On Navigating Waters...

It's been a whirlwind few weeks, being home. There is much to learn, lots to do, and lots of stress and activity to wear a girl out. I couldn't be more thankful for a long weekend off. Happy Canadian Thanksgiving, friends and family. 

My aunt is home visiting on the Island from Alberta for 6 weeks, and yesterday, we were invited to an afternoon of lounging and visiting on my aunt and uncle's boat in Charlottetown. It was a breezy afternoon, so the boat sat in its place at the marina; but just to be near the water, to smell the salt air was more than enough for me. It was blissful. 

But I wasn't prepared for the excitement of being able to take my uncle's WaveRider out for a spin on the water. I hadn't been on a sea-doo in probably 20 years, so I opted to let my uncle take me out, first. Once I felt a little more comfortable, I was able to take the small watercraft out on my own. It took some time for me to gain control of the craft, especially with the water being as choppy as it was. I would bounce around on the small waves, not reaching much more than 4 mph; but after a few minutes of playing around and learning to navigate the waves, I was ready to explore outside the safety of the marina, as the wind and the waves called my name. 

I left the marina, leaving my phone and the cares and the distractions of the world behind. It was just me, The Lord, and the crisp, cool waters of the Hillsborough River. I only reached 20-25 mph on the WaveRider, but that was just enough to feel the wind in my hair, and the waves of tangy salt water splashing against my face. It had been close to six years since I had been close to the beautiful waters of Prince Edward Island, as the waters were always frozen when I came home to visit at Christmas. But I'm an Island girl, with salt water in my veins. I grew up by the shoreline, spending each moment I could of the summer months splashing around in the Gulf of Saint Lawrence. Amidst just over a month of transitions, chaos, unfamiliarity and heartache, for those few minutes, I felt very much at home, cradled among the waves. For the first time in a long time, navigating waters felt comfortable and familiar to me. 

As I found myself a few miles from the marina, I slowed down, and let the waves carry the WaveRider for a moment. Time had gotten away from me, and I knew my family would be concerned about me. My eyes found the shoreline, where the world sat, where the reality of this transition awaited my return. I tasted the salt water on my lips, ran my fingers through my wind-blown hair, and whispered to the Lord, "I don't want to go back. For the first time in a long time, navigating waters is easy, out here, when it's just me and the waters. But back there is life. Change, Transition. Heartache and Homesickness to navigate. Those waters are hard. I don't want to go back." 

And while I didn't want to go back to "doing the hard things" of life, I felt the Lord whisper back to me, "It's okay. You can go back...because I'm going before you. I'm with you."

So I took a deep breath, and made my way back to the marina, back to life and transition, knowing Who was going before me.

Friends, I don't expect you to completely understand what I'm experiencing during this transition, unless you're going through it right beside me. And don't get me wrong. There have been points of joy in my life, during my first month home. In fact, one of those points of joy occurred yesterday, when I could enjoy a day of relaxing and spending time with my family, some of whom I haven't seen for almost ten years. There are points of joy when I'm sitting in my best friend's kitchen, drinking tea and chatting about life, as I bounce her baby boy on my lap, and exchange goofy grins with her sweet three-year old boy. There are points of joy when my friends kidnap me to go for a drive, or to go get lost in Indigo Books for just a moment. There are points of joy when I read stories to my nieces, laughing and giggling together. There are points of joy when I play games with my family, laughing and joking around together. There are even points of joy when I sit in church services in my home corps, singing and praising God. 

But there are days when navigating the waters of transition becomes really, really difficult. The days when I'm sitting in a church service, and I hear a song that my corps family would sing in Oklahoma City, and my heart floods with homesickness for the familiarity of the OKC Citadel Corps, as my eyes fill with tears. The days when I see memories come up on Facebook from my time in Oklahoma, with dear friends who've walked with me through one of the toughest legs of my journey with the Lord. There are days when I have a hard day at work, and I miss my kiddos at the Boys & Girls Club. There are days when I miss the wonderful people who supported me through some of the toughest days of my wellness journey. 

