Last Thursday, my supervisor asked me how I was liking and adjusting to Harrisburg, my new city. I told her that it was starting to feel like home despite the fact that I had only been here for two weeks and despite not knowing many places around the city. Throughout the weekend, I told my friends back in Colorado that I was falling in love with the city and while I didn’t think that I would be living here after this year, I could tell already that it will have a big part of my heart.

As this year goes on, I may not remember how strange not quite belonging feels, but I will definitely remember the kindness of the community that has welcomed us extremely warmly with pounds of food (in a tradition aptly called a Quaker Pounding), a gift certificate for a taco place, tickets to a baseball game, and tours around the city. This warmth is why I am already calling my house “home.”

It seems like it is difficult to return the help that we have received thus far since those helpers don’t seem to want much in return. But I’ve discovered that part of serving is being served. Like much else in life, there is a push and a pull. A give and a take. Or rather, gives and gifts. Some of those gifts are smiles, hugs, or “Welcome to…” Some of the gifts are seemingly small donations of time and/or money at the time, but like glue or lotion, go a long way. And yet some of the gifts are intangible, only noticeable after a few months or perhaps a few years.

I think this last kind of gift is what has made me who I am. Because these invisible, but not unfelt gifts shape me like a river shapes a canyon. Maybe my desire to serve is a product of this shaping.

To serve you have to be served.