leaving

I've found, once again this time around, that as a way of living in denial that huge change is coming down the pike I have started neglecting my responsibilities.  Instead of leaning headlong into Christ, I lean headlong into projects that keep me busy and distract me from the inevitable.  
I think I've realized it sooner this time around, but it makes the fight against it no less difficult. 

Yuck.

 
I woke up this morning, not with scripture running through my mind or with a worship song running through my head, but with anxious thoughts about the move that is now just 6 weeks away.  As I tap this out on the keyboard I can hear through our open deck doors the waves crashing against those jagged black lava rocks that I once hated so entirely.  Now I can't imagine not hearing that sound each day.  

I couldn't image coming here, and now I can't imagine leaving this.  

that ocean - this view - the sunrise

boy paradise!

I didn't know how to come here and I now I don't know how to leave here.  

Leaving is an odd thing.  OH the wonder of not having to leave anymore.  That beautiful day will come.

 Not having to farewell precious friends that have pieces of our hearts attached to theirs.  

best of friends

taking the Pech's to the terminal for their flight to the States

one last book together

men

little pieces of my heart

last embrace

This time is different, a bit, because the people are leaving, too.  When we left Florida, we were the first to the springboard.  Everyone else stayed behind, together.  It hurt to the core.  They are all spread out now, each family in different locations.  

But here, we are all leaving.  No one can stay because the military says so.  So it's easier in that respect, but it's still leaving.  

And leaving this:

I didn't see the beauty at first - I saw it, but I didn't see and love it.   It took me a while to warm up to the relentless pounding of the waves - the sound, the smell, the roosters constantly crowing, the insane wind, the grey skies (probably stiiiill haven't warmed up to that)....all of it.  

I drew this in my journal this morning  - 2D art isn't my specialty, but I wanted to jot it down to remember how I feel right now.  It was the image in my head as soon as I woke this morning - digging my heals in, displacing things around me, clawing along as we grow closer and closer to our move date.   

I spend a lot of time in Matthew 6 - encouragement for not being anxious.   This image would fit perfectly for every pre-move time in my life.  There's been a lot of them, and I've done a lot of heel digging.  And then a lot of looking back and thinking, "Oh.  Yeah.  He didn't leave us in the dust this time, either."

I spend a lot of time in that beautiful leather bound Bible, but not enough.  Not enough when my heart still holds to distractions as a denial lifeline.  Not enough time when I struggle to fall asleep because I'm fighting anxious thoughts and I wake up with those same anxious thoughts.  Not enough time when I'd rather be sewing or shopping or taking pictures than praying and turning it over and over and over again to the only One that knows what the future holds.  Anxiety does NO good!  It accomplishes no good!  Literally none!

It's going to happen.  We are going to move.  I even asked Josh this morning if he thought it would be feasible to delay, to extend just a couple of months.  To get more beach time, more ocean time, more "adventures" along the boardwalk time, more sea glass hunt time, more island time, more living off base time, more having a yard for my boys time, more Manuela time (that is a whole other post entirely - OH my heart!) .  It can't happen.  

After restling with my thoughts while laying out and looking at the grey sky through our bedroom window this morning, that image above kept flashing back, but after restling I saw, yes in cartoon form, my heart holding hands with sweet Jesus and walking confidently toward that "Turkey" deadline.  When I'm hand in hand with him, in step, in touch, in community with Him things go much more smoothly.  My heart still races with the thought of the pain of leaving here, but it's not searing like it is when I ignore His gentle voice encouraging me to hold Him tight.

So I barrel on, fighting for joy in this process.  Fighting for joy in the leaving and the loss and the heartache.  He's never failed.  He will never fail.  He always remains, He always loves, He always knows.  Always.