Thursday was my first day teaching. It was fine, but I'll admit - I didn't love it. To be honest, I never really wanted to be a teacher, least of all in middle school. After this week, I'm still not sure I want to be one. I know things will improve and I'll grow to really care about the kids, which will help. After Thursday, though, I was left with a sense of lacking - like maybe this isn't my life calling. I really wanted it to be. I've never really been passionate about much - never felt like I found what I was just supposed to do. I was hoping teaching kids who so desperately need help would be it. I don't know if it is.

That night, I drug myself out for my nightly run, which Thursday was just a walk. As I walked past the baseball diamonds by my house, I found myself reminiscing about summer nights spent at Hope Summer Playground (HSP). I loved being there, whether I was playing softball or whether I was just meeting up with friends. I loved being in the dug-out cheering on our hitters. I loved the Little Debbies that other parents brought for treats after the games, because we never had Little Debbies at home. I loved buying concessions, and I loved sneaking up to the scorekeeping room to catch a glance of whoever I was crushing on at the moment. Good, good times.

Later that night, I noticed a thunderstorm was starting up so I went outside to watch. One thing I really missed while in Utah was the Indiana summer thunderstorms. Those combined with HSP form the perfect image of summer. Throw in some fresh corn on the cob, and you're set. I sat there on the porch thinking about those memories and enjoying the subtle power of the rolling thunder and the startling beauty of the lightning, and for a a moment I felt so small. The power and majesty of the storm was enough to make my life look miniscule. There were thousands of other people watching the same storm that I was, but none of us could do anything to stop it or re-direct it. It was controlled by the most powerful being in the universe, who had created everything that storm touched, of which I was just a small part. At the same time, I felt an overwhelming feeling of importance. I was struggling that day, and my Heavenly Father knew it. Through this brilliant display of power, He was bringing back memories and feelings that made me feel at home. Since I decided to come back to Indiana, I have received multiple confirmations that this is where I'm supposed to be. I don't usually receive quite so strong of confirmations, which makes me think there will probably be just as many, probably more, moments where I will question whether or not I made the right decision. Thursday was one of those moments. Why would I leave my friends and comforts and move across the country to take a job I'm not even sure I'll like? I'm still not sure, but as confirmed to me that night, I am sure that it was the right decision. I'm home. Right where I'm supposed to be.

As I was pondering this, the scripture from 1 Kings 19:11-12 came to mind: "...but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake: And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice." For me, the Lord was in the wind. He was in the thunder and the lightning and the rain, but His presence wasn't fierce or mighty or loud. Through that storm, the still, small voice of the Spirit whispered peace to my soul and restored hope to my heart.