i’m always glad they came

Hello, friends. It’s been a discombobulated week. Or two, really, since J and I have spent six of the last 12 days hosting houseguests. Our beloved friends the Becks came up from Erie, where they were visiting family, to tour Boston and spend some time with us (and the rest of the Abilene transplants); and then my parents came for their second visit to our new home, which included a day trip to Concord, fresh lobstah for my dad (who loves seafood but can rarely get it in West Texas), a rain-soaked Sox game at Fenway, miles of walking, and a meal at the Bull & Finch (the original Cheers pub).

We’ve been hosting people regularly – every two weeks or so – since Katherine and Andrew came to visit in May. Tucked in between these long visits have been shorter encounters with people we love, like coffee with Roxanne, chatting with a former professor at church (he came to Boston to escape the heat, just in time for a record-setting heat wave), and most recently, dinner with my friend (and former fabulous hairstylist) Camille. (Her husband was in town for a conference, and of course she volunteered to tag along.)

As I’ve said before (a few hundred times), it’s been tough to feel like we belong here in Boston – though we are grateful for the friends we brought with us, and also for the new friendships we’ve established. Putting down roots in a new city is hard, though, and I’m so deeply thankful to be in a place where people end up from time to time, so we can spend a few minutes or hours or even days together, catching up on each other’s lives.

Boston is not yet a place where everybody knows my name – nor will it ever be, in a literal sense (though we’re getting there at Brookline, thank God). But I’m always thrilled when old friends drop by my new home, when they call or email and we meet up for dinner or coffee or a stroll around the Common. Because they know my name, and my story, and I know theirs. And I’m always so glad they came.

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