Technically, I've always lived in the Midwest, although I like to argue that my home state of Michigan is The North. However you see it, in 2001 I moved to the true Midwest—to a place our local meteorologist refers to as "East-Central Illinois," to be exact. It doesn't get more cornfield than this.

Halfway to Normal is actually where my friend Dorie lives, assuming you start at my house and drive due west on I-74. About 25 miles into the cornfields, you see a couple of grain elevators and a small racetrack and a place called "Restaurant." That's the exit for Farmer City. If you keep driving for another 25 miles, you'll be in Normal, Illinois. Not that we ever have a particular reason to go there.

Which is the point of these stories, really. Being halfway to Normal, or somewhere in the vicinity, is, I've discovered, just about the right place to be. At least it's the place where I found God, myself, balance, and true love. It's the place where my life has become entwined with the lives of people of many experiences and backgrounds—where I took my first Afro-Caribbean dance class, and where my girls experienced their first Passover and Hanukah celebrations, just a stone's throw away from a grain elevator. This in-between place is where I've become family with my husband's ex-wife and her partner, and where I’ve learned to spot crumbs of grace in everyday moments. It's the place where I've found Christian community that thrives at the bar and around the dining room table as well as around the communion table on Sunday mornings.

Each day, life in this small Midwestern town presents the most surprising combination of exactly what one might expect and not expect about someone striving to live the Christian life in middle America. In other words, I have stories to tell.