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| Centennial Point, Tucker County, WV |
The story begins a little earlier than you may suspect:
summer 2007. I was 11. It was the very beginning of the summer, and dad sat us
down for a little family meeting. I don’t know about your family, but we didn’t
have family meetings. Like, ever. So I was pretty nervous. What could this
mean? I don’t know what all I dreamt up in my over-active imagination, but I
never imagined my dad would tell us what he did that day. My brother, Timothy
(the eldest of us four children), had just graduated high school. Next school
year Elizabeth would be a high school senior, Priscilla a freshman, and I would
be in seventh grade. Soon we would all be leaving for Camp Grace, the camp that
we had been going to since 2004. Timothy and Elizabeth were counselors—Cilla
too, maybe? I was a camper still, but I also babysat for a couple weeks. CG is
home to us. Good glory, I’d been going there every summer since I was eight! I
practically grew up there—but more on that later.
Dad sat us all down, and told us that he, so, of course, we,
were going to be moving. We didn’t know where. We didn’t know when. But we
would be moving sometime in the near future. On the way to camp, we were going
to make a stop at a church in Pennsylvania that was considering taking my Dad
on as its pastor. Something might come out of it. Something might not. We were
just going to visit. We couldn’t tell the people there why we were there—only
that we were visitors. In fact, we weren’t allowed to tell anyone except for a
few (and I mean a few) people about
the fact that we might be moving. There was no benefit of shaking things up
with news of a move that would happen who-knows-when to who-knows-where. So
started the silence. Honestly, maybe I should have seen this coming. We joked
about moving. You see, my mom had started asking us stuff like, “How would you
feel if we were to move from here?” We would look at her like she was crazy,
and ask her, “Why? Are we moving?” Of course, she told us very honestly that we
weren’t—she was just wondering. (I wasn’t being sarcastic there. It was very
honest. We weren’t moving yet. She just wanted to know how we would react
should the time come.) So we would joke with dad, “Are we moving, Dad? Mom
keeps saying…” blah blah blah. We wouldn’t think anything of it. Nor did I put
much stock in the looks my dad would share with my mom after we made those
jokes. I didn’t see it coming…
The church in PA didn’t chose my dad, but there was another
church interested in him. We were still sworn to secrecy. I almost laugh when
people tell me that I can’t keep secrets, because I kept the biggest secret I
have ever known for a year. I couldn’t share it with my friends. I couldn’t
even talk about it at camp. Someone might say something... you know how things
spread. Eventually, the church that was interested in my dad, Berean Baptist
Church in Chattanooga, Tennessee, wanted our family to come and candidate. It
was later in the school year (my 7th grade year—early 2008). My dad
had already been down and had preached to the nomination committee. Now they
were pretty sure they wanted him, and they were ready to present him (and our
entire family) to the church for them to vote. So to Tennessee we went. Still,
we couldn’t tell anyone why we were going to Tennessee. It was a family
vacation. That’s all I could to say. Of course, the people at Berean knew why
we were there. My dad preached. They asked us all questions. There was a
reception. We stayed at the house of a family in the church. I don’t remember
my exact feelings while we were there. Somewhere in the nervous but curious
zone. People told me all kinds of things—who at the church was my age, what
class I would be in at the school, such and such. Then we came back home. I
believe that we were to know the church’s decision by the next Sunday afternoon?
I could be wrong (it was 6-some years
ago). I remember the day we were supposed to get the call. Oh, how I remember
that day. I was so sick to my stomach. As much as I feared moving, I feared the
rejection even more. I didn’t want my dad to go through that again. I wanted
him to be accepted. We were moving—that was decided. So please, please, please, let this be a yes! I was in Priscilla’s
and my room; we were both so nervous. Neither of us really spoke. She was on
her bed. I was on the floor, embroidering (I was in a weird, embroidering stage
of life). Eventually, dad got a call. Oh, the nerves. Then mom (I think it was
mom) came in and told us that the church had said yes; we were moving to
Chattanooga.
I can’t remember exactly when that was. I don’t remember how
long it was until my dad told the church. I think he wanted to give them a
two-month notice, so that would make it the end of March? Beginning of April? I
don’t remember exactly. Anyway, there was more waiting. I knew we would be
moving in the beginning of June. I remember sitting with my friends one day,
and they started making plans for the summer. “We can do it this summer! Yea,
we’ll all get together and have this picnic!” It was torture. They would ask my
input. I would say it sounded nice, but I’d have to see. What else could I say?
I wasn’t going to lie, but I wasn’t allowed to say, “I WON’T BE HERE! PLEASE,
LET’S DO IT NOW! I’M LEAVING. FOREVER.” So I smiled. It was probably during
that time I became very good at putting on a face. I could smile and act like
everything was perfect, while, inside, I was dying. It cut to the core, but
they couldn’t tell. So life went on… until that Sunday. My dad made the
announcement after the service. We would be moving June 2nd, 2008
(my dad was not going to move us until my oldest sister, Elizabeth, graduated).
I was crying. My sister was crying. My friends were shocked. I’m pretty sure my
sister’s best friend left the service without a word. I remember going home and
calling my friends who weren’t at church. I mean, I was a 12-year-old girl who
had kept a HUGE secret for a whole year. You’d better believe I was telling all
those people I had had to keep it from for so long. They were surprised, but
they didn’t have much to say. That was that. The news was public. The packing
began.
