No Staircases

Slowing to turn on 120th Avenue in Fergus Falls, my hometown, and on my home road, the aroma of freshly cultivated soil squeezed through my closed Camry window. Corn towering, browning, and was soon to be harvested for a profit, welcomed me from the over-populated, concrete city. I was home.

Some trees were already bald, I had missed their farewells, but some still held to their glowing glory, some even their green. Change was everywhere, and it included me.

I have come home to play around with the idea of moving here for good. It has been a long-time dream of mine to have my own apartment. After staying with a variety of girls in multiple living situations, the chance to live by myself would be a dream come true. Fergus Falls just seems to hold more applicable jobs for me than Minneapolis at this time, ironic as that sounds. It is all about supply and demand (see, I remember something from Economics at North Hennepin Community College).

My prized green couch from my grandma, Heyma, is what I need to pull out of the shed. As a child, I would sit in “the other house” (her home was two houses slid together) on this couch, adoring the unique structure and build, which possessed a road-sign-green hue with a small glittered, gold thread stitch throughout. When Heyma moved to Broen Nursing Home, this couch was given to me.

It belongs in my first apartment.

Change is happening, my sunrise is in sight, and my ears are finally opening to the Lord’s direction. There are plenty of unanswered questions I have, but one answer is all I need.

I just need one step, one light to show me the next step. I don’t need to see the whole staircase, it would probably intimidate me anyway, I just need to see my next step. And the Lord always reveals at the right time.