It’s wild to think it’s been almost a year here in the greater Atlanta area, and only now does it feel like we’re actually settling in. I still catch myself checking LinkedIn without even realizing what I’m doing, just that old instinct to look for a way back home. And every time I do, there’s that quiet reminder that God has me here, not on temporary assignment, but in the place He’s maybe asking me to plant roots—at least for now.
And spiritually, it really has been a blessing. I haven’t found that one priest who fills that “spiritual father” role the way I had back home, and I miss that more than I like to admit. But the parish life here is a fair trade. Somehow the TLM ended up right on my morning route to work, and the timing and the traffic couldn’t be more on the nose for daily Mass. The kids love the FSSP parish, and we’re making some friends through their scouting. And two of the three Novus Ordo parishes near us? They’re vibrant, the priests are reverent, and they’re doing what they can with the new rite: maniple, kneelers for communion, a little Latin woven in, the old-school thumb-and-forefinger discipline, solid homilies. All these little signs that God knows my heart even when I pretend He doesn’t.
So here’s God, giving us all these gifts, and I’m still in a rush to leave. It hits me sometimes that maybe the issue isn’t the place at all. It’s me, trying to slip out the back door before grace has even finished unpacking. As Advent starts, that will be my focus—to be waiting here and now.
