Nearly a week ago a friend that I've known since pre-school got married in my birth town of Owosso, Michgan. I call it my birth town rather than my hometown, because I was only six years old when my parents, siblings, and I moved out of the parsonage.
Parsonage is a fancy name for a house owned by a church that the Pastor and his family get to live in for free.
We scored BIG on our parsonage. Rather than being a the standard humble abode, we lived in a grand 4 bedroom Victorian Home that was featured each year on the city's tour of homes.
The parsonage was located across the street from the church where my Dad served as a Pastor for 7 years. 7, according to the Bible, is a number that symbolizes completion, so the number of years my Dad spent at that church might seem appropriate; however, his time ended there with a forced signature of resignation.
Half the church left when we did, and rather than feeling complete and whole about our 7 years in Owosso, we were left broken.
Even still, for some reason, I had in my mind, that someday I would return to Owosso, and return to that same church to state my wedding vows.
So a few years ago, when "he" told me over the phone that aside from Spring Hill, there's another place to him that is super special... and it's this town in small town in Michigan called Owosso.