|Storm on the prairie|
Vast, open, real, vulnerable.
Closed, clenched, tense.
We live out on the vast prairie. We see the seasons change in the trees and grasses around us. Our little house is surrounded by wheat fields in our country's breadbasket. Our county produces the most wheat in the US. At least that has been what we've been told. Out here, we make an attempt to know our neighbors. I say attempt because for me it is as difficult as crossing another culture.
These farmers have lived and worked out here for generations. The German community of which we are a part goes back to the land rush and settlement, when settlers could claim their own 160 acre plot and farm it. The community is tight-knit. I could say I've tried to make friends. (I have.) I could say I'm giving up and moving to the city. (I sometimes feel like it.) But truth is, I know that the next two years we need to live out here, and two years is a long time not to make a friend.
So I look at him and say, "We've got to change something." And we do. We invite people out. We change churches. The country church isn't a mega-church and it doesn't have a bunch of programs. But with 40-ish people we find what we are looking for. We find a community of believers. We let go and open our hearts to our neighbors and friends.
It isn't the big decisions that change us, it is the small ones. Indecision holds us at times and the results remain the same. Little changes. I can do that. We can do that. Didn't Einstein say that the fool is the person who does the same thing over and over again and expects different results? So here we are on the open prairie throwing our doors open wide, knowing that to be vulnerable is to risk being hurt.