Though born in West Texas, my earliest memories are from being raised in Northwest Arkansas where I found adventure in my back yard, neighborhood, and town. I remember my mom spending hours creating a rock garden beneath one of the massive oak trees where grass would not grow. I spent hours climbing our trees and finding adventure hopping from paver to paver on the little winding path of her rock garden creation. My home, yard, town, family, and friends felt like the center of the universe. I could not imagine living anywhere else.
The earliest hint that I was a bit of sun and nature worshiper came while in elementary school on a family vacation to the white sandy beaches of Florida, looking up at the palm tree branches and blue skies while feeling the warmth of the sun through the glass of the car window. I remember thinking, “What kind of people get to live here?”
My first experience with being outside the United States was during a summer mission trip. I rode from Arkansas, down through Oklahoma to the Southern tip of Texas on a bus with no air conditioning and packed full of teens. It was miserable but fantastic! (Yes, the picture above is of me as a young teen. No, those are not my legs.) In South Texas, I had my first sight and taste of a freshly picked reddish-pink pomegranate and was fascinated by the architecture of the southwest. The navigation through border security into Matamoros, Mexico, the sights and sounds of the open market, and the liveliness of the local children felt overwhelming. This was my first experience being in a culture vastly different from my own and my question here was, again, “What kind of people get to live here?”
In Canada, on another youth mission trip, I found my mind wondering and wandering from the tasks of the mission to awareness of new colors in the sky and the realization that it was 10 pm and the sun was still glowing. I thought again, “What kind of people get to live here?”
As a young adult, I moved to East Texas where the sun felt exceptionally hot and the air felt exceptionally humid. I was fascinated by the ferns that grew to a notably massive size in the hot and humid climate. I was fascinated as well by the notably unique cultural drawl and slang of East Texans. I sometimes struggled to understand words and translate phrases like, “is he of any count” (aka does he have any worth) or “turn left at the tank” (aka turn left at the pond). I thought, again, “What kind of people get to live here?”
In recent years I have relocated 3 times – to Utah, California, and Washington. With each relocation, I continue to be fascinated by the notable differences in meteorological conditions and cultural influences. The difference now is that rather than thinking, “What kind of people get to live here?”, I notice the overwhelming likenesses among all humans. Most want to deal fairly and be dealt with fairly, to have freedom of choice, and see their families have freedom of choice. Most want the opportunity to see the fruit of their labor. Most want to be contributing members of society, whether that be through their choice in career or hobby, through their role as a parent focusing on raising independent and responsible children, or through their time spent as a volunteer.
I often laugh out loud at the humor and sarcasm in Mark Twain’s writings. Digging through the hard-to-read paragraph-length sentences, he reveals his curiosity about others. Through his travels he gained understanding leading to compassion, a reoccurring theme in his writings.
“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime.” – Mark Twain
