Littlefield

Upon graduation, I practically ran out of town. One of our fine modern day bards might say I chucked a deuce. At any rate, I felt like my dreams were too big and too lofty for Littlefield. I looked around town and my skin crawled. I held the opinion that Littlefield is a vortex: if you hang around the edge you'll get sucked back in. The only way to avoid a lifetime of gossip and football games was to get the heck out of Dodge and stay out.
Whenever people at college talk about going home or reminisce about the past, I have to stifle my gag reflex. In my head I think, "Oh ho ho. You couldn't pay me to go back to that swirling dust bowl. I'm so much better than that."

Well, I'm here to apologize. I was driving home on Highway 54, a route I could drive with my eyes closed, and I was struck by a thought:
I thought about all the people that loved me.

I thought about how growing up in a small West Texas town instilled values in me that are worth far more than gold: how to work hard, how to look out for your fellow man, how to fear the Lord, and how to give thanks.

I thought about how Littlefield is part of my heritage. No matter where I go I'll always be a small town girl. I'll always be loyal and true and "pledge my might to honor and right".

I thought about the land: so desolate and flat and utterly lonely. Yet each day God displays His splendor with awesome magnificence: streaking the sky with colors so rich and brilliant an artist's palette could never render them justice.

I could continue, but all these sentimental notions are starting to feel sticky. I'll just close with this: I'm glad I grew up where I did. For all my bluster, I won't ever forget where I came from.
That is a promise.