I cry a lot lately.
Just here and there, and everywhere–any random thing can make the waters rise and trickle down my cheeks.
At the local park, as I round the corner of the pond and gaze on the most beautiful mountain range I’ve ever lived near and realize that I’m leaving my mountains.
At the FedEx/Kinkos office, where James, the most helpful and kindest employee ever, remembers my name, and recalls that my son is about 1 1/2 (Josh is 15 months old–I’d say James was pretty close!)
At the weekly Bible study with ladies I’ve taken for granted and now realize I will deeply deeply miss … no explanation needed. The tears flow just writing about it.
At the sound of Joshua squealing and clapping in delight as we make the right turn into my parents’ drive. My tears could rival waterfalls in the Amazon.
At the memories in this home, the far off voices in the walls, the images that float through the halls. The dam might break forever if I contemplate what leaving this house will feel like.
At the moment in Denver where I thought I heard someone call our names. No one did, but the fact that I knew we could run into someone we knew was wonderful. Until I remembered we’re moving to a place where no one knows us and it’ll be rare for many years for us to run into people we know anywhere we go.
At the twists and turns and streets and stoplights that I can navigate in my sleep, and have since high school.
At the reassurance that I always have a place to go when I need a break, a hug or some super super super ridiculously strong coffee. (A.K.A. Mom and Dad’s. The coffee is always stronger when Mom makes it though…)
At the truth that explodes in my heart that while this is where I’m known, this is where I reside, this is where I wish I could live forever … I’m no longer called to be here. The tears that well and gush and flow at that are a mixture of grief and hope. Grief at leaving my home, and hope at the prospect of an adventure. Grief at leaving the known for the unknown, and hope at the blessings of following the call of my Lord. Grief and hope … tears and more tears.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again–moving is hard.