complicated.

Three months, three weeks and five days. It seems like such a random, insignificant amount of time yet today it weighs heavy on my heart.

It's hard to find words to wrap around that piece of my life. When people ask about it, I smile quietly as to brush them off, embarrassed of the pit that forms in my stomach and the sudden catch in my throat. If I'm quite honest with myself, it's easier to just not think about it. Three months, three weeks and five days since I got off that plane...yet it feels like a lifetime ago.

I'm finding now that the further I move away, the harder it is to pretend. The longings come more fiercely now. The pain of missing the people I love there hits me when I least expect it. The ache for little things like a sun that rises at six a.m., the teal chair I sat in every morning to read and write, the circle of woman on Tuesday nights who made me laugh til my sides hurt. 

How easy is has been to put on a show. Most people, I find, have assumed that with a new job, new fiancé and new city, I have completely forgotten. That because I have Target and Chick-Fil-A at the tip of my fingers, I don't think about Nicaragua anymore. That I don't miss the busy noises of city life, the rice and beans for breakfast, the high quality of coffee that is truly unmerited, the feeling of locking arms with people of a different culture to mutually learn from one another.

But these are false assumptions.

The transition of returning is far more complicated than I ever imagined it would be. The internal battle of identity and purpose rages within me daily. The disconnection from my sense of self has me questioning everything. The paralyzing feeling of constantly being outside of my own skin, lost in a world where I "should be" at home.

I wish that I had a pretty bow to tie all this up in - a way to explain how I am able to put my trust in Jesus, just be in His presence, experience the realness of His promises. But I don't. And I can't. My current reality is one that is all mangled and messy and imperfect. Yes, I have moments of joy, grace and His goodness. Yes, I cherish experiencing the fall, being in love, learning a new job, sitting in coffee shops. Yes, I am confidant that I am exactly where He wants me to be.

Most days I feel as if it should be easier to have it all together here...but it's not. It's only easier to pretend to have it all together. And I'm finally coming into the realization that it is okay that I don't quite yet.

cloudy.

The worst is when you can't see anything.

When you look out that small, rounded window and all you see is a white haze of clouds. Nothing.But.White. No beautiful blue sky, no comforting green trees below...just white.

I don't like anything about flying. Something about being suspended in air thousands of miles above the ground in a metal box with wings brings out an inexplicable anxiety in me. But when the view outside my window turns white....it's all I can do to grab hold of my arm rest for dear life { or the hand of the person next to me, if you are so lucky as to receive the gift of sitting with me in an airplane } and focus on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

Because it's in the white when everything becomes bumpy, when turbulence hits the strongest. The slightest jolt of the plane sends my heart into panic. With each bump, I'm sure that we are falling to our death. I don't think straight. My knee begins to shake. The anxiety builds to the point of debilitation. Suddenly, I am controlled by my surroundings...the white cloudy mess of it right outside the window.

Oh and isn't that how it works in my life? When the cloudiness and confusion seep in, everything seems to be falling apart. Can't think straight. Don't know which way is up. Every little bump in the road of life throws me into even more confusion and desperation and the assumption of my impending doom. Will I ever make it out of the fog?

What else can I do but wait. To grab hold of those arm rests - to reach out to people I know are safe and to stand on what I know is true. And breath in deeply the grace of God as I wait for the cloud the pass. I rest in the mystery of what God is doing. The white haziness of life can't stay forever.

Eventually, I spy a peep of sunlight or a glimpse of sky or the ground unfolding below me...relief washes over me and I remember: everything will be okay. The cloudiness will not kill me. The unknown will not break me. The anxiety will not overcome me.

It's in these moments, I stand firm on this promise..."Behold, I will be with you always."

Even in the distortedness of a cloudy window, He does not leave us alone. And I will trust this - I must trust this - with every inch of my being. Because without it all hope is lost. And I cannot lose this grace-filled, loving, trusting kind of hope.

grow.

The first thing I saw was a card, Trader Joe's Cookie Butter and the cutest little pot of purple flowers. They sat neatly together on the back porch like an old friend welcoming me home. My heart was filled with joy by this sweet friend of mine, who truly knows me and my love for little gifts. The flowers stayed on the back porch during my entire ten day fundraising stint to South Carolina. Each time I sat out there, { which was fairly often } I was reminded of this kindness.

