I HAD MANY GOOD REASONS for hating the American Midwest, or so I thought. Severe weather, minimal city services, decaying infrastructure, thriving casinos. So even after two years in the area, I still managed to keep the flames of my contempt burning.
In 1996, my husband and I and our three daughters had moved from Virginia to Illinois. The move had been such a blessing for my children and their dad, but I was miserable living so far from family and friends and things familiar. I was beginning to think that God had forgotten about my blessing.
Each weekday afternoon, I spent 10–30 minutes downtown, sitting in my car waiting for my children to arrive at the bus stop. I usually took advantage of the quiet time to read an inspiring article or pray. Sometimes I'd work on writing my daily gratitude list. But other times, I'd just sit and look out at the dirty streets and broken sidewalks and pine for my old home in Virginia.
