Usually, when I come to write a new entry in my blog, I come with title in hand, and the perfect picture to post. This morning, I came with neither of those things...but I come with my heart, and open hands to receive from my Heavenly Father, this morning, and I think that's sufficient, for the moment.

It's been a rough morning. I'd rather be honest about it than to speak in fluffy and flowery language to woo and impress. But this morning, even as I choose to feel the sadness that I feel, I turn back to a chapter in the book of Psalms that has been ministering to my aching heart:

"Let me hear of your unfailing love each morning,
for I am trusting you.
Show me where to walk,
for I give myself to you."   Psalm 143:8

Oh, how I find comfort, these days, in the words that David wrote.  Even a man who was "after God's own heart," suffered from inner turmoil, and he chose to express it to God, rather than bury it in the depths of his aching heart. And even there, David pined for the unfailing love of His grace-filled Lord, every morning. How glad I am to know that I can do this very same thing.

This morning, my heart aches, but if I am honest, it also finds a bit of anxiety down deep. I wondered why I had been experiencing some irritability the past few days, and God has revealed to me this morning that these feelings are rooted in anxiety. See, the countdown is now down to 56. In 56 sleeps, I will be home with my family and friends in Canada. There is a fire of excitement and anticipation that burns down deep within me about being reunited with so many loved ones. Of that, I am confident and most certain.

But there is a flip-side to this, unfortunately. Going home also means that I will be leaving behind a most beautiful support system of dearly-loved "adopted family," here in Oklahoma. As the camp I'm serving on comes to a close in a couple short days, I am feeling and sensing the reality of this as strongly as I feel and sense the rapid pulsing of my own anxious heart.

It's challenging to start fresh. It's challenging to rebuild a new support system. Some of that system already exists back home, but some of it has yet to be established, and that can be intimidating, when you've only known one system's familiar surroundings. And I am trying hard to accept the reality that relationships will indeed change. There will be people from my time here in Oklahoma whom I will maintain contact with; but there may be others whom I will lose touch with. That's a reality that makes my heart ache, especially when I've invested in so many incredible people, and have had so many incredible people invest in me, over these past four-and-a-half years. Deep down, deep deep down in my heart, I don't want to let go, because if I let go, it becomes real...and yet, even in the anxious stirring of my heart, I can hear the still and gentle Voice of my Savior say, "It's okay. I'm here. You can do this." 

Dear ones, I would ask that you pray for me, in the 57 days ahead (56 sleeps, 57 days, for those who may have been confused!). I am choosing to allow myself the space to grieve, and some days, I have to grieve alone. I ask you to pray that, as I learn to consistently grieve and feel and ache, that I will find the strength, that only comes from my Heavenly Father, to let go. It's challenging, and even as I type those words, I develop a huge lump in my throat, and a sob that escapes my lips; but I continue to heart that still and gentle Voice in my ear: "It's okay. I'm here. You can do this." 

Blessings.

"26 And the Holy Spirit helps us in our weakness. For example, we don’t know what God wants us to pray for. But the Holy Spirit prays for us with groanings that cannot be expressed in words. 27 And the Father who knows all hearts knows what the Spirit is saying, for the Spirit pleads for us believers in harmony with God’s own will."                 - Romans 8:26-27

 My friend recently brought the song "Thy Will" by Hillary Scott (formerly of Lady Antebellum) to my attention. Today, as I was driving home from dropping kids off at camp, this song came up on my playlist, and I ended up spending the next hour of my drive listening to only this song, taking in the lyrics, and pouring out my heart to God. The lyrics are very true and honest and raw, which I'm discovering speak to my heart during this season of transition. The words I latched onto most come in the first verse:

"I don't wanna think,
I may never understand,
That my broken heart
Is a part of Your plan,
When I try to pray,
All I've got is hurt
And these four words:
'Thy will be done.'"

There have been times in my life when I've had hurt and pain and bitter sadness...but the last thing I wanted to do was take all of that to God, and to utter those words: "Thy will be done." See, here's the thing with uttering those words: When you find yourself in a place where you are hurting, and you seek God, and utter those words, something happens. Guess what happens? You surrender. You admit your brokenness. You admit that you've attempted to gain control once again, over something that was never yours to control. As the song says, we remember that He is God, and we are not. And when we surrender and admit our brokenness and our need for God, and as we begin to walk in obedience, He leads the way. Sometimes God responds and leads in a way that we'd rather He not do; but I am slowly learning that the way God leads is not in interest of what I want, but what I need, and what is best for me. And sometimes, in the midst of following His lead, He surprises me.

Last night, I bid farewell to two people whom are very dear to my heart. Majors Steve and Wendy Morris came into my life in 2011 at a music retreat known by The Salvation Army Southern Territory as "TMI" (Territorial Music Institute). I was attending as a delegate, and Majors Morris were the spiritual leaders for the camp. I was in the process of moving to Oklahoma City, and I had just finished my last summer with the Conservatory Camp in the AOK (Arkansas/Oklahoma) Division. I was in a period of transition, as my job in OKC would not start until October, and I was also transitioning from one visa to another. I had so many questions and concerns, and I was in a season of wondering what on earth God was doing, as I was following His lead all the way to Oklahoma.

I met the Morrises one evening, as both they and myself were out for a walk. I remember the exact place we met up, under a streetlamp. That evening, I got to share my story with the Morrises, and they shared theirs. In just a brief moment, I felt like someone understood what I was going through, in the confusion and feelings of uncertainty and question. And instantly, I gained two wonderful friends, and faithful prayer supporters.

