A Sunrise of Sorts

Lake Superior was kind enough to remind me this morning. We’ve been vacationing for nearly two weeks now, every morning my children have allowed later and later sleeping. It has been so wonderful. Even though I’ve still been up in the night with the teensy I have felt much more rested. Probably more so than I’ve been in years.

But I needed the sunrise.

Even though I get a very small piece of the suns rising through my view at home, I still see it more mornings than not and I suppose I missed the familiarity of it, the comfort in it.

When I told my family I’d be up before the sun today they all agreed there was no way they’d be joining me and I was rather pleased to know I’d get this hour or so to myself. When I was re-tucking the tiny into her camper bed at four AM I peeked out the skylight and smiled quietly to myself to see a sky full of stars and the prospect of the sun rising over Superior.

Well, as I am so frequently reminded…you can’t do anything once and assume it will be perfect.

Though I am sure the sun did rise, as it has done so every morning from the beginning, it did not shine over the lake and burn off the fog as I had so hoped. No, at some predawn point the clouds rolled in heavy and lay on the lake as a blanket of grey cotton. The waves crashed in, angry to be awake so early I can only presume.

Still, time outdoors is rarely wasted. I found a sheltered rock, back from the lake a bit, sat with my coffee and the quiet. Not even the dog had been willing to venture out with me. I watched the waves for a long while, tried to comprehend how they had been shaping the rock on this shore since before I can imagine. The waterbirds came and went; a pair of Loons, a family of Grebes, I wondered over their ability to overcome the cold sloshing of the lake.

While I was reminded that I can not expect a beautiful sunrise on the random morning I decide to wake up for it, I also remember that the good is in the seeing. Though the day dawns grey, the beauty was still out here, if not in the way I thought it would be. The quiet hour I sat by Lake Superior was worth the wind and the clouds and the cold of August morning this far North. Was even worth an alarm clock ringing while on vacation.

Falling

A couple of days ago now, I fell in the Mississippi River. Thankfully there is no photographic evidence of this event. It was a hard fall on rocks that bruised my shins and knees and ankles. It hurt. I wanted to sit down and cry, mostly from the physical pain, but also just to release all of the emotion that I’ve been regulating inside my body for so many days. I didn’t cry though, instead I walked up and down the river with my three littles, letting the cool Summer water ease the ache I could feel forming in my body.

I’m writing this not because I want you to feel bad for me, but because I’ve been writing a lot about how quickly my littles are growing and how much I’m trying to not skip over any of the days with them. Which maybe makes you think my life is easy and always fun. Hear me when I say that I would’ve skipped this fall had I known it was coming, but I would’ve missed a lot of good had I done that. Like tiny arms hugging me as I stumbled up and out of the water, childrens voices asking if I was okay and what help did I need.

I fell because a small girl was holding both of my hands and when she slipped I righted her at the expense of my own balance. I am glad that she didn’t fall, it would’ve been harder for her to have a good day if she were banged up and frightened, but it was difficult for me not to blame her, to not be upset that I was sopping wet and hurt. This is a part of my mothering as well, not just recognizing that they won’t be small forever and joining them in their everyday, but sacrificing myself over and over again to improve their experience, their lives. In big ways and small.

My fall was a small sacrifice for sure, but it was a big reminder to me that there will be harder days to come. Not everyday will find the beauty in the legos and leaves scattered on the living room floor. (Check out my Facebook page if you missed that photo.)


When we got back home the dog drug her leash across the front of my ankle, giving me a rope burn. It didn’t really hurt, but I cried. Big gasping tears, so much that I had to go inside and calm down. This morning my teensy said; “Momma, that was the first time I saw you cry big…”, this is untrue, I have let tears slip down my cheeks in front of my kids more times than I can count, but I am glad that she saw this time, and that she was aware of the hurt behind the tears. So that she would know it’s always okay to cry, and that it’s often good to keep enjoying the day, even though you are hurting.

