2am is too, two-ish.
Too, irrational.
Too, dark.
Too, unknown.
Too, heavy.
But.... I've learned, some pretty big thoughts cross my mental radar when no one is talking to me or needing me. It dawned on me, this May will mark my NINTH year of living in Mississippi. Obviously, not nine consecutive years, but nine years when added up altogether. Next to Kansas, Mississippi is the longest lasting home for me. That is SOOOOOO bizarre-O to me. In all the writing I did as a little girl, never ONCE did my mid-west heart land in the south, let alone, Mississippi. Never once, did I title a chapter "Southern Living!" Never once, did any of my imaginary characters have southern accents. And I definitely never penned my personal biography to include four-wheelers, deep freezes, camouflage, double-wides, grand front porches for sittin', pick-up trucks for spittin', bonfires, doilies, monograms, (not to be confused with mammograms) and red lip stick.
NOT ONCE!
I was the BIGGEST home body growing up. I told everyone I was going to live with my parents forever.. I was 16 not 6, when I said this. I hated sleepovers and summer camp. I almost failed 1/2 day Kindergarten, because I was absent so often. I could not imagine why people wanted to leave home as badly as they did. When I dreamed about my future, I was going to be a Kansas girl forever. I was going to graduate from JUCO then KU. I was going to marry a local flavor, be a junior high history teacher and coach, and send my kids to KCCS. I had a brilliant plan.
Then, at 16 (just weeks after swearing I was never leaving home) a series of miraculous events took place and I packed my bags for French Camp, Mississippi. I cried the entire 12 hour trip here. 17 years ago this May, my little, size 7 foot, encountered its first ever Mississippi mud. And the rest is history, or is it? That's just it, French Camp, MS is as much as my history now as it is my unwritten future, and I feel like I still don't know her the way I should. Oh, I've been learned in MANY Mississippi traditions since then, but my heart is still a bit resistant to the reality she is my home. Lord willing, she will be home for a very long time, because this Mama cannot stomach the thought of moving. EVER.AGAIN (this kind of statement usually initiates the heavenly realm to start rearranging my grand plans for a glorious kind of laughter to erupt! ;)
Today, Anderson and I were studying the map and he said, "Mama, where IS Mississippi?!"
And the idea bloomed.
I've learned that the kryptonite to bitterness is story. In order for my heart to grow in admiration and respect for something, I need to know its story. Not just its cover on "Southern Living", but the deeply-rooted, untold story underneath.
SOOOOO.... I'm starting a new, little project. It's called #findingFrenchCamp!! In the upcoming weeks and months, I'm putting my blogger hat on to uncover this little space of land we call home. I think it will cause my love for her to deepen, my admiration for her to grow, and for some of the BEST stories to be told.
I need your help!
First, using the hashtage #findingFrenchCamp I would love for you to join in on the project. One of my amazing best friends inspired this idea (thanks, Jess) You can follow me on Twitter @saraslittlejohn. Instagram @saralj4. And FB @ Mark Sara Littlejohn.
Second, I need your stories. I've lived here for like .8 seconds and have only a portion of experiences to share. I'd LOVE to meet with you, sip java with you, and just LISTEN to your endless stories. Contact me @ mslittlejohn@gmail.com, swing by the doublewide and sit on my porch, or honk at me at Leonard's... I'll find you, and I'll find the stories!!
Come on, get excited! This is fuuuunnnn. And everyone needs a little fun in their fire!
~Sara
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