The first night.

Journey to DC - Part I

The first night is the hardest.

Philip is good about reminding me this. 

FIRST NIGHT IN COLORADO:  well, I had started out with a weekend of staying at the Leres in Colorado Springs with my parents.  So, technically my first night in Colorado wouldn't have been very difficult.  I was probably really excited.  I was on vacation with my family. For the first time in my life I was going to live in the same state as Philip Lere (my fiance at the time). [He would be in  Colo. Springs for the summer working while I would start my job up in Boulder.  He would move on campus in August to start is RA position during his senior year at CU]  What was there to be sad about?!?!

I remember my first night in Boulder very clearly though. The last of my boxes had been lugged up to my third-story apartment.  I was excited.  Philip and I said our goodbye (his family was leaving for a lengthy trip to the Boundary waters the next day).  The door closed.  I out the balcony door to the dark of the night and suddenly felt very very alone.  This was it.  This was adult life.  I had been 21 for  three weeks; I had been a college graduate for two.  I would wake up the next morning and go to first big girl job.  I had my first big girl apartment.  And I was scared.  The only people I knew in Colorado were leaving for a couple of weeks.  My family was gone.  So I cried.  And cried.

And I got up the next morning and went to work and started adult life and things worked out just fine.

FIRST NIGHT IN ENGLAND:  I'm still hazy about a lot of the details because of how jet lagged I was.  I remember typing our Christmas letter in the COS airport.  Laura was flying into the UK the same day that I was (unfortunately on a different flight though).  Philip and Paul had both been in the UK for a little while by the time my visa and medical paperwork were finally in order and I could enter England. 

I kind of remember the bus ride back from Heathrow.  I remember picking up Paul from the train station that night.  He had bought flowers for Laura and me. 

Most vividly I remember walking into our TLF room at Mildenhall and being the closest I had ever been to a panic attack.  The room smelled kind of musty.  There was stuff everywhere (Philip had been working super hard inprocessing getting a house and a car to be ready for me when I arrived, so the tlf room was just kind of where the crash landings had taken place at the end of really long, stressful days) and .  I remember thinking, "oh my word, what am I getting myself into?" 

I remember a couple of weeks later, sitting in a beautiful London hotel room on Christmas night sobbing because I was so homesick (and hungry - we didn't realize everything would be closed on Christmas Eve/Day/Boxing Day plus couldn't afford too much anyway when the exchange rate was $2.20/1gbp).  Thankfully I had a very understand husband whose arms I could cry in.

The beginning was hard.  Beginnings usually are. . .

Philip has been gone too many times for me to remember each "first night" of separation, but the first nights laying next to an empty pillow are the worst.  My pillow usually ends up pretty wet with tears before I finally drift off to sleep the first night of most long TDYs or deployments.

Well, for some reason I thought my FIRST NIGHT IN DC would be less traumatic. 

I was excited about school and about to embark on a lifelong dream that I had hoped and prayed for with all of my heart.  I was spending my first night (and first months) at the beautiful home of really close friends that we made in England.  I even got to have my dad with me for the first days. 

My dad and I had just had two wonderful days of father-daughter time as we treked across the eastern half of the United States.  In two days we had covered Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Pennslyvania, West Virginia, Maryland, District of Columbia and Virginia.

However, instead of being relived after we had unloaded the car and had some dinner,  I started to get really scared.  And feel even more lonely than I was scared. I was surrounded by unfamiliar people and places.  Visions of unpleasant collisions of my faith and the secular nature of the academic world I'd be living in for the next three years began to frighten me as pangs of of discomfort reminiscant to those I felt during my traumatic interview in March began to hant me. 
I was tired.  I was maybe kind of emotionally sensitive due to some of the conversations I had the opportunity to share with my dad in the previous 48 hours.  I was missing Philip.  I had no idea of where Philip was or if he was safe.  I missed the feeling of "home". 

I sent out the following message to a shortlist of close friends giving them a (candid) update I had reached my destination. 

Well. I'm here. This is it.


But I won't lie, I'm feeling really overwhelmed, emotional and super super scared. I'm really missing Philip and feel more than a kindergartner scared to start school and figure out the big bus (aka, metro --- or more figuring out how to get to it or afford to pay to park there every day!!!) than I do a 25 year-old who loves and feels at home in the world of academia. Listening to a Chuck Swindoll message about culture and biblical worldview driving into DC made me really scared about school and make me panic that they're going to either kick me out or make me miserable because of what I believe. I know it's completely irrational, but I'm scared.

I'm also having a hard time realizing I'll be in "someone else's" space for more than two months. I know I'll settle and it'll be okay but I just feel really really bad and that I'm going to be an imposition (even though I know they'd never make me feel that way I just wish I could somehow give back for the massive amount this is helping philip and i)


ugh. i'm tired. must go to bed.

praying that i can make dad's birthday special for him tomorrow.

love,
joy

I tried to swallow my tears but before I knew it I started sobbing and crumbled into my dad's arms.  I was so so so grateful that he was there with me.  I know it was hard for him to see me scared and sad (what father is going to feel good about leaving his daughter someplace she feels scared and lonely?!).  His eyes teared over the instant he realized I was crying (which of course made me cry harder). *I have tears spilling onto the quilt on the bed even as I type this.*  It was one of those moments in life that I will never forget.  My dad is this constant, incredibly powerful, very humbling picture of Christ's love and sacrifice for me. I talked about it in my easter post. There's been something very powerful of having that picture tangibly in front of me in the last weeks. 

I was really sad my mom couldn't make the drive out to DC with my dad and I.  It would have been so much fun to make the trip as the three of us (or even better four of us with Josh), but I was very grateful that my dad was willing to sacrifice the time to come for the trip.  The time we had together was precious and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Thankfully, my dad and I each had a good night's sleep and DC was looking and feeling like a much better place the next morning.  Dad won't forget is 52nd birthday any time soon as we went on quite an adventure our first full day in DC. . .