Sanctuary

The beginning of June was a very emotionally wacky time for me (for good reason!), and during that time I spent a lot of time writing in a journal as an outlet for my emotional wackiness.  Here's an excerpt from 13 June 2012:

It's strange that this room won't be mine anymore.  With the exception of my parents' house, this is the longest that I've ever lived anywhere.  This tiny room has been a sanctuary for so long.  I'll just have to find a new one in Hawaii.  It seems that Hawaii should be full of sanctuaries.

I scoffed at this so much after I moved here.  I was not (and still am not) the type to find solace in the beach. There's the Temple, to be sure, but four hours on a bus is a little much to seek sanctuary there more than once a month.  I had given up hope until I found this place.

The Old Mission House caught my eye when I was waiting for the bus one day.  What struck me was that apart from the palm trees on the grounds, it did not look like it belonged in Hawaii.  It looked like it could have been in New England, or even Virginia.

Look at that steep roof to keep the snow off.

It turned out that the House was built in the 1820s by missionaries from Boston.  As a matter of fact, the materials to build the house were shipped from there.  It made me wonder, did these Boston bricks feel out of place?  Like they didn't belong and would never fit in?  Like the way I feel all of the time?

I went inside today on a free tour courtesy of the Smithsonian.*  It was nice to be inside; it reminded me of all of the old houses and museums in Boston (and the Northeast in general).  The grounds are lovely and there's a very nice church with a (sadly) rather dilapidated cemetery nearby.  I can't say for certain that I've found a sanctuary yet, but it is comforting to have found a kindred spirit in another Boston transplant in Hawaii, even if it is made of stones.


*It was a free pass for two people, so of course, I went alone.