Over the ten days, I was on this back porch almost every morning and every evening. I started my day there sitting in the rocking chairs: reading, writing, drinking coffee, soaking it all in. I ended my day there eating Chuck Salley home-cooked meals, sipping wine while talking and laughing with my parents. The perfect combination of an incredible view, amazing weather and loving company brought a certain sweetness to my soul.

But the flowers. This sweet little pot of flowers taught me something. You see, at the start of each day I noticed something very basic that I had forgotten about flowers: they need the sun to survive. So these flowers would quite literally grow towards the sun. They grew towards the light. Their flimsy stems would bend, their whimsical petals open wide - all to be able to drink in the sun.

They knew what they needed and they fought for it, these brave, strong little flowers. Even when I turned the pot around so that the other side could receive its life source, the steams and leaves and petals would seek the sun. Their fight for sunlight was constant, perhaps grueling. But they never gave up.

These flowers, in their own funny little way, taught me courage. They taught me strength. That even when my world gets turned around and it seems I am facing some darkness, confusion, uncertainty, anxiety - to remember:

"Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go." - Joshua 1:9

Grow towards the Light, oh my soul. 

remember.

Dear soul,

Please don't give up just yet. I know you are faint, I know you hurt, I know it's hard...but sweetness awaits. Don't forget Who it is that holds you together. That soothes the ache. That mends the brokenness. That fills the holes.

Remember...when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. And when you walk through the fire, it will not consume you. He is with you always. (Isaiah 43)

Remember...He holds your right hand, guiding you along His ways. He is your strength, oh heart, and your portion forever. (Psalm 73)

Remember...that love of His, that relentless love, is wide and long and deep and high. And enough...it is enough for you. (Ephesians 3)

Remember...suffering gives way to perseverance; perseverance, character; character, hope - and hope will never disappoint. Stand on this grace, my soul, and rejoice. (Romans 5)

Remember...all this? All these troubles? They are light and momentary. They are achieving for you an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. Fix your eyes not on the temporary, not on what only you see...fix them on eternity. (2 Corinthians 4)

Remember...before all things, He was there. In all things, He is there. (Colossians 1)

Remember...this God of yours, this God of all grace, will restore you - making you strong, firm and steadfast. (1 Peter 5)

Remember...you will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Be strong, take heart and wait on the LORD in confidence. (Psalm 27)

Remember...His banner over you is love - and His is the sweetest love of all. (Song of Solomon 2)

Be brave, dear soul, for you have not been forgotten. Let the tears fall when they may, for He cherishes each one. I know your temptation to run, hide, self protect... if you let fear win out now, you will miss the blessings. And yes, there are even blessings in pain. Keep living the full life, oh soul - stay open, soft and tender. Endure all things. Believe all things. Hope all things. Bear all things.

Please don't give up just yet. Stay fixed on Him. Remain in His presence. Seek His face. Wait in His grace. No matter where this road might take you, rest in knowing Who it is that holds you.

Stay strong, oh brave soul of mine.

rocks.

It was incredible how well she could articulate exactly how I am feeling with just a few words.

She described a small jar. A jar full of sand and rocks and water - all settled and calm and nice and pretty.

And then it gets shaken.

The sand mixes with the water and the rocks clank around against the glass jar and it almost seems as if the whole thing is on the verge of shattering. 

As this glass jar gets put back on the table, the whole thing looks like one. big. mess. It's murky and dark and unorganized and unpretty and you might wonder if it will ever look the same as it did before.

The hard truth is that it won't: The rocks will never be in the exact same position as they were before. The sand will not fall back into the exact same spot. It is forever changed, this simple glass jar of rocks and sand and water.

But it will settle. The sand will find its home amongst the rocks. The rocks will find their places against each other. The water will become clear and this jar, though different then it was before, will be calm again.

The key, she tells me, is to wait. There is no possible way to force the sand and the rocks and the water to lay still any faster.

Wait. Let go. Surrender. Sit in what may feel like the murky waters of your thoughts and feelings and questions.

So I sit while the rocks and the sand settle back down. I wait for the water to clear. And in the sitting and the waiting and the surrendering and the letting go, I seek hope.