Every Little Thing by April Jeppson

 

We took the family up to Bismarck for Thanksgiving this year. It’s a 10-hour trip after you take into consideration all the bathroom and meal breaks — especially when you have three children who don’t schedule their bowel movements at the same time.

As I am driving past towns on I-94, I notice how things have changed. A new car dealership. A new billboard. Oooh, is that a Chick-fil-A? I’m also taken back to memories recent and long forgotten — Christmas in July at my cousin’s in Monticello or working at Perkins during the bar shift in St. Cloud.

I see that Moorhead is only a few miles away. I went to Minnesota State University Moorhead after high school. I remember thinking that the four-hour drive from my hometown was the perfect distance from my family. I could still come for the weekend if I wanted to, but it was just far enough away where I wouldn’t actually want to go home every weekend.

As the town gets closer, the sights become familiar. This stretch of interstate I’ve traveled more times than I can recall. Every time I come through, I notice something new is being built. It has been 18 years since my freshman year of college, and this town has grown so much. As we take the exit to my favorite sandwich shop, I notice everything. They’ve improved the exit ramp — it’s wider. The grocery store on the corner is closed. When did that burger joint open up?

As we get closer to my neck of the woods, the memories come back in droves. Concordia looks gorgeous at night — there’s the bell tower. Rumor was if you walked under it, you’d be cursed to never get married (or something). So my friend Jay and I walked though it together, and then made a promise that if we weren’t married by the time we were 29 (we thought that was so old), then we’d marry each other. I smile as I think about the shenanigans we used to get into.

I didn’t get a vehicle until I was 20, so I spent a lot of time walking those streets in between campus and the surrounding community. There’s a different level of connection when you walk through town rather than driving through it. Even on my bicycle, you just feel more a part of it. You notice people. You notice the way people care for their lawns. You notice the details in the buildings. I didn’t realize how much of my heart belongs to this city, but I think it’s all the time I spent in it.

I look to the right and the gas station that I used to visit on my lunch breaks from work is nonexistent. In its place is a giant, shiny building that looks mildly out of place next to the old DQ. It’s been a year since I’ve had the chicken cordon bleu, but I don’t need directions to find Grand Junction — my stomach is a good navigator. Seriously, guys. If you have the opportunity, go to any Grand Junction in the Fargo area and order it. You won’t be disappointed.

There’s always a twinge in the back of my mind that my sandwich won’t be as good as I remember. Maybe they got a new supplier for their chicken or a new brand of honey mustard. I mean, so much has changed in this town over the years, why would my cordon bleu be spared from the remodel?

As I take my first bite, I’m instantly transported back to 2001. It’s just as good as it has been every time I’ve ordered it — it’s perfect. It occurs to me that maybe it’s not that this is the best sandwich shop in the world, but maybe I have such fond memories of my time here that it makes it so much more delicious.

Then I think of my own children and the memories they are creating right here in our little town. What will they look back on fondly? Will they make their kids walk down by the mermaid? Eat a giant pancake at B&B? Or find the family brick by the splash pad?

I love growth and change — it’s fun and exciting. I thrive off it. I also like reminiscing, thinking about adventures and friendships from long ago. As we embrace all the blessings that change often provides, it’s nice to know some things are still exactly the same as we remember them — like my delicious cordon bleu.

Albert Lean April Jeppson is a wife, mom, coach and encourager of dreams.