We finally made it.
After months of speculation/anticipation/frustration/nauseation, we’re finally moved into our apartment in San Antonio. Let me just say, to those of you planning to move out of your HOUSE into an APARTMENT: don’t. Your stress level will thank you.
You spend the first years of married life making your house a home. Compromising on whose stuff goes where, organizing picture frames, alphabetizing books and movies…all the things that make your space your own. And then…all of a sudden, you have to choose: I absolutely love my Valdes painting of the smiling worms, but I can’t put that on the wall instead of the painting Courtney did of my guitar! I love this picture of my girls, but I can’t have all pictures of friends and not enough pictures of family! And then there’s the problem of surfaces. In our house in Spartanburg, there were tons of built in shelves. What does that have to do with Texas, you ask? We didn’t even OWN a bookshelf. Thank goodness Mama Jane donated one to our cause because right now, all our dvds are shelved and all our books are in decorative piles strewn about the apartment.
Explain this to me: the living room is smaller, the guest room is smaller, the kitchen is smaller, the laundry room is smaller, but somehow, the closets and bathrooms are bigger than all our closets and bathrooms from the Spartanburg House were combined! I could literally do a cartwheel…in both the master closet AND the master bathroom.
Once we finally got everything unpacked and all the boxes taken away though, it was easy to start thinking of our little apartment as a home. However, while thinking of the apartment as home is easy, thinking of Texas as home is proving to be more difficult. It’s hot here. I mean REALLY hot. And for those of you who’ve heard that Texas is a dry heat, you’ve been lied to. It’s more humid than Columbia in August. And, while I’ve never considered myself a “small-town girl,” I’ve discovered that I am. The shopping alone here is mind-blowing. And the signs are so flashy here! And we can’t drive to Trey’s folks’ house without going through one of those crazy interstate exchanges that has about 14 bridges all twisting around each other. Then there are the birds. Don’t get me started on the crazy Texan birds! First of all, they’re enormous. While back home, we have Carolina Wrens and Robins and Wood Peckers, here there are crows the size of large cats. And they dive-bomb you. They don’t get out of your way, you get out of theirs.
And then of course there’s church. I knew it’d be bigger, and I knew it’d be different. I just didn’t realize how hard that would be for me. So far I really like Randy (he’s the other pastor other than Max Lucado – no, I haven’t met Max yet, and no I haven’t heard him preach…they take turns a sermon series at a time). His sermons are both funny and enlightening, serious and challenging. And he kind of reminds me of Mark Byrnes. Which is awesome. It’s the music that makes it hard for me. The first Sunday we attended Oak Hills, the congregation sang a handful of praise choruses, but we also sang How Great Thou Art and It Is Well With My Soul. And I thought to myself, this is good, I can do this. But then this past Sunday they sang only praise choruses that neither Trey nor I had heard before (and I HATE how big churches these days don’t have hymnals…they just put words on the screen. How the heck am I supposed to know how the song goes if you don’t give me MUSIC NOTES! – but that’s a rant for another day). And I spent the entire first half of the service in tears because I miss singing songs I know and I miss Trinity and I miss singing real choral music with my choir. I’d give anything to hear Praise His Holy Name or Majesty and Glory.
So it’s an adjustment. We’ve met some fun people and Trey’s coworkers are great, and I’m going to a ladies bible study tonight, which I’m really excited about. But now that the chaos of April is gone, I just really really really miss home. Just so you know.