My father warned me that I might repent posting that I couldn’t wait to see Prineville in my rearview mirror. I, of course, was venting. I’ve loved being in Prineville. It has been a loving, safe place to raise a family. But, feeling rejected, the natural tendency is to reject.

I am sorry now. I wish it was still home.

I love you, Prineville. I’m thankful for the opportunities you gave my kids, the friends I made, the jobs we had, the church, the coaches, the kids, and the colleagues.

Had we left for someplace, perhaps I would feel less the mess of confusion, conflicting emotions, and pull towards that town that’s been home for eleven years.

Displaced.

That’s when you’re shoved out of the place you’ve been living with nowhere to go.

You just wander, looking for a place to settle.

It’s sometimes a tragic incident. But other times, it brings about surprising results.

Wasn’t Hawaii founded that way? And the people on the Mayflower — weren’t they displaced? The first Christians? Wouldn’t they have just wanted to stay close to all the people they knew and loved? Would they ever have followed the Great Commission without the beheading, pikes, and lions awaiting them? The pioneers were searching for a better life. Immigrants. Driven by famine, poverty, or political suffocation. The movement toward cities. The jalopies loaded with all worldly possessions after the stock market crashed and the grasshoppers ate everything. Families headed toward somewhere new. Hoping things would be better.

If things are good, why change?

It was the persecution, discomfort, or general lack of resources that drove them to move on and out.

There were mixed results. Some would label the effects good. Others would disagree.

I think it was both. As variable as the people who lived the stories.

Point is … it’s the way of life. Things get bad. People move on.

I guess we’ve got to live our story. Displaced. Moving on. Wandering. Trying to find a way. A better life.

I hope we find it.

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