I accept your dare, Switchfoot. I accept.

I’m moving back to Nebraska. The good life. At least that’s what the slogan promises. It’s not my best life now a-la Joel Osteen. It’s, ‘Welcome to Nebraska — The Good Life,’ as the state sign at the border proclaims.

After six and a half years in Tennessee, I’m returning to my roots. I find this interesting because my name — Lindsay — means talking tree. Trees have roots. I am a person who wants to loyally and lavishly land somewhere for a long time. I want to establish myself and become part of a network.

And, honestly, the entire time I’ve been in Tennessee I’ve sensed a hesitancy to truly root myself here. I was as committed and faithful as I could be, but I did not ever feel completely comfortable with practicing permanence here. However, I didn’t fully identify that feeling until I made the determination to move back. It was then that I realized what it was.

God knew He would move me back to the Cornhusker state. That’s why I felt those fleeting feelings. That’s why I often thought I was on an extended vacation as I traveled these Tennessee roads. That’s why I felt this compulsive urgency to take everything in and remember it…because I wouldn’t be seeing these sights for the rest of my life. It was a season to be remembered fondly. Not a place to take up permanent residence.

I don’t know exactly what Nebraska will hold. But I’m hopeful. I’m encouraged and positive that I’ll meet my elusive husband soon. I’m anticipating that I’ll really enjoy my new career as a corporate journalist.

And I know with everything within me that God is just as much in Nebraska as He is in Tennessee. He’s got a community of people waiting for me. There’s a Lindsay-shaped hole there that this talking tree needs to fill.