My husband married a gypsy

I have said many times, “My husband married a gypsy.”  I see this as a great thing, most of the time.  Let me tell you  “being a gypsy” paints a beautiful story, filled with twists and turns.  I see it through this lens of beauty and excitement, and FULL OF COLOR.

Wide Roots: I have been blessed to live in 5 different states around the continental US.  I attended 8 different schools from Kindergarten to High School. I remember at least 10 different homes, and when my parents said “we’re moving”, it usually meant across the country, not just to a new neighborhood. When we moved from Texas to New York I was thankful to move into an apartment complex, and I went up to the manager of the property, asked her where some kids my age lived, and, to my surprise, she actually told me.  So, I took my tiny tan self, embraced the southern twang, and marched myself to this girl’s door, before I lost my Texas sized courage, and introduced myself to her.  While I don’t know what went through her head, I am sure thankful for that moment, because it earned me a playmate, and three years of friendship, tween girl drama, and memories I hold dear to this day. 

Adventure: My family has never been short on adventure, and those are blog posts yet to come!  (You’ll love the one about a weekend trip to Chicago because we met George, from the Czech Republic, who needed to get from Niagara Falls to Chicago within 24 hours.) My parents loved to explore and this meant road trips.  We would drive to an unknown destination just to see “it”.  Adventure meant teaching myself to swim at age 7, after having just set foot in the pool for the first time that week.  Camping was done because it was a fun way to learn to be resourceful (I did not realize until adulthood, this is parent code for cheap vacation fun.)  and can boast that I have lived in a boat, camper, trailer, apartment, and house.  There are still more places I would like to live, including an RV, houseboat, and a tiny home.  Joy can be found in the tiniest experience, such as finding a stream along a walking path, and choosing to follow the stream.

Community: There is something to be said for parents of teens, and especially to those that open their homes to friends. I was encouraged by my friend’s parents when I accepted Christ at 16 because they invested in me, and in their daughters.  They took the time to explain that my excitement would not be understood by those that cared for me and loved me the most, and while I did not want this to be true, they were right.  I was a crazy, haphazard, joyful, emotional, teen, and so were my friends.  We lived with excitement to change the world, sang at the top of our lungs, experienced adolescence.  We were a community, and while we weren’t part of “the crowd”, we were “our crowd” and this was enough.

“For where two or three gather together as my followers, I am there among them.” Matthew 18: 20

Family and Friends: I’ve met amazing people, had a chance to hear their stories, and allowed these interactions to resonate into my stories. I have seen community form around a campfire, in the RV park, at a pool, in remembrance of… I have been on the receiving end of community and felt it’s healing warmth when I could have easily been left in “the fringe”.  I share my stories, and seek to hear the stories of others because their journey matters.   My family members offer their love, support and advice (solicited or otherwise), and I know, despite our distance, we all wish on stars, stare at full moons, and come back to the ties that bind.  I have watched them grow, been lifted by their encouragement, and corrected when I am crazy.  This gypsy life has left family behind, cried tears over loss, and it saddens me to think of years that have passed, and it inspires me to do something about the distance and the time. 

So now you Gentiles are no longer strangers and foreigners.  You are citizens along with all of God’s holy people.  You are members of God’s family.  Together we are his house, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets.  And the cornerstone is Christ Jesus himself. Ephesians 2:19-20

Re-Organizing:  Now, I’ve lived in the same house for 7 years, have been a mother for 14 years, married for 15 and lived in the same state for 17 years.  My roots go deep, and still, at times, this feels new to me, even awkward.  I get unsettled by the lack of change.  I long for new adventures, new people, new places. So, instead of moving into different homes, towns, states, or areas of the country I tend to reorganize our living room, my children’s rooms, the deck, the yard, and the list goes on.  I search out new experiences, and I thrive in starting new tasks.  I am still learning to follow through and finish the projects I start, learning to stay put, stay still, be in the moment.  I am filled and quenched by these deep roots, friendships, family, community, and even the adventures along the way.  I am thankful for “my gypsy days” and the wide roots, and yet, even more, I am blessed by these deep roots.

That person is like a tree planted firmly by the streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither-whatever they do prospers. Psalm 1:3