We headed to Waco to see what the job was really all about and whether we could see ourselves living in a place that caused most people we told about it to wrinkle their noses or guffaw in disapproval.
As we flew into the two gate Waco airport, we saw green below and the winding Brazos river as it touched along farm land and giant patches of trees. It was truly a serene beginning to our explorations, nothing like the explosion of tightly packed Mister Roger's looking homes and harbor side downtown skyline as you fly into San Diego airport. We stepped of the plane ready to bolt since we knew our delayed flight was arriving past when the car rental counter would be open. We charged out of the gate area into a single room with one luggage belt and a long counter with two rental car company logos. Oh, here we are! We secured our rental - it was an itty bitty Fiat - yup, in the land of Texas trucks, we were given a matchbox. Maybe the girl behind the counter thought it was more "California" for us?
By the end of that first night, I felt mostly unsure. I didn't feel anything. It all felt a little unsettling. Definitely different. We ate dinner at a chain Mexican food place that seemed to be busy and we were handed a flashing pager. We sat down for our estimated fifteen minute wait that turned out to be just three! In the restaurant, we noticed lots of families, a number of UT and Baylor t-shirts and hats, and very few cowboy hats or boots.
On day two, we drove to church. What better way to get a sense of the community? I'd looked up online ahead of time where I thought we might find "our crowd." It was a non-demonational church - not too big or too small. We misread the start time and wandered around the neighboring area to kill some time. We saw a mix of housing, gigantic colonials to seemingly dilapidated shacks - many built in the early 1900s. All were sharing lots with giant oaks and green grass that lined the streets.
We returned to the church and sat down near the back and prepared ourselves to scrutinize the worship. We attend a musically gifted church, to say the least. Neither of us are qualified musicians, but I'd call us hard-to-please. But as it began, we were both a little surprised. There was a real familiarity to the voice and appearance of the worship leader. As my husband leaned over to whisper that he could have passed as the son of one of our favorites back home and the popular Christian artist Phil Wickham, I couldn't help but giggle. Then the pastor who spoke began with a passage in Acts where Paul describes that he was leaving his familiar people and it was a "tearing away" because it was a deep connection, but one that God had called him to leave. The tears welled in my eyes. I felt a strange pang in my stomach that I forced away. We stayed an extra ten minutes after the service to sit through the visitors' introduction they offered in a side room. We walked away feeling a peace that we could call this church home. Not that we would, of course.
Afterwards, we drove around to get familiar with the area. We walked around downtown and discovered that true to a smaller town, most shops were closed on a Sunday. It was quaint and there was evidence of old and new. A sense of revitalization in the form of hipster coffee shops and bars, alongside family diners, and historical buildings - some abandoned, some small movie theaters or antique stores. I felt a kinship growing. I could feel us falling in step with this slower pace of life - something still yearning for growth but not going too quickly. We drove by the old suspension bridge and the Fixer Upper silos under construction.
That night, I went to bed with a mix of confusion, fear, and hope. I don't think I could've explained it if I tried.
On Monday, we met a realtor. She was mix of Texas hospitality, charm, and down-to-earth mother of two boys. She drove a Mercedes SUV and worked for Magnolia (owned by Fixer Upper's Chip & Joanna Gaines). I don't think this is what I expected out of Waco. We explored about seven or eight homes in different areas and mostly with a lot of work needed - true Fixer Upper candidates.
Dinner that night was with the hospital director and his wife and a doctor and his newlywed wife. We were greeted in the restaurant and started discussing a camp that the director had just returned from dropping his son at - a post high school camp geared at helping fledgling adults decide what their Christian worldview meant to them personally. For a minute, I had an out of body experience. Wait, weren't we here to talk hospital and hips and knees with a side of building up our confidence in this city? By the time we were into our meal and past the prayer & introductions, we were knee deep in conversations about the housing market and our kids and homeschooling vs private school and coyotes snatching tiny dogs. There was medical talk at the end of our two hours, but it was a necessary connection that gave my husband a glimpse of what the work priorities & ethics of this organization and its doctors were. I'll admits that when I heard "It's a bad day when I'm home after 5 o'clock," my heart gave a leap.
We drove home in a torrential downpour that could have washed our tea cup auto off the interstate, but we were on a cloud of curious wonder at that point.
My husband spent the next day at the hospital meeting everyone there, including the CFO and CMO, a rare sighting in his SoCal digs. I toured about ten more homes and when we met up later that afternoon, he was pretty enamored with the hospital and its people.
We spent two more nights at the quaint Cotton Palace B&B. It was a place of rest and beauty and delicious breakfast with a side of Waco hospitality in the form of its sweet owner and its breakfast companion in the form of former Baylor baseball coach Dutch Schroeder. He gave us a mix of the "good and the bad" while we gleaned a deep sense of community from him and the other visitors at our table.
By the time, we headed home, after spending one more evening at a casual dinner at the newlyweds home, we were sure we had a serious decision on our hands. One that would cause us to change more than just our ocean-view address.
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