Fast-forward a year later, and the Morrises found themselves moving to the AOK Division as Divisional Commanders. My heart was overflowing with anticipation, as I would be reunited with my friends! I had no idea that God's hand was at work, and this sweet family would come alongside me, and walk with me through my journey of growth and change, over the next four years. I became a part-time babysitter and pup-sitter, and in time, I was "adopted" into this sweet family.

So, I'm sure you can understand the hurt that I felt, last night, when I had to say one last "see you later" to this family. It's hard to say when I will see the Morrises, again. I will get to see their son at Conservatory over the next month, but I have already bid farewell to their daughter, who I've become close to over the past couple of years. It's a hard goodbye, and there is no doubt about that. I will never forget the impact the Morrises have had on my life, and I am daily grateful to God for bringing them into my life. Last night, as I drove home, and cried honest and real tears, sobs escaping my throat, I cried out to God, and the Holy Spirit spoke my honest prayers, when I couldn't.

And how did God respond? He brought encouragement, today. He brought an opportunity to have coffee, chat and laugh with two friends, one whom I haven't seen in quite some time.

"The fact of the matter is, I can't do anything to change the past. I can't do things differently, because they're done. All I can do is focus on the changes I can make now."

I wrote that in my journal, yesterday. When I read it, today, I was encouraged to look at the words "I can do," Lately, I've been frequently saying, "I can't," "I can't see it," or "I can't figure out..." Today, I was challenged to consider if, rather than saying "I can't", perhaps I should be saying, "I won't." See, I was reminded that saying "I won't" still gives me the power to choose, while the words "I can't" tries to take that choice away.

There are things I "can do" in this process of healing and renewing my mind. I can stay close to my Savior, and stay close to the truth of His Word. I can seek out support, and not be afraid to ask for help. I can make changes, and learn new ways to cope with life.

I can reclaim and declare the story that God is writing about my life, and nobody else's. I can be content with what God has blessed me with, and be a good steward of what He has provided. I can rest in the promises and learn from the direction He gives to me in His Word, and in the counsel of others.

Tonight, I am taking God's lead, as I read James 3:14-15:

"But if you are bitterly jealous and there is selfish ambition in your heart, don't cover up the truth with boasting or lying. For jealousy and selfishness are not God's kind of wisdom. Such things are earthly, unspiritual and demonic."

It's time to shift our thinking, or, as a dear friend once said, "change our perspecticles." :-)

Join me.

Blessings.

My heart is feeling a wee bit tender, tonight. As I sit on my bed, putting "pen to paper", I've been thinking about pulling out one of my suitcases, to begin packing. And I get this knot in my stomach. I just can't bring myself to do it. It's not because I'm lazy (although, I've been known to have a streak here and there!), but because of the great emotions that come with taking that next step. It makes it real...realer than real.

We bid farewell to our beloved DC's (Divisional Commanders) at the corps, today. By a great stroke of God's grace, I did not cry (now, when we farewell them at camp, all bets are off!!). But my heart does feel a heaviness. Because it's all becoming real...realer than real.

According to the app on my phone, 74 sleeps remain until I move back to Canada. That may seem like a lot of days that I have left; but as summer hits, I know these days will go by faster than I could ever imagine. Perhaps that makes it easier...but somehow, I don't think it does. It was easier when I could say, "Ahhh, no tears, just yet! You're still stuck with me for nine months!" Then it was six months...then five...then four...then three...now, almost two. The time is getting shorter, and the tears are starting to come.

Grieving is such a strange thing, when it doesn't surround the loss of an actual person. I've learned over this past year that grieving can and is applied to so much more than death. Currently, in my journey of personal growth, I am grieving pains of my past, so that I can let them go and move on. In these next two months, and probably more, I will be grieving the separation from a place and people that has been my home for almost five years. It is nothing like grieving the death of a loved one. The emotions and the stages, for me, go back and forth. Sometimes I am angry because taking this step of obedience comes with the price of leaving behind some people with which I have developed beautiful friendships. Sometimes I am filled with such sadness as I think about saying goodbye to people and places, some of which I felt today, as we farewelled our DC's. Sometimes I pinch myself, because I've somehow convinced myself that this isn't real. I experienced shock the day after I made the decision to move home, when I woke up and thought, "Holy cow. This is really happening." Sometimes I think about the things that I "should have done", that maybe, if I had done things differently, I would be staying. And sometimes, unfortunately, I get a little depressed about leaving.

I feel like I've reached almost all the stages, sometimes back and forth. But that last one...acceptance. The definition of the word acceptance is pretty simple: "...believe or come to recognize (an opinion, explanation, etc.) as valid or correct." You know something? When I look at the definition, and I see the simplicity of it, perhaps this action of accepting this part of my journey is not as hard as I thought it might be. Or is it? Perhaps this is a point where I just have to keep repeating it to myself, over and over again, until I believe it and recognize it: 

I am moving back to Canada, in two months. God's hand is upon me, and I feel peace, in the midst of this journey of grief. 

Perhaps this is what I must do. Until I can internalize it, and believe it, and recognize it, I must repeat it to myself. Because, here's the thing: this is really happening. In two months, I will be boarding a plane, with my aunt at my side, and I will be moving back to Canada. Yes, I am excited to see my family. Yes, it also hurts my heart to leave my "family" here in Arkansas and Oklahoma. Yes, I feel anxiety about the future, but I also know that God is leading me into that very future. 

So, for the moment? Perhaps I'm not quite ready to start packing that suitcase...but I think I'm becoming more ready to accept what is coming. Let me tell you: I would not want to walk this leg of my journey, without the help of my Heavenly Father. As I've said lately, and I'll say again: "God is faithful, still." 

Blessings.