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| Community Bible Church |
Now I’m going to backtrack a little and tell you just how
important Davis, West Virginia, was/is to me. Davis is a little mountain town
in Tucker County. There is one stoplight in the entire county. There are two
Elementary/Middle schools—one down the mountain, in Parsons, and the other in
Thomas, up on the mountain next to Davis. There was one high school—Tucker
County High School—in the entire county (didn’t know that was abnormal until we
moved to Chattanooga). Even if you weren’t in the high school, you were still a
part of it. Everyone went to the football games in Friday nights, and homecoming
was a county-wide event. This place was a community
in every sense of the word. Good gracious, half the county was related somehow!
Exaggeration… probably… (but no, we’re not inbred). My family moved there while
my mom was pregnant with me. Technically, I was born in Maryland, because the nearest hospital was 30 minutes away,
across the state line, in Oakland, Maryland. But I came home the next day, so
if I ever told you that I was “born and raised in WV,” that’s because I was
trying to not bog you down with technicalities. My friends were there. The
church we were at, Community Bible Church, was my church family—and it was
right up the road from the parsonage. I had known those people my entire life,
and they had known me. Everybody knew everybody. Old people talk about “When I was a kid,
we could play outside and walk/ride bikes around the town without having to
worry about being kidnapped,” etc. etc. I just look at them and think, “Uh, so
did I.” Davis was like that. There was one guy who was a creeper, but everyone
knew who he was; you avoided him, and I’m pretty sure he had someone watching
him to keep him in line. So, yea. I would tell my mom, “Hey, I’m going to ride
my bike,” just to call her from my friend’s house, five minutes later, to as
her if I could stay there for the afternoon. Life was like that. It was
beautiful. Speaking of beautiful... highest elevated incorporated town in WV?
Davis. Largest Waterfall in WV? Blackwater Falls, Davis. Most beautiful place
my father has ever lived in? Davis. I’m a mountain girl. My feet were tough
from running around barefoot. I loved the cold. I loved to ski. Small town girl
pride. Mountaineers are always free, baby!
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| Blackwater Canyon |
My mom homeschooled us kids until high school, where she sent us to TCHS. I, of course, had not reached that point yet. However, in WV, you’re allowed to send your homeschooled child to some classes in the public school. So I, like my siblings before me, had gone to art at Davis Thomas Elementary Middle School since I-don’t-know-when. Once I got older, I also went to band and, eventually, virtual Spanish there. I was involved in the school there. I knew my classmates. My classmates knew me.
And I was losing it, moving to a city (technically we live in Hixson, a suburb of Chattanooga—but,
again, trying to avoid technicalities).
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| Me and Beth |
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| Reunited-April 2009 |
I was terrified. I was heartbroken. But a part of me was
ready. There was drama. It was middle school, okay? You see, I have a very **ehem**
strong personality. I’m an acquired taste. I’m not one of those people who
everybody loves and wants to be friends with. No, that was my best friend,
Bethany. She’s wonderful—always has been. To drive home my point, last school
year was her senior year, and she won homecoming queen (btw—I’m super proud of
her). You see what I mean? So in my little cluster of friends, Beth was the
favourite. She gets along with everybody,
which very well she should! But, as the years had gone on, I had felt my
friends kind of slipping away from me—like they didn’t care for me that much
anymore. In fact, I felt like they liked my sister, Priscilla, better than me
(she’s another one of those everybody-loves-her people; an absolute blessing,
that lovely lady is). We had been friends since early elementary school (when I
was very little, all my friends were boys…but that’s a different story). I felt
like I was losing them anyway; that hurts—especially for a lonely, awkward,
insecure 6th/7th grader! So part of me was being prepared
to move away. My friendships weren’t as close as they had been. But I didn’t
want to let go. Ooooooh, how I didn’t want to let go!
But I saw the need. I could see it in my parents. This was
the right thing… it was time.
For the record, I never doubted my dad on his decision. I
never became angry with him. I never blamed him. I knew—I know—that my father
is a wise, godly man. He was seeking the Lord’s direction. If he felt this was
what our family needed to do, then this was what our family needed to do. But
it hurt. Like nothing else, it hurt.
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| My home (Taken during a trip back to visit--March 2010) |
June 1st, 2008 we packed up the Penske truck. I
remember that night, as I went to sleep, I saw my room as I had never seen it
before: empty. Walls stripped of all the pictures and shelves, furniture moved
out, things packed in the truck. I never realized how big that room was, with
its funky blue carpet, crumbly walls, and old, floorboard heaters (which are
splendid to rest your feet on in the winter, by the way). I looked around and
said goodnight to the room I had spent so many days in playing Barbies with my
sister or friends. I had pulled out one of my baby teeth in that room—all by
myself! It was there that my sister and I had done schoolwork—and distracted
each other. Dance routines with Cill and Caroline were choreographed in that
room. Fashion shows with friends, Oregon Train reenactments with my siblings… From
that room I could watch the bus drop off kids or watch the snow pile up… from
that room I could see the church.
The next day we packed ourselves up and left. I remember looking
out the window and staring at our house until we turned and I couldn’t see it
anymore. I watched all those familiar buildings pass by, just like all the
trips we had taken before. But this trip was different. This time, we weren’t
coming back. I soaked it all in until we passed through Parsons. Parsons was
the end for me. I couldn’t recognize much of anything past there—it was all
mountain roads. So as we passed the county courthouse, right across from
Sheetz, I knew that that was goodbye. That was the end. The next time I would
be there—whenever that would be—I would be a visitor. I had no clue what was in
store.
Twelve years old, and my life was about to completely
change.
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