It feels like I'm standing still watching life happen around me.
It feels like pure exhaustion. My mind can't process anything yet is processing everything.
It feels like being out of place in my own skin.
It feels like I don't know who I am anymore.
It feels like a very low level of functioning.
It feels like shards of glass being raked over my heart if I think about it for too long.
It feels like tears that fall over the edge of my eyelids at the most unexpected of times.
It feels uncertain and scary and unreal and strange.
I don't really know how to put into words what it feels like to arrive. To return, rather. To return to something that should be so familiar-- yet feels so unknown. My thoughts feel disconnected and unorganized. My actions feel sporadic and clumsy. My heart feels timid and unsure. My soul feels tired and fragile.
I knew the transition wouldn't be easy. And in some ways, it has been...easy, that is. Well, maybe easy isn't the right word. Smooth. Full of grace. Small evidences of His goodness woven throughout. Moments of freedom and peace and certainty of His love for me. But in other ways, it's been extremely difficult. Difficult in ways I don't really know how to explain yet.
Little by little I know that the transition will unravel in exactly the way it should. Because even if I'm not confidant of anything else, I am confident of this: He goes before all things and in Him all things hold together. (Colossians 1:17) And He will be with me siempre, even to the end of times. (Matthew 28:20)
Little by little I know that the transition will unravel in exactly the way it should. Because even if I'm not confidant of anything else, I am confident of this: He goes before all things and in Him all things hold together. (Colossians 1:17) And He will be with me siempre, even to the end of times. (Matthew 28:20)
So I hold onto hope as I keep putting one foot in front of the other - trusting that even though I don't know the full path in front of me, each step I take is being guided by One who does.
