I was born and raised on an entirely different planet called New Jersey. It feels so foreign and distant to me now, as I've lived so long away from it. But the last time I rode a train through central New Jersey in 2006, I felt uncomfortable and alien, looking out the window for something to lay my eyes on. But all I saw was buildings and crowded roads. And I had to actually look UP to see the sky. What do people LOOK at here? I remember thinking. I couldn't wait to get home: to Nebraska.
When I met my future husband Larry at Drew University Theological School in Madison, New Jersey in 1990, he was the resident cheerleader for the state of Nebraska. Drew was located in Northern New Jersey, which was mostly upper class, close to New York City, and regarded itself as a very intellectual and cultured environment. I'd say 99% of us there could not have pointed out the location of Nebraska on a map of the U.S. Anything west of Ohio was considered foreign, essentially. Our classmates generally regarded Larry's enthusiasm with condescending amusement; not only trying to recruit him to stay in New Jersey, but making it clear that they believed that Nebraska was a place made up of just a bunch of sub-cultural hayseeds. I just imagined endless empty prairies. Something like the set of "Little House on the Prairie."
When I ended up falling and love with Larry with the full knowledge that he was returning to Nebraska that year, I told him there was "no way" I could move to Nebraska. Number one: I didn't know where it was. Number two: I couldn't leave New Jersey. It was home. Well, the only home I knew.
I flew out west to check out St. Paul School of Theology in another foreign country called Kansas City, Missouri, because I wanted to study with Gene Lowry, a preaching professor there. I spent the weekend staying with parishioners of Larry's church in Osmond, Nebraska. It is true that after Larry picked me up at the KC airport and drove us north, I literally started to hyperventilate as the land and sky opened up before us. We had to pull over and let me breathe into a bag. But it got better.
My first experience of Nebraska was the small town of Osmond, in Northeast NE. I fell in love with the community. They welcomed me so warmly, supported us in our new relationship, and related to me as if they'd known me for years. People were so down-to-earth and real. They were kind and loving. Everybody was related! We visited Larry's tinier church at Stark Valley, and a few old men wore cowboy boots and hats and called me "ma'am." I half expected to see Michael Landon.
We moved back east for six years after awhile, and then decided that the only place we wanted to be was Nebraska. I was so relieved to get back here after my stint back east. No, Nebraska is not perfect. There are all kinds of people here, good and "bad", just as there are anywhere else. But I feel like I can breathe here. Literally and figuratively. Yes, the air is much cleaner and fresher (even in Gibbon!). When I drive to work or in between visits, my eyes have much to look at and take in to feed my spirit. I love to look out over the Sandhills, see the horses and the cattle, the cowboys rounding them up. I love the pheasants, the hawks and the occasional eagle. I love the small towns with miles in between them where everybody knows everybody (for better or for worse) and is related to half of them. I love that when someone gets cancer and doesn't have health insurance, the whole town puts on benefits to raise money for them. The small-town weekly newspapers record who visited whom from out of state. Local churches or Legion halls have spaghetti "feeds" or soup suppers, roast beef dinners and fish frys. During Lent, Catholics host Protestants for fish dinners on Friday. People in jeans or their Sunday best show up for funerals for people they're not even related to because it's what you do. You don't have to dress up here if you don't want to.
I'm not a big football fan, but since Nebraska doesn't have a professional football team in the state, the entire state rallies around the University of Nebraska Football team, the Huskers. Toddlers and residents of the nursing homes all wear red on Game Day. Employees get to wear their Husker T-shirts to work, even on Friday. You go to Walmart or the mall and the game is playing on the loud speakers so you don't miss it. It is assumed that everyone wants to keep up with the game! When I first moved here, a parishioner asked me on Sunday, "did you watch the game?"
I replied, "What game?"
You would have thought that I'd suggested that Jesus wasn't the Son of God.
Many of the nursing homes get Pay-Per-View if necessary on Game Day. It's THAT important.
Many people here say, "There's no place like Nebraska." And it's true. It's hard to explain, and not everybody would get it. When Sarah was 10 years old back in Pennsylvania, she said one day, "If I could live anywhere in the world, I'd live in Nebraska." That was before we knew that we were moving back a year later.
But I would say the same thing. It is now my adopted home. It fits me. It fits my nature. I can find peace here. I can breathe here, and live life at a manageable pace. I can walk the streets of my little town at night without fear, and I can stretch my eyes when I get out of my town. My soul is nourishd throughout the day on the awesome sight of the endless prairie and its inhabitants. Occasionally my family and I will drive 60 miles away to the small town of Sumner to eat at Tub's Pub where they have the best prime rib.
People who knew me in my previous lives have often asked me, "why Nebraska?" And I just smile. I can't explain it. It's just my land of grace. And that's why I love it.