Four-and-a-half years is a long time to be in one place, to build relationships and routines. Four-and-a-half years is also a long time to be away from one place, and the process begins, once again, of building and re-building relationships and new routines. 

It's hard, there's no doubt about it. But I remember my dear friend who reminded me of how difficulty and challenge are the very things that God can use to strengthen our faith and our character. Boy howdy, there's a lot of faith-strengthening and character-building going on during this transition. And it's not over, yet. 

Yes, navigating waters of transition is hard. But oh, how much harder would it be, if my God were not with me, had He not gone before me? 


Just as I wrote the words above, I was brought back to the message written on the front page of my journal devotional book given to me from OKC Citadel. I take such comfort in knowing that God has gone on before me, and walks with me, that He has planned the future. The challenge comes in trusting Him with all these things. 

When I was in college, struggling through what was a difficult transition, being at a new school, one of my quad-mates left a sheet of paper under my door one night, with a Scripture from Isaiah 43. The promises in that Scripture have carried me through many a transition in the past, and this morning, I'm holding tightly to it, as I navigate the waters of this particular transition: 

"But now, O Jacob, listen to the Lord who created you. 
O Israel, the one who formed you says,
"Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you.
I have called you by name; you are mine. 

When you go through deep waters,
I will be with you.
When you go through rivers of difficulty,
You will not drown. 

When you walk through the fire of oppression,
the flames will not consume you. 
For I am the Lord, your God,
The Holy One of Israel, your Savior..."

When I was out on the water, yesterday, it was difficult to navigate the waters, at first. It had been quite some time since I'd been out on a WaveRider, and so it took some time for me to gain control of the small craft, and to feel at home on the waves. 

So it is with this transition. Right now, I'm finding it difficult to navigate the waters. It's been some time since I've been on these waters, and it's going to take time before I feel at home on the waves. How thankful I am that I don't need to figure it all out on my own. How thankful I am that my Heavenly Father is right here beside me, helping me to navigate these waters. 

Please, if you would, continue to pray for me, as I continue through this season of transition, as I navigate the waters. My heart longs for the day when I will feel at home on these waves of change. 

Blessings. 


0 comments | edit post
On Sunrises, Sunsets, and God's Faithfulness in Transition...
"Lord, you have been our dwelling place
    throughout all generations.
Before the mountains were born
    or you brought forth the whole world,
    from everlasting to everlasting you are God."
Psalm 90:1-2

I find that I don't get to write as often as I used to, what with trying to keep up with the pace of my new job, and trying to balance time with friends, family and church family during the times when I'm not working, and sometimes, if I'm brutally honest, would like to be sleeping and resting, so as to prepare myself for the next shift, the next lesson, the next evening spent babysitting or having coffee with a friend or heading off to church. While my pace of life has lessened significantly since leaving Oklahoma just over a month ago, and even since having to take a step back from children's and music ministries for a season, sometimes I find myself struggling to keep up, to rise gracefully and to walk gracefully. I'll be transparent for a moment and admit, that amidst the constant adjustments, bouts of homesickness for my beloved OKC family and corps family, and the few moments when my guard is let down and I allow myself to grieve the loss of a place I once called home and a ministry where I found comfort and security...I feel as though my step quickly shifts from graceful to "all thumbs" and "clumsy stumbling," with grace on the side. I often feel as I do when I'm working, trying desperately to keep ahead of every coffee order, every food prep action, every smile, every upsell, every "have a great day!" Some days, I do really well, and I rise to each challenge; other days, the shift ends, and I wonder to myself what on earth I actually did right.

Stay with me. This isn't a whining session, nor is it a pity party. But what this is, my friends, is a moment where I admit that I can't always keep up. Why do I say this? Because I'm certain that I'm not the only one who shares this struggle. I know that there are many like me who are in the same boat. We work hard, play hard, care for our families and friends, save here, clean there, leaving only scant times to take a deep breath, spend a moment with our Creator, let our guard down, shed a tear, if needed, just be. 

