Before loading up my apartment and heading west to Kentucky, one of my biggest prayer requests was for God to break me here. I didn’t know what it would look like, or how it would be accomplished, but I knew I needed to be broken in order to serve God and accept this calling placed in my life more fully.
Now, I know broken takes on many connotations. You could have a broken door like the driver side door of my truck before last weekend or you could have a broken foot (like I am hopeful that I don’t have after drop kicking a gym wall playing volleyball Thursday … don’t ask). But, I knew somehow, someway, I needed to let go of some things in order to look more to the future.
I’m not sure if I have been fully broken yet, since arriving here. I’ve certainly have been smashed, challenged, and cracked. There have been things that I’ve enjoyed about being here (learning from great professors, meeting new people, being in the wilderness to hear God’s voice more), but there’s also some things that have really made me shake my head and run. I suspect that if I didn’t have both I wouldn’t be having a true, authentic experience here.
And I know I’m changing. I’m shocked at how little I refer to my homestate as being West Virginia in conversations. The only reference made about West Virginia is a joking dual citizenship with North Carolina, or my admiration for my undergrad institution’s athletic adventures. I associate more with where I was the past four years of my life in North Carolina and specifically the eastern part of the state than I do West Virginia. If in West Virginia I learned how to be a good son, in North Carolina I learned how to be a friend and a Christian.
A few months ago when I met with a United Methodist board, I was asked about my ties to West Virginia. I said “West Virginia might have been where I grew up, but North Carolina is where I received my calling.” In the past few weeks, the statement has taken on more meaning, especially as I discern more where God is leading me. My home, my heart, is in the eastern part of North Carolina, in the small towns and the rural areas. I feel a connection there that - and this may surprise some people - I never felt in West Virginia.
I still wear my WVU shirts, hats, jackets, pullovers, etc., but it’s not what defines me. What does? My love for God, a desire to serve others in the name of Jesus Christ, to help heal the brokenness in families, to foster a community of fellowship in Christian love, and to go out and help the least among us so they may know there is a better day, and a true hope.
