.

After a quick six days in the homeland, it was back to New Orleans in time for New Years Eve. Given the fact that I managed to pick up an awesome cold on my way out of Davidson, Ashley and I just went out for a delicious Mediterranean dinner, and headed back to the house, snacks in hand, to watch the ball drop on TV. Highlights of the evening: the woman working in the vintage clothing store complimented my dress when Ashley and I were doing some pre-dinner window shopping, and a little seven or eight year old girl complimented my sparkly shoes. Score. My other favorite part of the evening was right after midnight, as I stood on our balcony watching fireworks in almost every direction. Just past the buildings and scattered trees you could see the the big display over the Quarter, and in almost any other way you looked, you could see the occasional colorful explosions that people were setting of on their own. Despite the fact that I'm not sure exactly how safe it is to set off fireworks in the middle of narrow streets that are lined with mostly-made-of-wood houses, I couldn't help but feel happy standing there breathing in the cool air of a brand new year. And however much of a love/hate relationship I seem to have with this city, I think it's also a place that I'm proud to call one of my homes.

Just six days after New Years, the next holiday season rolled around. Happy Carnival, friends! Be on the look out soon for a post about our Twelfth Night reveling and the first parade of the season. 43 days until Mardi Gras...

Love,
Allison.

This is weird.

It's weird that last night was PSF's last worship service for the year.

It's weird that that means last night was my last worship service with PSF.

It's weird that the students I work with are leaving in a matter of weeks.

It's weird that I feel so supported and loved by those people, though I see most of them only on Tuesday nights.

It's weird that Nashville feels like home.

It's weird that my days of actually living in Davidson are over.

It's weird that I think that makes me kind of almost a grown up.

It's weird that the people I love are so spread out.

It's weird that I know for sure where I'll be next year. 

It's weird that my plan for after that is finally coming together.

It's weird that I think I'll end up attending more Holy Week services this week than I have the past four   years combined.

It's weird that I've been alive for 22 Easters and this is the first time I feel like I've really, truly paid attention to the days that lead up to them. 

It's weird that I want feathers in my hair. (Seriously.) 

Weird is a weird word. 

But I think weird is good.

PSF still has one more week of hanging out, but our end-of-year festivities will be at Jennifer's house next week so last night was our last evening at St. A's. Seriously, when did that happen? It's weird (yeah...that word again) that in my head I've been saying there are a few more months left in this year. There are, technically, but things will change after Vandy's graduation. Most of the people I've gotten to know will be going their separate ways, back home or off to a summer job or a different new adventure. A couple months after that I'll be off on my own new adventure (more on that later). But it's strange for these end-of-year things to be happening a good while before the end of my year. It's lovely though to think about the connections I've made at PSF, and the community that I at least feel like I'm a part of. Like for example. During worship last night there was a part where myself and a senior who will be a YAV next year went up front and Jennifer prayed for us, while everyone else came forward and laid a hand on us. My eyes were closed and my back was to most of the folks there...so, I don't know whose hands were whose, but I felt like they meant it, you know? Whatever "it" is in a laying on of hands. It's such a supportive and loving community here, and even though we met just seven-or-so months ago, it's real.

There was a lot of emotion in the air last night in general. Not only was it the seniors' last worship service with PSF, but in observance of Maundy Thursday we had our own little foot washing during worship. All this thinking and talking about servanthood and humility, added on to the end of end of the year. There may not have been tears or outward displays, but the emotion was almost palpable in the air. And powerful too, at least for me.

All this talk of new adventures, and I haven't blogged about my plans yet, at least in any detail. Official news (that has already been shared with the Facebook world): I'm going to New Orleans next year! Though I don't know what my specific job will be yet, I've officially accepted a placement in the Big Easy for, as fellow YAV Emily calls it, some "YAV double dipping." The plan is to spend the year further discerning what I feel is a call to go to seminary. Figuring out where to go and what in the world to do with that theological education. So we'll see where that step takes me, but at least I've got a place to live next year!

Love,
Allison.

Belonging

Well friends, I've been thinking about Nashville a lot lately. The end of my year here is in sight (three and a half months is at the same time a good while and not long at all), and I keep thinking about how much I'll miss it. I'll save the rest of the I'll-miss-you-Nashville talk for July, but I've realized recently that Nashville finally feels like home. I mean, it's not home home, but this feels like my place, you know? Finally I know my way around (ish), and can tell you (sometimes) the different names that one single road is called by my house, by Vandy, and downtown. Sometimes I even know a back way to go if the traffic's bad. I walk into PSF Tuesday nights and know names and maybe even a few life details of most if not everyone in the room. I look forward to TOT on Thursday nights because I think I can even call the folks there my friends. There are friends I've made at Isaiah 58 when I serve lunch there (almost) every Tuesday. That's not to say I don't miss people or places, and that I don't worry about the approaching inevitably transitional years of my life. (I talked about that in my sermon at PSF that you can find in the post right before this one.) The point is, right now Nashville just feels right. I'm good here. One of my fellow YAVs mentioned once how it feels as though little pieces of our hearts are with certain places and different people...and I just really feel like for a long while Nashville will have one of those pieces of mine.

Homecoming...or one of them, at least.

Hello once again, dear friends!

This past weekend was homecoming at Furman, so Madame Blueberry and I headed down to Greenville, SC. It was a strange thing, though, to be in such familiar territory in such an unfamiliar context. Gone are the days of being around for and participating in the week-long competition between sororities and fraternities, and the days leading up to it looking forward to seeing those older friends that had already graduated. Instead, I am now for better or worse one of the "older friends," and homecoming week has become something more like homecoming 36 hours. Strange it was, but a good strange. Thanks to a lovely certain Delta Gamma little sister of mine (and her roomies of course), I had a futon to sleep on for the weekend...and delicious nachos to snack on at night. :) And I mean, it didn't hurt that DG and Beta Theta Pi (the fraternity we were paired with) won that homecoming competition I just mentioned.

I'll admit that I'm not the best at keeping in touch with people from far away, but the fact that I could still go back for a short weekend and that people were so interested in what I was doing, or so willing to tell me about whatever they're doing...it's a special thing, I think. In a way it was kind of like we never left. Not to mention the entertainment of reminiscing about various events of the last four years. So, to any Furman folks who may happen to be reading this...thanks for being lovely, friends. :)

The reason I titled this post the way I did: I started actually thinking about the word "homecoming." Home. Coming. Coming home. I've been blessed with multiple homes, each of which I hold close to my heart, for different reasons. There's Davidson...home home, and a place in which I'll forever be comfortable and content. But Furman is home, too. Camp is home. Nashville isn't, yet, but I think there's a good chance Music City'll make the cut by the end of this whole YAV deal. I'm so so thankful for all of these places that have people I love, and it's pretty wonderful to feel at home (whatever that phrase means, exactly) in all of them. So, this post talks about one of them.

Mom and Dad are in town this week and we've been doing all sortsa touristy/fun things. Be on the lookout for another post in a few days after they're gone...with pictures, too!

Love,
Allison.