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Gypsy Blood

When I was a little girl, we moved once. It was from the city to the country. We had friends that moved much more often. In fact, they had more homes than I can remember during my childhood, though I think they may have all settled down at this point. I always thought that they had Gypsy Blood, an urge that required them to pack up all their stuff and move to a new spot. Turns out, I'm probably the one that has that syndrome.

Once I left my parents home for college, I spent one summer back home but the rest were either in the mountains or in my college town, working. And then after college, I moved to Texas, where I spent my summers either in school, working in the mountains or getting married. Then Joel and I got married and we moved, a lot, a lot a lot. Before moving last year, five years was the longest that we've ever spent in any one home. And now that we've finished up our one year in this home, I can feel that gypsy blood acting up.

Part of me wants to throw a few things in the car and just make a fresh start of everything. Leave behind the furniture and junk that I have to pack when we move and just start over from scratch. Maybe move to Hawaii or some exotic location and be a beach bum. I'd like to think that my pride wouldn't keep me from dumpster diving if it meant that I could just hang out with the family all day on a shady beach somewhere. It might though.

Lately, I've also been toying with the idea of buying a home much too large for us and filling it with people. Either a retreat center or a bed and breakfast in the mountains somewhere close to a swimming hole. That could be caused by reading too many Deep Haven books from Susan May Warren.

Then another part says to flee the country, go to someplace that has a simpler life, where you can be with people and come along side them in their work. And maybe that's part of the core of the gypsy blood. Something inside me wants to come alongside others and have them come alongside me, but the in this time and place, it's almost impossible.

I remember my mom's gypsy friend would come over and help with cleaning our home. She would fold the towels different and she would clean my room, THE HORROR! I hated seeing that she had been there and touched myself. But because I was a kid, I didn't quite get the beauty of what what going on between her and my mom, they were sharing. They were coming alongside one another and sharing the burden of their common work. Today, so many of my circle do jobs that require them to perform the task and they have to be responsible for it solely or with their workforce. Very few things in our life are common with our friends.

Yes we come alongside each other for worship, but sometimes even that feels intensely singular. And then if you're coming over to my house, all the work I could potentially share with you has to be completed before I can even think about inviting you over. Even in the act of asking you to be with me, I've once again isolated myself from the work that we could share.

Not that you want to come over and help me clean, but we shouldn't be so shocked at the concept, people used to do that, I saw it with my own two eyes.  What work does that leave for us to share with each other? Grief? No, that's to personal. Celebration? Yes, we're happy to do that as long as we get to just show up and bring a present. Childrearing? No, I'll just sit over here and tell my friends everything that you're doing wrong. Marriage? Only if I get to complain about my spouse with no accountability on your part to be a better spouse myself.

And so maybe that's what my Gypsy Blood is actually ready to throw away all this that I've created to go looking for. It's longing for a community to work alongside, one that encourages me and you to be together in the mire of life and finding footholds and reaching out hands to one another as we take the journey together.

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