Running toward home

This year brought so many changes to my life that I feel like I am looking back not only at 365 days, but, well, a lifetime.
The year 2013 was pivotal. It's the year all the winding roads I've walked suddenly seemed to actually lead...somewhere.

I've never regretted all my wandering. But, it has left me wondering at my own sanity and my own purpose in life much more than once.

The year 2013 was...contentment. Calm. Rest. Security.

When I first moved to this small Wyoming town, I told my pastor's wife that I felt like I was running away from something. It was a vague statement, and even I didn't know what, exactly, it meant. I just knew I felt it: unrest, like an idling car just waiting for that shift into drive.

My pastor's wife and I met again recently, and she brought up that statement spoken by what seems like a different me. Maybe, Hannah, you were running towards something instead? she asked.

Yes. I like that idea.

In the book "The Sacred Romance" by Brent Curtis and John Eldredge, there is a chapter about the "arrows" that pierce our hearts, the failures, disappointments and judgements that lodge so deeply we hardly realize their damage until years later.

When I was a young child, I wore a brace on my leg because I was born with a clubbed foot and cerebral paulsy on my left side. I had speech troubles because I was nearly deaf. A boy named Ian told me I was ugly and stupid, and I believed him most my life. I didn't want to, but his insult wedged deep.

When I was a young pre-teen, I was coaxed into a man named Gary's house. I had met him a few weeks before when he hung around me and some girlfriends as we gave away kitties out of a brown plastic laundry basket by K-mart. I was walking my purple bike home after an early morning ride when he began walking alongside me. I was scared, and I didn't know how to tell him no when he asked me into his house.

He gave me a tour of his house, and I knew something was wrong. I told him I had to go because I hadn't eaten breakfast and I was hungry. He gave me a banana. I told him my brother would be looking for me soon and moved towards the door. He blocked my way and leaned over me and kissed me -- twice -- on my mouth.

I don't really remember how I got out. I just remember running with my bike towards my house, banana in hand. I remember hating that banana and squishing its guts out before throwing it as hard as I could into the garbage can.

I woke my brother in a frenzy of sobs and told him about what had happened as best I could. He held me, and we called my parents. My dad was at work; my mom was visiting her sister (I think; it's all so blurry) in another state. I told the cops my story, and Gary went to jail.

I thank God I wasn't raped. I was protected. But for years, I felt weak and guilty and stupid. I should have run away sooner.

When I was a senior in high school, I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. All the missionary schools I was looking at said, very plainly, on their websites that diabetics would not be accepted because having diabetes on the mission field was too risky.

My lifelong dream died before the computer screen.

My body had failed me yet again. I wasn't okay. I was sick and useless.

Alas, I went to college and traveled (diabetes and all) to many exotic lands on short-term missions trips. I lived like a vagabond for a few years and worked a dozen interesting jobs. I began to realize I was not useless or weak as I learned to take care of myself and saw God work in my life-- and protect me from more than a few sticky situations -- time and again.

As I grew into my teens, I learned -- with sickened heart -- that there are bad men and women in the world who do much worse than Gary did to me, and that it wasn't my fault. My guilt washed away.

A bout of depression, and failed attempts at becoming a freelance writer, and a dwindling bank account due to my inability to land a full-time job led me back home, back with my parents, at the age of 29 in January 2011.

For a while, I felt pretty lame. I felt like I should have it figured out by now.

But my parents loved on me day in and day out, and I began to heal. I got a job as a grant writer and then as a barista (my true dream job!). I made a few friends and got involved in church and moved into my own apartment.

I soaked in the sunshine Wyoming so freely gives. I began to breathe again and feel whole again.

In fact, about two years ago, in 2012, I began to feel so strong and healed I started looking for jobs...elsewhere. The restlessness began to bubble. 

But then I met Justin.

We "hung out" for a while, and then he asked if he could court me. I didn't say yes immediately because I knew the commitment that meant. However, it didn't take long for me to decide. I'd watched him, and I very much liked what I saw.

I saw a man who loved God with all his heart. I saw a hard worker. I saw integrity and the way people in the community respected him. I saw someone who could make me laugh. I saw honesty and steadfastness.

Justin told me I was beautiful.

And I believed him.

That arrow lodged so early and so deep by a boy named Ian finally came out.

And now, as Justin and I walk into 2014 -- the year we will get married! -- I know without a doubt that God was moving me towards this person in whom I've found home.

And I know that ultimately God is my home, and He always has been, even in -- especially in -- those moments I felt so lost.

As the sun shines in the snowy tree branches outside my window, I say, "Hello, 2014. It's nice to meet you. I'm especially looking forward to your month of June."