This morning, I was asked to describe where Prospect is, where I’m living for the time being. “It’s on the edge of nowhere,” was my response, which resulted in a few chuckles. And it is. The drive from Medford takes about an hour, my phone quits working about halfway up, and the population of the town is a few hundred. There is nothing much other than forest and state parks farther up the road. To be honest, there really is not much in Prospect, either.

There have been the occasional moments when I would have preferred stopping at El Pollo Loco to cooking, but there is no fast food. There have been times when I have felt like I might scream, I’m so far from everything. Mostly, though, I love the comparative silence. I do not miss the insanity that is suburban Southern California. I do not miss the constant noise, the hammering of “Do these kinds of things,” “Be this kind of person,” “This product/look/value/ideal/goal/lifestyle will make you a better person, and it is possible that without it you are not worth much.” No, I do not miss the poison that oozes from the culture of Los Angeles.

I do, however, miss my Church. I miss the rhythm of being there almost every time there was a service. I miss my adopted family there. I miss chanting, however clumsy a chanter I may have been. The nearest Orthodox Church to Prospect is an hour or more away.

There are two parishes in the Medford area. To the west, in Rogue River, there is a small ROCOR parish. To the south, in Ashland, there is an equally small OCA mission. I visited both this weekend, since I was in Medford for my bimonthly time off. There is another, even smaller, Greek parish, two hours away in Roseburg, that I will eventually get to, because I actually know people there.

The distance, the cost of gas, my income, and the simple reality of my life right now, all taken together mean that I cannot get to any of these parishes anywhere near as often as I would like. I have concluded, though, that this is ok. It certainly is not what I prefer, but it is where God has me for the moment, so it must be for my salvation. Perhaps I feel like an accidental hermit out in the wilderness, but God knew what He was doing. This is an encouraging truth! It means that while this is certainly not home, it is, for now, where I belong.

The Ashland parish is in a similarly uncomfortable position, and they are coming to the same realization. Their priest is transitioning out, and a new priest has not been found. Someone from the diocese came today to discuss the situation with the members, and I was struck by the similarities of our situations. They would like to have services more frequently than they currently can, but there is little they can do about it. They could be frustrated and anxious over it, or they can let go of the “But I want…”, use the opportunity to learn and grow, and go with what they have in front of them.

And what they have is quite nice! The priest, though he is on his way out, seems a kind man. The people have been warm and welcoming the two Sundays that I have been there. All in all, this parish feels, in the important ways, as much like my home parish as a parish could. They even have a few specific and not exactly ubiquitous saints’ icons on the walls that reminded me of home.

More than the “feeling,” though, is the way they are choosing to face their uncomfortable situation. Several times in the discussion today, members voiced the sentiment, “We don’t like it. We want a priest. But we can’t force that to happen. God is in control, and we’re trusting Him.” They have concluded that while it is not an ideal situation, it is where they are, and so, for now, it is where they belong.

May I learn well from them, as I face my situation as a seemingly accidental hermit!