#462

 Every experience has a "take away". I'd like to share take away #462. 

You see, I bought a house last week. This is the seventh house I've lived in and the first that is on a number street, not a name street. For some reason that seems significant.

If you look back at life experiences, even the really difficult ones, you see the path you are led down. If I hadn't gotten married the first time, I wouldn't have been blessed with three terrific kids. If my first husband hadn't left me, I wouldn't have learned that I could raise kids mostly on my own. Mostly alone, not entirely alone, because we are never really alone. Unless we choose to be. That's a whole different blog. We basically have a complete support system that works entirely in the background. God is that good, how cool is that?

If I hadn't married a second time, I would never have moved away from the big city. Granted, doing that at age 50 was no easy task. If I hadn't move away from home, I'd have never found my country girl heart and experienced how wonderful rural America is. I didn't know I longed for a rural life. But that support system that works in the background? It completely knew.

Out there, in the middle of corn fields, in the middle of nowhere, a tiny community adopted us and became our family. Yes, they thought we might be members of the witness protection program, but still they embraced us. They too were part of the bigger plan.

As rural life grew to be home, so too did struggles and hardship. No one goes without hardship. Without hardship there is no growth. Without hardship life does not evolve. The support system in the background? It's all about support and evolution. It supports us in joy, and it supports us in tragedy. Without the tragedy of becoming a survivor of suicide loss, I would not have pulled up roots and returned to the city. Funny thing is, when I got to the city I discovered I couldn't live there any longer. I am not a big city girl. And, that is okay. 

So according to the greater plan, which of course I have no control of, I found my way to a smaller community. I'll work in the city, I'll be close to my city kids. But I'll enjoy the quiet of a smaller town. So back to the take away, in case you thought I forgot. I hired a local moving company to move my furniture and appliances. A group of guys who are fire fighters by trade, and move people on the side. They see a lot of life on both jobs. They probably see stuff that would make us cry. When they finished moving my stuff, including way too many flower pots, cement bird baths and planter pots, random really cool rocks, a hydraulic wood splitter, and a riding mower that would not start. In the rain, did I mention the in the rain part? I pulled them aside and shared the take away. They are #462 on my list of 1000 graces. Without all the other life experiences, without marriage, childbirth, divorce, remarriage, moving, love & loss, moving back to the city and then out of the city again. I would not be here, they would not have shared this day in my journey. Giving thanks for #462 on my list of graces, for my new home and the bigger plan that guides and unfolds before me.

Home

There is, I believe, always going to be a longing for my old life, even as I embrace my new life. Life is a mixture of bitter and sweet. Easy and hard. Empty and full. 

I am beginning a new chapter, putting down new roots. And, yes, I cried. You would expect no less from me. I didn't let you down. In the midst of joyful anticipation, I will always be reminded exactly why I am where I am. It is okay. It is part of my journey. It is both joyful and sad, I can embrace both.

I've been in transition for quite some time. We know transition is uncomfortable, we know it can be painful, we know good comes in the end. It's just the hurdles we cross to get there that are hard. Hurdles are not my strong suit, but moving towards them, launching over them, sometimes stumbling over them and moving beyond is what I've been led to do. I may have fallen a time or two. Strong hands of faith and love always pick me up.

I am excited. That has been a long time coming. I've been blessed, I've never doubted that. I have been guided even when I've struggled with how life has unfolded. Yet every step of the way has been planned, and every place I've landed met, and often exceeded, my needs. I found family in the big city, family in little villages, family in friendships, and family in faith.

I'm moving again and am going to unpack, really unpack. See what is in all those boxes. See what fits, see what needs re-homed. I planted today. literal roots and figurative roots. I planted my first perennial in my new yard and I planted roots of a new life. And....I cried. Because even good change is hard. I cried, because love surrounded me. I cried for the past, and I cried for the future. 

I prayed as well, in gratitude for all who've walked this journey with me. You see, I've packed you too. All my parts travel along, all my parts make up the whole. My parts, the broken, the beautiful, the cracked, and the mended. Help define me, help me grow. Help me begin a new chapter. I believe I'll call it Home.

I'm Finding

I'm finding myself. I'm finding my way. Sometimes with one foot planted in the past and the other trying to move into the future. It takes a while to get anywhere like that. Growth, like healing, is a slow process. Don't get me wrong, there are dazzling moments of clarity and boggling moments of uncertainty. Admittedly the dazzling moments are few and far between. Mostly we plan and pray the road opens up in ways we'd like. We are hesitant, and questioning. On a path that is sometimes rocky and obscure. 

If it was easy, if it was obvious, it wouldn't propel us forward. Life is what happens between point A and point B. It's messy, it's heartbreaking, it's beautiful. I had this vision of what it would be like moving back to the city, back near my kids. I thought it would be full of social opportunities. I didn't anticipate social distancing, and a pandemic. For a while I was deeply alone in a place that didn't feel like home. I was used to alone. Alone in a place you feel at home in is a different kind of alone. Alone in the unknown is painful. Through this I've learned not to fight being alone. 

The few I interact with socially are family and dear friends. Even then visits are few and far between. I know I'll see less of them in the winter months. Because of this communication takes on new meaning.This pandemic has pushed us to condense our interactions to the bare minimum. For the record it sucks. It's necessary, but it sucks. It does not, and cannot, erase our connections. They are sacred. Some are connections we've grown up with, some are newer. Some help us find our way when we get lost, share our laughter, bring us gifts that build our faith. Some share our passions, and some are vastly different. Some understand our pain, some love us in ways we can't love ourselves.

I am finding my way. Never in a million years did I dream I'd be here, now, as I am. I could not anticipate the losses, the grief, the growth or the blessings. I'm finding alone is okay (as long as I have dogs) and people I love near. And...."near" is not defined in miles but by interaction, investment and connection. Would I prefer things to be different? Perhaps in some cases, not at all in some situations, absolutely in others, and possibly in a few. But, here is filled with grace. Here is part of a journey, not simply a destination. Here is an unfolding. So I trust in the process even when I don't understand it. I work to accept the now, and find myself in small ways and large.