Welcomes

(There may be a few more posts than usual over the next few days, then it will probably settle down. I have a number of things I've been thinking about.)

Anyway. In the denomination I belong to, last Sunday was "Reconciliation Sunday." Having to do with reconciliation of groups that were hostile or unwelcoming in the past. In particular, the races.

Now, you must understand, I live in the South. Very traditional attitude South.

We had a special speaker - a young African-American woman. That day, she and her friend were the only people of color in the congregation. (Once in a while a member of my youth group visits and he is African American, but he was not there).

And she talked about welcoming and being welcomed and also that sometimes people can convince THEMSELVES that they will not be welcomed...

She talked about the town here. About how she felt isolated as a college student here, because campus was the only place she felt "welcome."

And I remember a comment made by a (now-former) colleague of mine when I moved here - something offhand, like "Movies like "The Preacher's Wife" only come and play here for a few days." It was sort of code for, "people of different races don't seem very welcome here." (Now - for the record, and I think I said this already: I am Northern European. Not the exact precise ethnic background - which seems to be Scots-Irish - of this part of the world, but I'm close enough). And I will admit, I felt a bit leery.

Well, you know - when I listened to this woman speak, I wanted to go up and hug her. And I'm not a hugging type. I wanted to say, "If I had been here when you had been a student, I would have welcomed you."

Because, you know, on a much smaller and lesser scale, I went through what she went through.

I moved here from the Upper Midwest. Ohio born and bred, Michigan educated. Citified, more or less - I had never had to even own a car before because everything I wanted was within walking distance of me.

Then I came here. Very different. Very, very different. I had people stop me when they heard me talking and say, "You're not from around here, are you?"

And no matter how kindly, how "I want to learn more about you" attitude that it's said with, it's hard to interpret that phrase as anything but a little hostile.

I also had people - PEOPLE I WENT TO CHURCH WITH - refer to me as "the Yankee."

(Now, a digression: where I come from, I am not a Yankee. Where I come from, a Yankee is a resident of New England, especially rural farming New England.)

But to them, I was "the Yankee."

I remember one person once making a comment in Sunday School about "that ugly Northern accent." He must have seen my face - I tend to wear my feelings quite prominently - and he started backpedaling immediately. But the damage was done.

My first year and a half here I was consumed with getting away. I applied for many other jobs. I even contemplated going back to school. My first batch of faculty evaluations were miserable - again, I think it was that the students knew I was an outsider and took out a certain amount of hostility on me. My department chair at the time had to 'talk me down' after I read them. I remember that was the only time I ever cried in front of colleauges - after reading those evaluations.

I definitely felt unwelcome. Sometimes even at church, which for me, was miserable. Because growing up? Church and home were sometimes the only place I felt remotely normal. And I was far from home (which really means, "family") and I felt a bit rejected by some of my fellow congregants.

But I soldiered on. I figured I had no choice unless the job offers came in and I could go to Wisconsin, Minnesota - anywhere. Anywhere where it was cool and damp and had four seasons. (My first fall here was also an unusual heatwave).

And somehow, things changed. Maybe I changed, maybe the people around me changed. Most likely, we both changed. But somehow, I got absorbed. Assimilated. Welcomed.

I don't get called "the Yankee" any more. And I've noticed that I've picked up "y'all" and "fixin' to" in my vocabulary, and I've been known to pronounce "soil" more as "soul" and "nine" more as "nahn."

But I also think it was that I, despite my natural shyness (or, maybe, partly because of it) managed to worm my way into people's hearts. I think it's kind of hard to dislike someone who's willing to take on the thankless jobs - I remember not very long into my membership at this church, that I went into the kitchen after a dinner and helped wash dishes. (That won the ladies over). And politeness goes a long way (that won a lot of the men over. That, and the fact that they probably came to see a bit of their daughters and granddaughters in me - that I was no brazen citified Northern hussy).

But I also think that there was perhaps a testing period involved, a "we're not quite comfortable with you yet, and we sense you're not quite comfortable with us."

And I know I said things - in private, or to my family over the phone - about this place and these people, in those first days, that I'd regret and hang my head over now. But culture shock is powerfully disorienting, and sometimes you lash out when you don't understand. (One of the unsettling things to me was the monument to "our fallen Confederate soldiers" on the square. It just reminded me that I was in a very different place now). And there were little things - not being able to find a radio station that I liked. No bookstore right in town. (There are a couple, but they're a half-hour drive away. There's a small "paperback exchange" in town but I'm kind of a booksnob - I don't like romances or Westerns. And there's the campus bookstore, but they're so small, all they carry are textbooks and "faculty author" books.)
Not being able to find familiar brands. (I almost wept when I was up visiting my folks, and went grocery shopping for my mom, and saw the familiar green-and-yellow package of Creamette macaroni. It's not available here).

And yet - you learn to replace things. You forget what some things are like, you find other new things to like. (I've become a connaisseur of chili and also barbecue during my time here). And things where you came from change, and you're reminded that not only can you not really go home again, but the definition of "home" has changed - for me, now, "home" is a small cottage located midway between the downtown and my university, rather than the house my parents live in.

And so, welcoming - and being willing to BE welcomed - is a process that takes time. The town I live in is growing and changing - like lots of people I've groused over the bad traffic, and I admit I wait in hope whenever the local news announces "new business coming to town" (I've been known to cross my fingers and squinch my eyes shut and mutter "please please please please let it be a bookstore").

I just hope when new folks come - whether they come from East, West, farther South, or North - that people are willing to welcome them and make them feel at home perhaps a bit faster than I did. (And that I remember my own feelings of loneliness and discombobulation and step out of my shell to smile or shake hands or say "welcome" to someone). And I hope they're willing to BE welcomed - and not come all over hostile. Because I think part of my limitation - part of the reason it took me several years to become comfortable here - was that I was looking for insult, I was looking to be shut out. Rather than looking to be welcomed and just trying to bash through the walls that people set up with a goofy friendliness.

I do think what she said was important - I just hope everyone had ears to hear. And that they will remember that it's not just their effort to do the welcoming, but people's willingness to be welcomed that is necessary - that in order to shake hands, both parties have to reach out.