Starting Over

by Jodi Rowland

Starting over is never easy.  Recently, my mother, step-father, and little sister moved.  I’m from Upstate New York, born and raised, and beginning my-so-called-life-as-an-adult here as well.  It came as quite a shock when my mother accepted a job and moved to Fairfax, Virginia (a good 7 hour drive from my home town) this summer.  From the first mention of the job offer in May, it only took until the beginning of August before they moved.  Although this move has been and will continue to be hard for me, I can only imagine the excitements and difficulties that they are facing.  For the Labor Day holiday weekend, I traveled with my aunt, uncle, step-sister, and cousins for a visit, and got a glimpse at my family’s new life. 

Perhaps some of you have faced a similar experience, or perhaps you’ve moved on, starting fresh yourself.  I’d like to hear about your experiences with fresh starts.  What does it mean to start over for you?  Maybe it was a good change, or maybe it was difficult to move on.  I know that my perspective on starting over certainly has evolved from the first days of starting college, to the first days of staring a career, to the first month or so of missing my family.  So, in 500 words or less, please share your story about fresh starts. 

Deadline September 15, 2005 12pm EST, USA
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Winner of the Eureka . . . I’ve Got It Contest, from our 8/9 Issue.  Keep posted for more winners from previous issues.

Silent Night, Holy Night

by Scott S. Gregg

When I was 25, I left pharmacy school in Baltimore to take care of my grandmother at the Upstate New York home where I was raised. My uncle had heart problems, and my grandmother needed help while he was in the hospital. At this time, I had a lot of turmoil in my life. I was lonely, I wasn’t sure pharmacy school was the right career choice for me, and I was worried that my uncle might die in the hospital. The fact that I was home at Christmas seemed to amplify my emotions.

On Christmas Eve, I attended a traditional Christmas Eve service. I tried to push thoughts of Christmas commercialism out of my head, and think about the celebration of Christ’s birth. It was very difficult, considering all of my worries.

When I was driving home after the service, I was apprehensive because I knew that the dogs at my grandmother’s house would start barking as they did whenever a car entered the yard. My grandmother’s bedroom window would light up, signifying her interrupted sleep. It was snowing lightly, and white swirling patterns danced on the road ahead of me, illuminated by my headlights.

I turned into the yard, and stepped out of the car. That’s odd, I thought. My grandmother’s dogs were quiet. The house remained dark, and I was grateful. I looked at my digital watch. It was exactly midnight. Instead of going to the house, I walked along the side of the garage to the backyard. I moved past an old patio used years earlier for family gatherings; then made my way down a small hill to the edge of the woods I used to explore as a child. There I stood, and listened.

At first, I heard nothing. I tried to quiet my mind. As I slowed my breathing and relaxed, I could feel each snowflake as it landed on my face and melted. Then I noticed a low, soft whisper. I heard no words, but a constant, breezy, baritone whistle seemed to come from all around me, like a comfortable blanket of sound. I was puzzled, and then my heart leaped as the realization hit me. I was actually hearing the sound of snow falling. On this cusp of Christmas Day, I thought of a story from the New Testament, where Jesus commanded the tempestuous sea, “Peace, be still!” For the first time in months, the turmoil inside me abated and I felt blessed for having experienced such a watershed moment.

My feeling of peace lasted throughout the holiday season and well into the New Year. Even now, whenever life becomes too much for me, I close my eyes and return to that moment in my mind.