I woke up this morning having dreamed of Oklahoma, or more specifically, having dreamed of Oklahoman friends.
Jack and I moved to Oklahoma four years into our marriage and two weeks after Thomas, our first baby, was born. We moved to take a job after several months of unemployment and financial juggling.
Our new home in Thackerville was held together by sand mites being chased by termites. It was surrounded by cock-fighting farms and million-gallon tanks full of volatile propane and was within gunshot of one of the densest marijuana-growing/meth-cooking areas of the South. Where back home we had adapted to the rhythm of freight trains, here we adapted to beat of helicopter surveillance.
I honestly don’t remember much of our first months in Oklahoma. Severe post-partum depression and a GERD baby kept me pretty much tied to the couch and my mother-in-law tied to the washateria. Once Jack got both baby and me medicated, life began to move again (and my mother-in-law felt it was safe to go home) and we began to search for a church, our go-to default for both spiritual and social interaction.
On leaving Thackerville, one must go either north or south to get anywhere fast. North takes you deeper into Oklahoma and south back home to Texas and all that is good. God led us north that fateful Sunday.
Being well versed in visiting new churches through our past ministry experience, we planned to arrive well into the Sunday School hour in order to do some pre-service snooping. Alas it was not to be. Marietta’s FBC employs well-trained, diligent door greeters who, despite our late arrival, swept us up, surveyed our needs and deposited us neatly into the happy mess of people who would soon become our friends, family, mentors, confessors and even employers for the next five years. We were home.