In Oceans Deep

Moving Journal Entry #2

June 19, 2014

One thing about moving that I find hard is "the last times". There's the last drive to school, the last sleep in your room, the last walk down the driveway, the last smell of the lilacs, the last stroll with the dog, last look around at the place you've called Home.

Because I'm of the sensitive-soul type (who isn't, though, really), I think about these things and I have a sharp-knife-point awareness of them as we go along. I try not to think too much or move too fast, to keep the point on the outside of the skin, to keep the hurt out. I'm too aware of the stress my children are feeling. We all are under the weight of loss and the relentless time-keeping the days impose. My husband's voice is a bit sharp as we drive away and leave his old red truck in someone else's driveway.

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders, let me walk upon the waters, wherever you would call me Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander and my faith will be made stronger in the presence of my Savior                            

 "Oceans"      -HILLSONG

Keep our eyes above the waves, Lord.

The only way through is to keep walking, keep one foot stepping in front of the other. Every other day we ask ourselves and each other -
 'What are we doing, again? This is a good thing, right? Are you sure we've got this right?'
This is where the exercising of the faith comes in. I must confess the muscle is weak and flabby and tires easily.


One moment I'm packing, fast and efficient, cleaning almost frantically - tripping, phoning, getting things done. The next, I'm slowed to a crawl. I stare at the cupboards, wonder what to do with the food (What did we do last time? Why can't I remember anything?) and then turn away from the cupboards and go outside. I'm worried the piano won't take one more move. We need that piano, it's a family heirloom now, and Lauren plays it constantly - but the legs have become weak. I'm afraid to move it even one inch. What if it breaks? I might break.

Because I'm sentimental but also ridiculous and sarcastic, there's a bit of Jekyll and Hyde going on. A tear rolls down for some reason. Two minutes later I'm rolling my own eyes at my own tears. Cue exaggerated eye-rolling. (It's not that big of a deal! Come on, people move every day. Get over it.) Much of the time I'm just fine and logical and perfectly calm, a paragon of rationality, one might say. Mmm.

I am more than Thankful for these days when I've had a few hours to myself, where I can think and sit in the quiet of an empty house and plan. I realize it's a huge privilege and I don't take it for granted, and I also know it's pretty much over. This afternoon is sports day at the school, then tomorrow is a short day, the last day. Today I'm going to be mowing the lawn, packing every box and thing I'm able to lift into a container, selling the mower, dealing with stuff. Looking for more boxes. I thought I had PLENTY of boxes, but I thought wrong.

The thing with Last Things, what gives them a knife-edge of sadness, is the word regret. Regret is one of the saddest words in the English language, me-thinks.

Because whenever you say good bye to something, there's always a what if. What if we had spent more time in the yard? What if the kids had finished the fort? Why didn't I have more family and friends over? Why didn't I finish that project? Why didn't we take more family photos? Ahh, regret. It permeates life. We never have enough time. We always make mistakes, that's just the way it is. We do our best with what we have in each moment, and sometimes we don't have anything left in that moment and our best is pitiful and sad.
But I believe it's ok. I believe this is NOT the END. How can we step out with confidence? How to set our hearts and eyes straight forward? How to let the sad and regret shake off like water drops, to only absorb what we can handle? How?
Because this isn't the end.
Eternity stretches out - and I believe we will have all of heaven to get the moments back. All is not lost! It's never lost, as long as we are breathing. I can do all these hard things, yes sometimes with tears, when I am holding the Hand of my God. Everything else I can let go, because when we leave this brief earth-sojourn it is only His Hand we will be holding.

...and there I find You in the mystery, in oceans deep my faith will stand