Saturday, September 13, 2003

Saying goodbye is a hard thing for me. Some people say they don't like goodbyes. Even though they hurt, I do. I think they're important, especially when you've known people for a while. Some good friends of mine left Montana to go to California, and we didn't get to say goodbye. It feels like there wasn't closure.

At the church I was attending in addition to Living Water Christian Fellowship, they prayed over us and had cake. People who I'd said barely a word to in the year and a half I'd gone there, let me know that I'd blessed them. It was very humbling and I felt very loved.

My mom cried when I hugged her goodbye. My brother didn't. To be an honest, I don't think he cries at all. My dad drove the Ryder truck down to Boise, which was a good thing, cause I could not have driven that truck, towing my Mazda behind me on that tow bar, or even without the Mazda. After we unloaded and returned the truck, I drove my dad to the airport.

He had this silly little rhyme he always tried to coax me into reciting. It got embarrassing after I turned eight (thus why I'm not posting it), so I stopped doing it. Without coaxing, I hugged him and said it at the airport as we both were crying.

I miss my family, but I think I've got a good perspective on it. Even though it's sad, it's part of growing up, of coming into my own. Of finding God's perfect will for my life. I often felt like a Prophet without Honor in Kalispell. I was too well known, I'd been there too long (since I was 12) and been a political agitator for far too long. People there had seen me grow up which was part of the problem.

Kalispell is a town where people come to relax. I've poured my heart out more times than I could count trying to get an event organized and got little to no response. Anyone organizing anything other than the Liberal busybodies "Citizens for a Better Flathead" will tell you that getting anything organized is like pulling teeth.