During this time of transition, many things around me seem out of place, chaotic even, completely and utterly out of my control. But lately, God has been attracting my eye to the familiar and beautiful "constants" that surround me. The one pictured above is a lovely sight that caught my eye, as I was leaving for an early shift, one morning. The sun was just barely coming up, the moon still hanging in the sky.  


Yesterday morning, I was blessed with a later morning shift, and as I was stumbling sleepily about the house, gathering my breakfast and preparing for the day, I walked out onto the balcony of the house and stopped dead in my tracks, as I witness this glorious sunrise, the beautiful strokes of the brush of the Master Artist, painted delicately across the morning skies, and dancing along the waters of Rustico Bay.  


Amidst the mornings where I wearily and sleepily was shuffling off to work, I stopped, lifted my eyes to the beauty that filled the morning sky, took a long deep breath, and left for work, reminded that each morning, the moon lingers for just a moment, but then returns to the heavens, as the sun begins to rise. It never fails. Both the sun and moon move through their respective phases, just as God created them to do so.


And then there's this gem. I took this picture shortly after I moved home from Oklahoma. I was milling about the house one evening, when the beautiful lights of the sky caught my eye, and I wandered out onto the back deck. The most breathtaking sunset decorated the skyline on our back acreage. It brought tears to my eyes, as I gazed, once again, at the handiwork of my Heavenly Father. I see this sunset, and I'm reminded again of the sun, and its faithful movements, from rising in the morning, to setting at night, as the moon moves into its place.

So much has changed in the past month, and here on this Tiny Island, much has changed in the last five years, since I last lived here. Time has passed. People have changed. Situations have changed. Relationships have changed. I have changed. While, in this season of grieving, I don't necessarily feel as though I've changed, indeed, I have. And sometimes the constant change that surrounds me, much of, really all of which is out of my control, overwhelms my heart. I've never been one who likes change, and I find it difficult to adapt to so much change in such little time. But adapt, I certainly must, and grow, I absolutely will. And in the meantime, I will remember the "constants" in my life. I will remember that the sun will rise and set each day, that the moon will take its place at night, and welcome the sun back in the morning, even when the clouds block their visibility, they most certainly there.

I will remember the One who is constant, the One who gave His life for me, the One who has carried me through this season of transition. Even when I don't see Him, or feel Him, He has been there. He was there when I celebrated my last Sunday in OKC. He was there when I held my corps family in my arms, and shed so many tears of sadness, as we parted ways. He was there when I cried tears of joy, as I was reunited with my family, and as He provided a job just a few short days after returning home. He has been there in every challenge I've encountered, as I navigate a new job, new responsibilities, new coworkers, a new work culture. He has been there in the loving understanding of my new Corps Officers, as I had to openly admit that I am experiencing burnout, and needed to take a step back from ministry, as I heal and as I navigate this season of transition. He was there this morning, as I sat in church, and I finally allowed myself to be broken in His presence, to allow tears of fear, of anger, of sadness, and even of peace, stream down my face, as I heard the words, "It's no longer I that liveth, but Christ that liveth in me!" being sung by the worship team, and I felt an intense wave of homesickness for my OKC family (That was a song we often sung during our Sunday School preliminaries at OKC Citadel).

God has been constant, and present, even when I haven't been, and in this season of transition and restoration, God showed me today that this season will involve my becoming reacquainted with Him, knowing Him as, not only the God I serve, but the God who loves me, who calls me "deeper still into love," as Chris Tomlin sings in his song, "Good Good Father." (Which I listened to on repeat, as I drove to church, this morning.)

Friends, you have allowed me to invite you into a mere piece of my journey. Thank you for allowing me to be a little more transparent, a little more real and raw than I have, before. Writing and reflecting has been so key in my healing during this season of transition, and being able to have you follow this journey has assured me that there are dear ones who support me, stand with me, and lift me up in prayer. Please continue to do so.

Here's to many more brave steps forward, many more sunrises and sunsets, and many more encounters with the faithful, constant and everlasting God.

Blessings.



0 comments | edit post