"I am alarmed when it happens that I have walked a mile
into the woods bodily, without getting there in spirit...What business have
I in the woods, if I am thinking of something out of the woods? I
suspect myself, and cannot help a shudder when I find myself so
implicated even in what are called good works--for this may
sometimes happen." -Henry David Thoreau, Walking
Don't get the wrong impression--I don't sit around reading Thoreau. This was just fitting and I happened to know enough of the gist to Google it. Wouldn't want y'all to think I'd gone academic English on y'all: that's my brother's job. I don't even know if I just used that colon correctly in that last sentence.
We're in a period of major potential transition, which, I think, can be just as hard as the transition itself. The uncertainty of the lead-up doesn't have the "luxury" of the forced busyness of the real bustle of change. It's all research and planning and waiting and stressing about looming giants. It's exhausting, really. I would rather be in the thick of really doing something.
We moved here to Mississippi for seminary nearly 10 years ago (Daric) and 9 years ago (me), and we kind of just ended up staying because it was, well, where we were. It was always supposed to be a season. We've met some absolutely fantastic people, grown a lot, and made some memories. We got married and had our first baby here. I, personally, love a lot about where we live, the culture, our church, the food... Mississippi has hosted a significant chunk of our lives. But you know there's a "but" coming.
I've tried to maximize my time here. I've tried to "bloom where I have been planted." I've tried to love those around me, be involved, experience life, carpe diem and all that jazz. But it's always been in a bit of a haze. I've always been a little numb. It's not that I regret living here or that I'm homesick for somewhere else...I can't really put my finger on it, exactly. It's just that I know that I'm not where I need to be in the future even if it's been okay to be here until now. And maybe some of that's not the place I've been but what I've been doing with me.
We're exploring the possibility of moving back to Indiana to be near family, but that's not some panacea for my restless spirit wandering around parts unknown while my body is a mile inside a forest. It would be great to be near family, and Indiana isn't bad, but it's not going to be the answer to all my questions and solution to all my problems. My spirit may or may not meet up with me there. I think that has more to do with the location of my heart in relation to the Lord than the location of my abode in relation to the Mason-Dixon Line.
And so I continue to ask the questions about what I should be doing to bloom and where best to do it. I try to experience the beauty of the forest around me as best I can for not being all there. And even though there's some inexplicable disconnect, I get sadder the more I think about leaving. It's not such a bad little forest. For all the distractions keeping me from being fully present in it, I've grown accustomed to its humidity and friendliness.
I pray for for provision in the face of buying a home while still in astronomical student loan debt, for guidance in the face of uncertainty, and for purpose in the face of a nebulous falling feeling. We're supposed to leave places better than we found them, and I pray also that I can say that I did.
There's so much rattling around in my misty mind, but it's muffled by the demands of everyday wife and motherhood. Here in the quiet of the midnight hours, I find myself pulling the tangled and frizzy strands of thought I've accumulated throughout the day together and trying to comb them smooth. I know they all go together, but it would take a while to get it all straight. It won't happen, but the quiet is nice. Typing that just woke my son up.
No matter where we go, I will keep reaching up towards the light and warmth of the sun, trying to bloom even out of season. Even if my heart isn't in it, I refuse to waste my time. If I can't figure out what to do, I'll just do something. I think that's what waiting looks like in the Kingdom. Wait actively.
Don't get the wrong impression--I don't sit around reading Thoreau. This was just fitting and I happened to know enough of the gist to Google it. Wouldn't want y'all to think I'd gone academic English on y'all: that's my brother's job. I don't even know if I just used that colon correctly in that last sentence.
We're in a period of major potential transition, which, I think, can be just as hard as the transition itself. The uncertainty of the lead-up doesn't have the "luxury" of the forced busyness of the real bustle of change. It's all research and planning and waiting and stressing about looming giants. It's exhausting, really. I would rather be in the thick of really doing something.
We moved here to Mississippi for seminary nearly 10 years ago (Daric) and 9 years ago (me), and we kind of just ended up staying because it was, well, where we were. It was always supposed to be a season. We've met some absolutely fantastic people, grown a lot, and made some memories. We got married and had our first baby here. I, personally, love a lot about where we live, the culture, our church, the food... Mississippi has hosted a significant chunk of our lives. But you know there's a "but" coming.
I've tried to maximize my time here. I've tried to "bloom where I have been planted." I've tried to love those around me, be involved, experience life, carpe diem and all that jazz. But it's always been in a bit of a haze. I've always been a little numb. It's not that I regret living here or that I'm homesick for somewhere else...I can't really put my finger on it, exactly. It's just that I know that I'm not where I need to be in the future even if it's been okay to be here until now. And maybe some of that's not the place I've been but what I've been doing with me.
We're exploring the possibility of moving back to Indiana to be near family, but that's not some panacea for my restless spirit wandering around parts unknown while my body is a mile inside a forest. It would be great to be near family, and Indiana isn't bad, but it's not going to be the answer to all my questions and solution to all my problems. My spirit may or may not meet up with me there. I think that has more to do with the location of my heart in relation to the Lord than the location of my abode in relation to the Mason-Dixon Line.
And so I continue to ask the questions about what I should be doing to bloom and where best to do it. I try to experience the beauty of the forest around me as best I can for not being all there. And even though there's some inexplicable disconnect, I get sadder the more I think about leaving. It's not such a bad little forest. For all the distractions keeping me from being fully present in it, I've grown accustomed to its humidity and friendliness.
I pray for for provision in the face of buying a home while still in astronomical student loan debt, for guidance in the face of uncertainty, and for purpose in the face of a nebulous falling feeling. We're supposed to leave places better than we found them, and I pray also that I can say that I did.
There's so much rattling around in my misty mind, but it's muffled by the demands of everyday wife and motherhood. Here in the quiet of the midnight hours, I find myself pulling the tangled and frizzy strands of thought I've accumulated throughout the day together and trying to comb them smooth. I know they all go together, but it would take a while to get it all straight. It won't happen, but the quiet is nice. Typing that just woke my son up.
No matter where we go, I will keep reaching up towards the light and warmth of the sun, trying to bloom even out of season. Even if my heart isn't in it, I refuse to waste my time. If I can't figure out what to do, I'll just do something. I think that's what waiting looks like in the Kingdom. Wait actively.
“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.” -Rainer Maria Rilke
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