In the days since I fell I have been sore. My shin is bruised deep and throbs when I take even gentle steps. It has slowed me down even more than my already leisurely pace. The teensy said something like; “you prob’ly shouldn’t do any work for a few days momma…”. Yes tinygirl. Yes, you’re right, of course. Though the work still needs doing. The littles still need caring for, raising up… Yesterday I snuggled into our camper bed with a sleeping tiny, we rested hard and long, listening to the wind outside in the oaks. It was enough, just what was needed and nothing more.

Why Losing Words is Significant

…as I sat with this knowledge I ached for the collective child who will never know the beauty of the earth for themselves, but more for the child who will never even have words for what she sees…

They are removing words like “wren”, “acorn”, “bramble” in favor of more modern words. I question you now; does my child need to know “encryption”, “keystroke”, “megapixel”? Does yours? At what age should the viewing of Windows (or Mac) be considered as above what is outside of actual windows? The loss of this natural knowledge will hurt our children, will damage our own fragile connection to our place in the world, will continue to disconnect us all from the soul of the earth, from a higher power, from our very selves. By taking these words from children, and more so by taking away the moments and places these words depict, we are robbing them of deeply expressive experiences. We are taking the voice from a piece of ourselves.

“Once upon a time, words began to vanish from the language of children. They disappeared so quietly that at first almost no one noticed – fading away like water on stone. …”
-Robert Macfarlane in The Lost Words

If anyone is interested in words, nature, the connection that comes from the soles of your feet in the muddy earth in late spring…there is a book for you. I will get no kickback for posting this, there is no affiliate link notice needed here. If we are friends in real life you know that beauty sets my soul afire. Beauty, as in; the barest reality of nature. Not only that. Also the clear descriptiveness of the written word. I’m a little jumbled here…let’s see if I can find my way.

I heard recently, that a prominent publisher was, and has been for some time, softly swapping words out of their children’s dictionaries. Taking words from the natural world and replacing them with words from the world of technology. I could feel the weight of this in my soul and as I sat with this knowledge I ached for the collective child who will never know the beauty of the earth for themselves, but more for the child who will never even have words for what she sees in dusty books, on travel blogs, in the paintings of the someday long forgotten artists. Taking these words from the children is doing them a disservice.

Is it so terrible that our young children can distinguish between grackle and raven and crow? Does this somehow stall their knowledge of technology? Does first leading children into meadows and marshes ruin them from one day becoming scientists or sociologists? Can we, for a few short years, a decade perhaps, keep our children primitive? Could we let them outdoors, lost in mucky streams, drenched in sunshine and rain, lost to technology and the modern world?

Couldn’t we?

The book, you ask, oh yes. The book that set this post to scribbling. It is no small thing for a book to cause me to get lost in it’s world. Typically it takes a fantastical work of fiction for me to lose myself in it’s pages. The images and the prose in this book had me lost to this modern age as I turned its pages. In fact they drove me outdoors, seeking a silence that is found in only in oak forests, listening for the rush of icy water over stones, and the tromp of my boots through deep, slushy snow. Isn’t this what books should do? Inspire us to experience for ourselves that which only the world around us can provide? Sure, there may not be actual faeries in our fields (I do believe in faeries, I do believe in faeries…), but what is so wrong with wandering slowly along the back fence watching for mushroom rings at the edge of the forest just in case? When did it become so unfavorable for our children and ourselves to be lost to our imaginations?

Einstein is credited with saying, “If you want your children to be intelligent, read them fairy tales. If you want them to be more intelligent, read them more fairy tales.”


And while we can’t know for certain that Einstein actually said this, it does not make the words any less true. The descriptiveness, the nature, the imagination and creativity in fairy tales should inspire us all. Not just cause us to be more intelligent by increasing our imagination, but cause us to notice more. As we are more aware we will need words for the things we are seeing. Where will those words come from, if we take them away from our children? First by taking the physical experiences and then, by removing those words from the books they would seek out to put a voice to some feeling or expression they would like to share?

