invitation to stay

In the past 15 years, I’ve lived in 11 different homes in 5 different cities. This has all been since I moved out of my parents’ house when I was eighteen and left for undergrad. If you do the math, this means I’ve moved almost every year with a few exceptions.

Each move blends together in my memory, and yet each home represents a distinctive season. In almost every year there was packing, saying goodbye to a space, saying hello to a new one, and settling in as quickly as possible so that once again you can try to feel at home. I love each home and each city so very deeply; in each one I struggled, rested, worked hard. I built relationships, sought God, fought for joy and a sense of peace. I didn’t set out for all of this transition to be the reality for my adulthood, but it’s where my decisions, my love for adventure, and where God’s leading has brought me.

After a while, my body became used to the lack of feeling settled, and now something new is on the horizon. My husband Jon and I are buying our first home this summer. I’m feeling a bit uneasy about the commitment while simultaneously feeling my body relax and settle at the thought of staying. Practically, it means we won’t have to resign a lease each year (what a relief and a privilege). We can choose furniture we love; we can decorate with paint and wallpaper. It also means we have full ownership and responsibility for our space. And on a deeper level, it means so much more. It means we won’t have an easy way out if we wanted to leave Charlotte behind and start all over.

I’ve had to ask myself: why is the commitment of “staying” uncomfortable? As I reflect, I’ve realized that moving so often in the past 15 years has kept my heart one foot in and one foot out of my own life. I’m well-acquainted with the thought of I wonder if there’s another, better apartment or a new city I can move to? I probably won’t be here for long. Surely, I’ll find contentment after moving one more time!

You don’t necessarily have to learn to find contentment if you’re always leaving. All of the newness has become a tool for self-protection. I’ve had the chance to explore and see if the grass really is greener somewhere else. It typically isn’t. In each new space, new city, new friends, I’ve remained… me. I’ve been left with myself despite the chase to find that which is new and better.

I’m still me, with all my insecurities, anxieties, worst-case-scenario thinking, my story, my dreams, my values. I haven’t been able to escape the parts of myself I don’t love. The leaving hasn’t worked to secure my happiness, because I haven’t been able to leave myself and all my messiness.

And so now, I’m going to try staying. Staying with myself instead of relying on distraction and novelty. Staying in Charlotte even though I don’t love everything about the city. Staying in my current community even though I feel the avoidant part of me desiring distance.

I sense that this is God’s new invitation to me: pause, wait, be here. We’ll see how it goes. My struggle toward discontentment is sure to be present. But also present, like it always has been, will be God’s rich grace and goodness. I can sense him saying to me, “Just like I’ve gone with you to all of these places, you can be just as sure that I’m staying here with you now.”

Megan began counseling at The Barnabas Center in the summer of 2022.  She has a Bachelor of Arts from Southern Illinois University Edwardsville, where she studied Psychology, Religious Studies, and Mandarin Chinese. She received her Master of Arts in Counseling from Reformed Theological Seminary Orlando. Megan lives in Charlotte with her husband, Jon. She loves to spend quality time with friends, go on walks/hikes, and travel to new cities. She enjoys drinking quality coffee, watching shows, and doing yoga.