Leaving Mississippi

13 months ago I wrote a piece called Maybe in Mississippi, speaking to the excitement and trepidation our family felt in equal measure about moving to the South. Today, we are counting down two weeks until we put Mississippi in our rearview mirror. You might think 13 months doesn’t give us much to show for our time here on the Gulf Coast, but that’s not true. God (and Southerners), can teach you plenty in a year. I’ve made no secret about our struggles since moving. Nothing was as we expected. Our brief stint here confirmed that our family is far better suited for big city life than small-town charm. Still, this sweet coastal town has left its mark on my heart and I will consider myself better for my time spent as a “local.”

Some impressions have left a more lasting mark than others. For example, I have the word “y’a’ll” stamped on my vocabulary like a souvenir bumper sticker. Just last week I caught myself saying “all y’all” for the first time and that’s when I knew I had been fully immersed in the baptism waters of Southern slang. The saga of the town rooster (and honorary mayor), Carl, will also be hard to forget. Carl was the first friend we made in Ocean Springs. His sudden abduction and murder last spring shook this town to its core. The memorials, parades, tributes, and custom merchandise that followed in the aftermath were straight out of a Gilmore Girls episode. (The entire ordeal provided excellent fodder for my Creative Writing Workshop class and for that I am thankful.) I’ve developed a taste for fried green tomatoes with remoulade sauce, oysters, crawfish on my pizza, breaded frog legs, shrimp boils, and Mississippi mud pie. I look forward to keeping them in our monthly rotation of home-cooked meals. But I could live here another ten years and still not bring myself to sip sweet tea or indulge in banana pudding. I’ve learned how to pronounce many a French word and decipher Creole/Cajun accents thanks to our proximity to New Orleans, but I’m no closer to understanding the lure of Mardi Gras season today than I was last summer. The enthusiasm for incessant parades, decor, king cakes, ball gowns, and beads remains a mystery to me. I no longer cringe at total strangers calling me “Darlin’,” “Sis,” “Baby,” “Sugar,” or any other term of endearment best suited for a toddler, but I’m not sure I’ll miss it. I did, however, name my dog Sugar as a nod to this widely accepted pet name for people.

There are things I’ve learned I wish I hadn’t; like running in a zig-zag pattern is the best way to escape a pursuing alligator. I will also never again be duped into thinking beachside living means year-round sunshine. I haven’t gone a single week without being caught in a downpour. Mississippi is so lush and green, almost tropical. Why didn’t it occur to me it was because of ALL THE RAIN? I’ve also learned that Dollar General and Dollar Tree are not one and the same. I won’t miss 90% humidity levels daily, but I will miss the full head of curls I can pull off with zero effort whatsoever. I never did set foot in a Waffle House or a Tractor Supply, but I had my birthday dinner at a place called The Rib Crib and it was in between the two so I think that counts for something. Given we’ve walked through severe mental health battles and ongoing respiratory illness since moving here, it may surprise you that our family has unanimously agreed the absence of delicious, authentic Mexican cuisine has been our biggest struggle by far. We will never forget when our waiter described the difference between the house guacamole and the premium guacamole as, “One is more watery than the other.” I cringe just thinking about it.

I won’t miss the sand but I’ll miss family beach days. My husband and kids are at their happiest when they’re by the ocean. They’ve learned how to boogie board, paddle board, and identify more marine life than I could possibly hope to. Spotting dolphins, stingrays, jellyfish and pelicans brings the same joy to us today as it did when we first arrived. Fishing outings with friends landed us in the outdoor sporting goods section of Walmart, surrounded by camouflage-clad locals and applying for a fishing license. Never in my life did I think I’d wind up there. As much as I loathe the sand, I do love living by the water. We drive over bays and bayous every day. Morning commutes to school leave us in awe of God’s handiwork. “Thank you God for painting this gorgeous sunrise!” my son exclaims at least three times a week. Our street, Barley Drive (renamed “Gator Alley” by its residents due to the abundance of alligator sightings) consisted of just five houses when we moved in. Today there are at least thirty. New neighbors sprout up every week, as do new friendships. The people on both sides of the fence have been kind, helpful, and downright wonderful to live around. But our favorite neighbors by far have been the family of bald eagles that make their home on the top of the pine tree on our street corner. A male and female, aptly named Stars and Stripes by my children, welcomed a new chick last spring. After vacating their nest for the summer, they’ve recently returned. We’re choosing to believe it is to bid us farewell.

I’ll miss family trips across state lines to Alabama, Louisiana, Georgia, and Florida. I’ll miss going anywhere in this town with my seven-year-old and running into at least three people he knows. I’ll miss the live music coming from every restaurant patio downtown. I’ll miss the local library, with its giant old oak trees shading the entrance. I’ll miss driving by the house with the rusted fishing boat in the front yard, named “Fat Bottomed Girls” that makes my kids giggle every time they see it. I’ll miss the local coffee shops. I’ll always be a Starbucks girl, but Finest Grind makes a stellar cold brew that beats the pants off my iced lattes and saves me two dollars to boot. My son just finished a report for school on “important community buildings.” He chose TatoNut, the favorite local donut shop which features donuts made with mashed potatoes. It sounds bizarre but I can testify that no normal donut could ever compare to the fluffy goodness that is a tatonut. I’ve spent a good portion of my life here standing in the line that wraps around the block outside TatoNut on a Saturday morning. It has always been worth the wait.

Even with all of these highlights, it would be just as easy for me to list how we felt disappointed, discouraged, and sometimes downright miserable in the last 13 months. Things didn’t turn out the way we thought they would. We weren’t expecting to hit such a solid wall and be forced to regroup. The enemy means for us to flip this town the bird and yell “Good riddance!” out the window, never to look back, but we won’t do that. We won’t look at what’s happened as a dead end. We won’t look at our change of direction as making a U-turn. We’re only pivoting, readjusting. We’re finding a way around the wall, not turning our backs on it. No, we’ll take the depression, anxiety, loneliness, asthma attacks, hurricane evacuation, tornado watches, gator sightings, and unanticipated job loss and say, “Thank you God for your provision. Thank you for remaining faithful. Thank you for sustaining us. Thank you for bringing us here. Thank you for 13 months of growth, perspective, and unity for our family.”

True, I won’t miss the weather or the bugs or the ungodly commute to the nearest Costco, but I also won’t miss who we were before we rolled into this small town. 13 months ago our faith wasn’t as strong. 13 months ago our sense of identity was wrapped up in being a pastor’s family. 13 months ago we leaned more heavily on our friends than each other. 13 months ago we were buoyed with the comforts and conveniences of city life and steady paychecks. 13 months ago we lacked awareness of emotional and mental boundaries that had become ill-defined, even non-existent. For all that has changed in us, God never has. God came with us here and He is coming with us as we leave. We will miss Mississippi.