They say parting is such sweet sorrow. Might be true.
Moving is a sweet, painful pain. As I’ve been packing to move (happened last week, my posts are scheduled one per week, but I write them as inspiration strikes (this is the second one I’ve written today)), I’ve had time to contemplate all the things that went through my head the last time I moved (July).
I was so ready to move. I was grieving for things lost, excited for new chances, a new job, a new job, and the chance to make impacts in kids’ lives.
Nine months later, I’m packing up and heading back to where I was. Back to some comforts. Back to friends. Away from what feels like failure and wasted opportunity.
And then there’s the dust. That stuff collects everywhere. On shelves, on printers, on books. I can’t get away from it.
But I have a different view on my life now than I did nine months ago. I’ve been through a lot.
One big move.
One kind bishop.
One job from hell.
One job lacking reliable colleagues.
Two minor relationships.
Two incredible angels.
One mind-twin.
One chance to be someone else’s angel.
Two hundred amazing kids.
One major depression.
No end in sight.
Infinitely valuable experience.
So now I return to where I was a different person. Will I return to my old self? Will I take the few things about me that are better with me?
Will I continue to grow? I better. Will I need the support of those around me? Most probably.
Am I hopeful for my future? Yes. Though I may see little more than darkness, I choose to focus on the pinpoint of hope in my vision.
