A Move in the Offing

The Mikkelsons are moving from North Dakota to northeast Iowa! The kids don’t like it much, and I’m not sure I do either, after these months being immersed in North Dakota. For all its harsh weather, it is a beautiful place with interesting politics. But Dad used to say that the only way for a pastor to get a raise was to accept another call. And the Mikkelsons probably need the raise. They have a new little sister, and Ellie, the eldest, will soon set off for college. Actually, the kids are too young to suspect what a move will mean to them. They have never done it.

The subtle differences between the small towns in the Midwest are not inconsequential. Because of their geography, sometimes their history, and certainly the individuals who put their stamp on them, these towns have personalities just like people. If you move into a town you didn’t grow up in, you may understand more of that personality than the long-time residents, but also you will probably never understand the deep intricacies, the layers of relationships, the palimpsest of its culture.

What this lack of deep understanding does, is put you in a class of outsiders, whose loyalties will probably be more to other communities, perhaps not geographically defined. To a community of faith, an extended family, a profession or a nation. You might thus feel more free to move around than a person who is born in a place.

But geography is very powerful. Each of us wants to be related to a piece of soil, to the smell of sunlight on that soil, and to the weather that travels over it, the plants that grow in it. It took me at least seven years to become Californian, specifically a resident of San Francisco and its environs. I knew by then how much I loved the hills covered with golden grass, the sage color of the native trees and the Pacific blue of the sky. After that, several powerful episodes of homesickness confirmed that California was home.

The story of the pastor’s kids, particularly as they grow up and are bent by historical tides and personal winds, is, at least in part, a story of deep geography. We may think, in our technological dream world, that we can move freely, live wherever we like. But our bodies, our deep selves, want a home. Our growth and success in life is partly dependent on our adaptation, or the lack of it, to place and culture. Some of us are, perhaps, genuine wanderers, but not many. And certainly not the kids, Line, Marty and Paul.