by Melana Bontrager

For the past 15 years I have lived in a plethora of places: cities, countries, flats, houses, condos, but never have I lived in one place for more than 2 years. This fact brings with it a myriad of distinctives that as a whole have defined my modus operandi. For one, my friendships have gone to a two-year level, then have either faded away or have become long distance friendships; well maintained but lacking the details (muck) of daily life. Additionally, the two-year window has generally allowed me the opportunity to get involved in my community and my local church, without encountering anything too uncomfortable. My interpretation of my relatively smooth sailing—for the last 15 years—has been that I am in the know regarding what makes a good friendship, how to address conflict, and how to love others in the pursuit of true community.

What I am learning, however, is that in many ways I don’t know squat about long-term community, nor do I know what to do with friendships that remain “in my face” for longer than two years, nor do I really understand how to delve into true love for one’s neighbor—and enemy—when historically I would just geographically move away from both.

In most areas of my life, you could say that I wrestle with long-term goals and prefer to live in the now, so to see beyond a two year period of time is difficult for me. This month, my husband, sons and I head into our two year anniversary in our little Everett home–with no real plans to move in the near future—and in many ways I don’t know how to proceed now that my “magic” two year window of time has run out. I find myself constantly feeling messy and bewildered as I continue through the days and weeks; often suppressing the urge to run away from the journey is laid before me.

Indeed, I recognize that some things will remain the same and some will change. But the newness comes with the fact that some of the change will occur in the relationships that are still very much a part of my everyday life. Those are the difficult waters for me to navigate. There is a definite tendency toward avoidance in moving from place to place; a sweeping of things under the rug of the past. I have always thought it a positive thing that I could pack my bags and move as I wished, but I see know that much of that ability was really a defense mechanism: the practice of dusting off my shiny little facade and hoping that no one really discovered the crap behind the mask. Staying put is messy; I am new at being messy, and I really don’t yet know how to do it on a long term-basis.

I have met a couple women who have local friendships which they have developed and maintained for upwards of 10 years, and I find myself staring, open-mouthed in awe. There is something that I want desperately in that scenario, and yet it is the wading through the muck of the everyday that seems to drag at my boots. There is something glamorous and winsome about living the nomadic life, but there is emptiness as well. The emptiness resounds more deeply with the passage of time, and although I wrestle against the gypsy draw on my heart, I know that Christ offers more truth and beauty than I have yet experienced.

I don’t think it’s by chance that the entire Bible is full of illustrations of community and friendships or that the apostle Paul writes constantly about how to engage in true community or that Jesus drew to him 12 close companions; there is something powerful in community among God’s creation. Even the Trinity is an illustration of the fullness of community. And so I take a deep breath and realize that perhaps God is revealing to me something more wild and wonderful about his body than I have ever imagined. Perhaps I will find myself growing into this body of believers at Mars Hill Church and will have the privilege of being truly known and truly loved by those with whom I walk, hand in hand.

As foreign as it is to me, it sounds frighteningly lovely!