Almost tangeable
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I remember moving from my childhood home when I was 15. It was the summer after my freshman year of high school. I had made new and wonderful friendships that year. Leaving was painful. Leaving my friends hurt, but leaving Powell hurt worse. We moved there when I was 4 1/2. It was my 'childhood home'. I remember.
Laying in bed in our house in Cheyenne. I'd close my eyes, even months after we'd moved, and I could hear the sound that each door of our 'Powell house' made when it close or was opened. I could hear the meadow larks and the sound of the breeze through the cottonwoods growing tall in our garden littered with rows or strawberry plants and overgrown rhubarb plants. I could hear the meadow larks, and see heart mountain, every curve of it and the way the light hit all the high spots when the sun was setting behind it's beautiful silhouette. It was all so vivid.
I felt the same when leaving Covenant Bible College in Canada in 2003. I'd been there for only a short 8 months for the program, graduated and it was time to go back south to Cheyenne, Wyoming. I cried myself to sleep in my parent's jeep as they drove south, silently. They let me grieve. I simply couldn't imagine living without the community I'd grown to love at CBC. Jesus' hands were in every part of that 8 months. It was a beautiful orchestration of what I truly believe is his idea of how 'community' is supposed to look. Again, months later, I could hear the sounds of door, the quiet conversations in the yard around campus. The sound of each of my friends as they laughed coming down the long hallway of windows that led to each dorm.
I dreamt of Florida last night. I awoke to the sound of the waves and was, for a moment, confused at my surroundings. My heart sank a bit when I realized it was all just a dream. I laid quietly and could 'hear' all the sounds. The cicadas. The sound of the screen door slamming shut after being let go by a running boy. The sound of the pump in our backyard. The sound of Elijah's Tarzan scream as he swung back and forth from the rope we tied to a high tree. The sound of Judah playing with the hose. All the things I've written of already. And all the doors - I can still hear the way they sounded. The sound of my friend's voice as she often just dropped by for just a moment. Walking through the door unannounced, much to my pleasant surprise. She was always a joy to see. The sound of families showing up for our 'home group' on Sunday nights and our conversations on the back deck, late into the evenings.
It was all so vivid. I could see it in front of me as I laid on our loaner bed looking out our bedroom window at the light across the sky from a sun already risen. The sound of the waves is still unfamiliar, after a month. With all three of those moves I'm certain I've been convinced each time that 'this one' is the most painful. The pain of leaving Powell 15 years ago has subsided. The pain of leaving CBC 10 years ago has subsided. The pain of leaving Florida still pulls at my heart on a daily basis.
I've been told I dwell in the past. I prefer to think that I'm sentimental. At times I wish for those seasons to be in the present, to have them back if only for a short time, but mostly I just love reflecting on the intricate details of the blessings our Creator pours out in every season of our life. Every season of my life. Tears most often come with remembering, but they do not remain painful tears - after a while. I grieve the loss of those all the while knowing that come Heaven, there will be no more grieving. The leaving won't happen. The goodbyes will be over. Beauty will abound behind every crack and crevice and there will be no apprehension of the impending changing season.