Homesick

I've neglected my blog and my writing of late.  That's what school does to me.  I have whittled the grading down to something manageable at least.  I went from 67 papers down to a handful.  Whew.

I would like to go back to Arkansas and see Jace and Jordyn and Ty Ger Woods.  I would like to see Will and Alex and Rene's niece.  Bob's granddaughter - I can't remember how to spell her name but it is some form of Madelyn.  My little Ruth is in Texas now.  I was born there and I sure wouldn't mind visiting and/or moving there either.  I miss people in Oklahoma too. 

Today when I walked through the parking lot I passed a brand new silver Cherokee Chief with, of all things, Oklahoma plates.  I was almost upon the bumper when I spotted it, and I took two more steps and gently laid my hand across the state.  I wasn't feeling patriotic for the government there.  I was missing friends, flat land to drive on and long hot summers when the weatherman told old people and babies to be careful or they'd die in the heat but there was never any snow in winter worth mentioning.  I wanted to eat Korean food and real BBQ and have someone tell me where to get fried pickles without looking at me crazy.  (Although to be fair, they serve them two places here.  They just aren't very good and they cost out the wahoo.  I mean, it's pickles and breading and frying.  CHEAP!)

It doesn't help that I'm miserable in my job from an administrative standpoint.  Teaching and students are fine.  Bosses and committees are turning me into an insomniac with panic attacks.  I am watching the listings for new positions, but Carly has another year of school here.  So it's a pain to look and it's a pain to move and/or be separated and it's a pain to wait and see if my contract gets renewed.

My zip code my whole life started with a seven.  A one is just so extremely a big marginal difference.  When we moved here I put off getting a Pennsylvania tag as long as I could because I was broke but I didn't want to give up that last visible reminder of who I used to be.  Finally, I got the Pennsylvania tag and the number (still today) is HBR 3440.

Now, I am word oriented as you have probably noticed so as a memory device to get the tag number in my recall, I have always invented something to go with the letters.  I have had a KZR in Arkansas that was for the poet Carolyn Kizer.  Once I had a DCR tag and that stood for David and Cherri Randall.  Easy enough to remember.  I always wanted a tag that was something like JON 316 or PSL 8318.  Now wouldn't that be cool?  The absolute best would be ISA 4310 but so far all I have is HBR 3440.  I wish Hebrews had a swanky scripture to match that, but there are not 34 chapters and so it won't work for that.  On a side note, once I was with a sister here at the ER and she used her debit card to pay and the pin number was 8318.  No guesswork about where she got that number.  Which reminds me that I have a number I use for everything, and when I was talking to Abel one time, I told him what his pin number was - I actually gave him three possible combinations, and sure enough, one of them was the right one.  He kinda laughed.  I just knew him so well in some ways, but I don't know if he ever knew me.  I don't know if anyone does.  I got bosses not wanting to renew my contract because they think I'm an idiot.  Seriously, don't you know me better than that by now?

Anyhow, I came home from the tag office that day and asked the girls if they could think of anything for HBR and Kim spouts off, without a moment of hesitation:  Hell Bent Redhead. 

That's pretty much been the gist of my life since moving here.  Looking back over 37 months, Abel is one of my better mistakes.  It's been catastrophe after catastrophe here.  Crazy bosses, jerk off landlords, and some just stupid random stuff all coming together in the worst possible ways.  So part of me keeps looking at new job listings thinking on each one, oh please, let me go there and leave here.

But I hope for another year's contract so Carly and I can stay together that last year.

Of course, the thing is, I don't believe in hell as a bad place, so being hell bent, just means I'm a sinner and bound for the common grave of all mankind except for the ransom of the Christ.  Tonight, I am thankful for that ransom.  If I don't have to die, and get to survive into the new world, that will mean that Jesus died so I did not have to experience death.  And let's be real.  Nobody wants to experience death even with complete faith of coming back in the resurrection.  On the other hand, if I do die before the resurrection, I know I will be back in a much better world, with the prospect of perfection and being sinless.  I cannot buy back what Adam and Eve lost even with my death - I had no perfect life to offer in exchange, so even with my own death, the prospect of perfect eternal life is only afforded to us via that death on the torture stake.  What a gift beyond words.