Reflections on Bellingham: The Move

It was raining the morning we left Bellingham, WA, it was raining the afternoon we arrived in Pendleton, OR.  If there is a way for me to highlight this parallel it is to say that rain in both places, separated by a distance of 370 plus miles, is a stark lesson in irony.  I expect rain in Bellingham, had become accustomed to the areas insistent dampness and humidity and had battled my way through long bouts of seasonal depression -- a condition that should not be understated -- but crossing the cascades and dropping out of the mountains into the long stretch of sand and sage brush and sliding smoothly into sees of rolling wheat fields, in June no less, should have been a long journey into sunshine not more rain.  But we made the eight hour trek (made longer by my truck overheating) into rain.

Raining it was, but we followed a rainbow, the final stretch, to the end, our destination, Pendleton, OR.  This little town made famous by its whiskey, indian blankets, and faltering rodeo is the town in which I grew up and to where we have made numerous trips over the years, each trip a little, dry, oasis out of Bellingham but never with the thought of settling here, for a time.

It is funny how life deals the cards but try as we might we have to play the hand we are dealt to the best of our talent and skill.  For us, our hand brought us out of the city and community and setting we loved into a unknown future, a changing environment, and a period of wandering in the wilderness.  All I can think of, sitting here slapping away at the keyboard, is that I wish I knew what was coming!

I have a dream of a quiet life in pursuit of literature and writing and raising my boys in a place where they are free to roam and explore and in a way that is comfortable for my wife and I to live in work and leisure in a way that is challenging and fulfilling and in line with our hopes and dreams.  But experience has shown me that this dream is a dream of the far future and that life is, predictably, toilsome.  In the novel Lonesome Dove, by Larry McMurtrey, a character on his death bed sums it up thus:  "This is a fine world though rich in hardship at times."  I find this quote to be insightful and honest and as I live and work I often feel similarly.

My family and I, as I have been writing for the past couple of weeks, are in a period of transition and searching.  We are wandering in the wilderness as tentatively as the nation of Israel searching for the promised land, and we are doing so, literally, in the desert.  I have faith that God has an intention for us here, in Pendleton, and that his intention is to lead us somewhere different soon.  But how soon and where is uncertain.

Tomorrow, as has happened so often in the past three years, I will start work with a new contractor on a new project in a new place.  Carpentry is carpentry and slotting in with this crew or that on come-what-may is all the same to me.  Just another day at the office.  The difference is, that starting a new job with a new company in a new place will also be the beginning of seeking out community and belonging, rebuilding all that we left in Bellingham.

We made a choice to wander, we feel called to something new.  But change is hard, ir-regardless of calling, and we are in the throws of suffering under the pressure of change and wilderness.  But this is a fine world, though rich in hardships at times.