Good evening, friends. June is in full bloom; where did this month go?
I am three weeks deep into my second summer working with Ocoee Outreach. It’s funny how different Cleveland feels when you’re not a Lee student anymore. I didn’t even realize how closely tied my identity was to my scholarship; this summer I have felt untethered and free to explore Cleveland as my own.
I struggled quite a bit with culture shock my first two months stateside in Knoxville after returning from the U.K. My pace of life deccelerated from 100 to 0 within twenty-four hours. I made weekly trips to Cleveland to see my friends, but spent most of my time in Knoxville sulking on my couch and posting wistful reminiscences on Instagram. I felt stuck in my hometown, unable to really feel at home again. So much had changed in just three months.
But Cleveland, though not romantic or dazzling, has always maintained a certain charm to me. It’s the city in which I spent most of my time for four years. I have my favorite coffee shops (Bonlife and Lasaters), my favorite lunch spot (Gardner’s Market), and my favorite place to catch up with old friends over coffee and pancakes (The Little Diner on 1st). I have memories of dates walking and biking the Greenway. I have my Wednesday night ladies’ small group at the Davis’s. I have a community of people here. I have a life.
I always swore I would never be one of those Lee graduates who moves to Cleveland, and I’m sticking by that promise. But it seems that the longer I linger in this town and the more connections I make with its people, the more I see myself resting my feet here in my wilderness days.
This week, I started reading Rachel Held Evans’ book, Inspired: Slaying Giants, Walking on Water, and Loving the Bible Again. In her chapter on the deliverance stories of the Bible, she talks about this tension between people and the wilderness:
“Some of Scripture‘s most momentous events occur not at the start of a journey, nor at the destination, but in between, in the wilderness. Jacob wrestles with the mysterious stranger. Moses encounters the burning bush. The Israelites receive the Law that will shape them as a people for millennia to come...So when we join with our spiritual ancestors in telling our stories of deliverance, we must remember to name each wilderness, to mark those spots where, when all hope seemed lost, we encountered God.”
My small group leader, Jennie Davis, and I were talking about this shift I’d been feeling during my post-grad time in Cleveland. I mentioned that people like her and her husband, Jeff, were people whose warmth and hospitality made me want to stick around town a little longer. She said, “Maybe Cleveland will be your home base.”
As I have always been drawn to a nomadic lifestyle—visiting as many places as possible and making as many meaningful connections as I can—“settling down” is a very scary thought. Especially after living in Cambridge for a semester, my definition of home has shifted into something less tangible. But every wanderer needs a home base, a place to return when faced with spiritual and physical burnout, a place that offers rejuvenation and space to reflect on one’s adventures. Maybe Cleveland, Tennessee could be that place for me. Maybe.
I think I’ve always been afraid of people defining me by the place I live.
The girl who graduated BCHS but never left Knoxville.
The girl who graduated Lee but never left Cleveland.
The girl who visited the Pacific Northwest but never left Oregon.
The girl who studied abroad in Cambridge but never left England.
Sometimes I want these labels, and sometimes I don’t. In the case of Cleveland, I don’t really want the label. But, obviously, in Oregon’s case, I do. The places that seem more exotic, more envious, more Instagram-worthy are the ones whose labels I clutch tightly, afraid to let go lest I am seen for who I really am—ordinary.
And it is here that we return to my second year as a summer missionary with Ocoee Outreach.
Every day of my job looks different. I meet people from across the Southeastern United States who dedicate their vacation time to improving the homes of strangers in the humble city of Cleveland, Tennessee. Sometimes I learn more from the people serving, and sometimes I gain greater insights from the people being served. It’s not an Instagram-worthy season; no wilderness feels aesthetic or trendy. But it is a season which has not failed to reignite my love for Christ and teach me how to love His children.
It is in this ordinary season of waking up early, driving to my worksite for the week as the sky glows pink, bracing the heat for hours, starting conversations and sharing meals with strangers, establishing connections with people I never anticipated, and witnessing everyday miracles that holds the catalyst which radicalizes my faith and pushes me closer to the Kingdom.
I am learning so very much in Cleveland, Tennessee, this summer—my home base, my wilderness, my town.
Until next time,
Hannah Rose Rob
Commentaires