amidst the favorite-time-of-year thoughts, my heart is heavy. i knew it would be hard. not only are memories of our old life packed away with the christmas decorations, but unmet hopes and plans for a future that will not be. i know we have been given much. but i can still grieve for a life not willingly given up. and that is where my problem lies. i still see this move as a life not chosen. i did not ask to be uprooted from people and a place we loved. my soul still asks why.
but we are here. and it is silly and unwise to let that question take up too much space. time and new memories will continue to soften the loneliness. until then, i need to remember that my home is not anywhere on this earth. i do not belong here. i am a stranger in a land that will not satisfy. so homesickness will be a constant companion. a reminder that there is something greater to come.
but we are here. so i gather pretties and i hock together inspiration. this is what beauty finding and joy choosing in this not-my-home home looks like today. pulling together bits and bobs to help me find my creative footing. this is healing.
and i look to a song for the words that sing for my heart. this advent poetry is doing the job mightily.
a weary me rejoices.