In my rose-colored glasses (that are often tinted very grey), March was the goal. If I could just make it to spring, things would be good. Surely by March I would have made tons of friends. Surely by March I would have kicked the writer’s-block and been well on my way toward getting Nor Forsake off my hard drive and into your hands. By March we would have committed to a local fellowship, and our life in the Austin area would generally be classified as “underway.”
So it’s March and none of those things has happened yet. It’s March and I feel as though I have nothing to show for it. Okay, not nothing. I have a heart that has received much healing and is still in position to receive much more. I have spent hours with the Father exploring the cracks and crevices that have been in my soul for years. I have overcome so much in the past two months. I also have three friends here, and I started out with zero. Two of them even offer to help me with my kids when I need it! That’s huge.
It is the enemy’s plan to diminish all of that though, and show me the landscape of weeds that need clearing and rocky mountains that I still have to summit. It is very hard to fight the hopelessness that he throws at me almost every day. When I was finally healthy enough to get out of bed in January and seek the Father, the word He spoke over this time was ‘Patience.’ That has never been something I excel at, and I have to remind myself every day that it is the word for now.
I want the answer to my biggest question . . . “Why?” In some ways, I can see part of it. Had I been back in Fort Worth, surrounded by everything I held dear, I never would have seen the issues in my heart. And without these long days of solitude, I wouldn’t have taken the time to spend working with the Father through all of these things. I am thankful for this time because of that reason alone.
But I’m still not sure what this whole move has been about. Surely it wasn’t just for me — there has to be more. I’m thankful that I have friends who’ve been down this road and who’ve reminded me to cut myself some slack. It’s been 2 months. We are still Austin-infants.
I’d like to find hope in that word. It means that there is a reason. It means that the Father is up to something. Instead of this hopelessness that I am fighting, I know He wants me to anticipate what He is doing. Sometimes it’s harder than others to remember that, though.
The kids are adjusting well for the most part. It’s funny, I really thought Josiah would have the hardest time, but it has been my super-social-most-popular-yet-tender-hearted Salem who I have found at various moments crying in bed, or in his closet, missing his friends. It breaks my heart, and I grieve alongside of him as I promised I would when we announced that we were moving. I wonder what the Father is working on for him? For Josiah? For Rocky?
But for how long, Lord? I see myself having to re-learn things I had forgotten as I settled into my routine in DFW. Life is happening right now. There is no waiting to be — we are here, this is now. Embrace the now, Julie, I tell myself. Life is underway. I find myself longing to return home to Canada, simply because it feels safe from here. That’s a very skewed outlook, because I remember how hard it was at times to be there this past summer. But it is a place that I know, it is a haven, I suppose.
I’m struggling to hit ‘publish’ on this. Is it too real? My commitment to this blog and to my writing is to be real, and this is my reality right now. This is hard. If not for the Father’s promises, I would not have chosen this path for my family. But His promises were there, they are here, even if I have to hang on to them with sweaty palms, feeling like I’m dangling over a cliff. His promises are my only hope. So here I go.