Another story of past post. You can read them all here.
I moved to Tallahassee only a few short weeks after my trip to Romania. I was still reeling from a bit of culture shock, full of waves of religious excitement that come from monumental moments like that trip and full of anxiety about the future.
I knew I was going to be a full-time missionary. I switched my major to International Affairs and knew that in just four short years my life would finally be on its way overseas.
I was wrong and now I’m so glad I was wrong.
I look back at that year with so much fondness. I had so much fun meeting new people and staying up late.
It was good that my religious high came when it did because it really helped me to pick a church and I ended up in a college ministry and for the first time in my life I really studied theology to try to figure out what I believe as an adult, not as the girl who just went to church with her parents.
I grew in every way. This was really when I started to see myself apart from my parent and from their home in Orlando. It started feeling less and less like home and it’s never really felt the same.
I also met the man I would marry. We met the very first night I lived in Tallahassee. I had been out with a friend and when I got back my roommate had old friends and new friends over in our dorm playing cards (I think). Taylor was one of the new friends that showed up. We had a mutual friend from high school but had not met each other before. From that moment, we were rather inseparable friends. We spent an entire semester pretending that’s all that was going on, but I’m pretty sure everyone around us knew that was false.
More on that in the next installment.