Hey, my lovely pals. I've been moved in for over a month now. Predictably, the stress of my last post is largely moot, but I don't poke fun at it. The jitters and emotions of pending separation were real, and so is the freedom of a fresh start. I thought for about ten days that I had turned over a new leaf with my sleeping schedule as well, but night owl habits die hard and we're back on the familiar 2 a.m. clock.

It's really cool and good for my mental energy not to have to drive far on a regular basis (thinking about the last three years that I spent taking a two-hour round trip weekly to the nearest city for various teaching positions). Also has positive repercussions on the gas bill (mindblowing that I don't have to fill up my tank every 6-8 days?!?)

It's special to make a room into your own, to hang the clothes in the closet and tuck in the blankets and find your dream chest of drawers in a second-hand store and imagine what it will look like when you find a good desk and get the bedframe moved in.

It's special to drive a thousand miles with just your brother for company and send him home on his first solo flight ever.

It's very special to have a nine-month-old nephew that you would gladly move mountains for, and the ability to see his face on video from seven states away.

It's special to know that fellow saints you put names and faces to only a week ago are praying for your immediate needs.

Everyone wants to know how I like it, and I struggle to answer, because there are so many things I value about being here but none of them are easy to distill into a small talk answer, or even sometimes a long talk. In the abstract, this place means nothing yet. My relationship to it is not rooted the way it is in the place I spent seventeen years of my life. And yet in the concrete, it is everything. I chose to come here, I chose to commit, and I think that my joy in living and investing here is also a choice.

They want to know why I am here, why I chose this, and I struggle to answer because, well, why not? Independence, I tell them. Or I say, to help a friend. Both are pieces of the puzzle. My life has been ever such a convoluted puzzle the last few years, after all, long stories far too tangled to unravel to just anyone in a passing conversation. And yet the piecemeal answers feel inadequate, disingenuous to myself, poor tokens on which to begin an acquaintance.

Maybe the best answer is that God put me here. I go through life with the confidence that whatever path I tread, I cannot stumble off the one he has ordained for me. Why not Alabama? Why not anywhere, if the door were to open? If I am here (and here I am), he must have a purpose for me to serve until my time is done.

And there's certainly no shortage of opportunities for serving.

So I'm going to invest joyfully. (And really, really savor those five-minute drives to Aldi.)