A place for everything (except me)

After a long day of shopping various marvelous sales, my car is now crammed full of stuff to make our new parsonage livable: bed linens, waste baskets, towels, and a dish drainer, plus a laundry hamper holding a whole mess of cleaning products. We have enough kitchen things to divvy up between the two households, but I refuse to take any ratty old dish towels to a new place.

Even though it's fun to find just the right shower curtain at a tremendous discount and imagine the perfect spot for that peacock photo, I'm a little nervous about some other aspects of the move. I'm pretty good at organizing a move and getting all our stuff settled in to a new house, but I'm not so good at getting myself settled among a whole new group of people.

They are nice people, at least the ones I've met so far. Everyone has been encouraging and eager to help us adjust to a new place, but being surrounded by a large group of people I don't know makes this introvert want to run screaming from the room. All those names! All those relationships I'll need to figure out! All those private jokes I won't understand, perspectives I'll find puzzling, positions in the community I can't comprehend! How will I ever find my place?

I've done this before plenty of times, but this time I'll be hampered by splitting my time between two houses--and not just two houses but two communities, two groups of friends, and two positions. I know how to play the part of English Professor in any context, but the position of Pastor's Spouse has a more fluid job description that may include unspoken expectations. No one can measure up to that one pastor's spouse who baked wonderful pies or sang moving solos or played the piano or tended the nursery every Sunday. 

I don't do pies. Can't carry a tune or play a note. May not be able to commit to regular teaching duties because I'll be splitting my time between two places. I'm bound to disappoint someone fairly soon.

But maybe that's okay. Who wants to hang around with the perfect person who can do no wrong? Maybe they'll find my imperfections endearing. Maybe instead of trying to present a polished facade, I should drop the mask and let my ratty edges show.

But not on the dish towels. They'll be brand-new.