This is the local library copy, if anyone is looking for a gift for me I’d love my own!

There is a link in the back of this book to John Muir’s website (pretty sure y’all know he is my nature inspiration); johnmuirtrust.org, I was lost in this site for quite some time, look for more on what I found soon-ish. I’ll have to drag myself out of bed earlier as I am not giving up any more minutes outdoors in this early Minnesota Spring to sit at my screen. I recommend checking out the site of course, but more? I recommend going outside, as I’m sure Mr. Muir would himself advise. Follow the nearest path, dirt is truly best, to where it leads. Sit awhile. Listen. Maybe you were deprived of this in your own childhood. If you don’t have words for what you hear and see, search them out. They are back there, deep in your subconscious I believe, though you may need an older copy of Merriam Webster to find them.

Go on, why are you still sitting here?

Show Up Friends

Hoping on this day that each of you had some small glimpse at perfection. Time in nature, in peace, in completeness. Just a moment is often enough to carry us through to the next one.

“Perhaps the eighth intelligence is the intelligence within nature, the lessons waiting to be delivered if anyone shows up.” —Richard Louv; Last Child in the Woods

“So come…and live your life. —Mary Oliver
“…it is inexcusable to live in a world so full of marvels…and to care for none…” —Charlotte Mason
“At some point in life, the world’s beauty becomes enough.” —Toni Morrison
“Wildness is a necessity” —John Muir
“And here you are living…despite it all.”—Rupi Kaur

I said to myself, “Relax and rest.
    God has showered you with blessings.
    Soul, you’ve been rescued from death;
    Eye, you’ve been rescued from tears;
    And you, Foot, were kept from stumbling.” —Psalm 116:7-8 (msg)

What I Want For (All of) Them

Last week I came here and wrote a smidge about our current Summer adventure. How it had slowed us even more than before and how it has me wondering if I’m doing this whole thing right. I want to use the opportunity to be home with my littles to it’s fullest advantage, but not take advantage of the opportunity either.

My sweet husband takes incredibly good care of us, sacrifices and gives pretty selflessly. While the children and I run at the track and splash at the beach and read for hours each day, he is at work. On his days off he squeezes in as much as he can and often doesn’t understand how we can do everything so slowly. I know it makes him a little bonkers when we don’t appreciate how limited his time is. This is something that I need to work on. Not our lack of speed, but being able to move at his pace when he needs us to.

While I do want my sweet man to be home with us more, to be able to go on more adventures, and to learn to slow down I don’t really know how to make that happen. Also, I don’t know that he really wants to spend that much uninterrupted time with us. So I continue to walk slow, to make “less” and “small” good, to sit with him in his own time and space. I do this because I want him to know how grateful I am that he has gifted me (and the children) with this really, really good life.

Not a lot of people would stay at an imperfect fit of a job “just” because it provides well. Not a lot of people would take all of the traveling options sent their way simply because their love wants to wander with her deepest heart. Not a lot of people…but my person. He is a good man.

This whole piece about him needing to work and working at a job that is maybe not his first choice -even though he is extremely good at what he does- makes me think about the littles and our older kids too. What will his sacrifice provide long term? Are our biggest kids following their heart’s desires? Are they willing to live with less to do what makes them shine? Or will they one day be like him? Feeling somewhat stuck?

Those slow littles…will they some day be able to pull a career out of the blue, clear sky that fits their personal speed? Will they struggle at a job that is a poor fit? Will having had this childhood, full of time to know themselves, lead their life choices to be uncompromising, certain, confident? Or will it make “real life” harsh?

They are still small, and no one can say for sure what is to come. This I know with certainty, but I prefer to hope. Hope that time spent in books builds their desire to always learn and be imaginative. Hope that time spent in wandering woods builds a sense of, and desire for, adventure. Hope that being allowed to follow their interests will inspire them to try all of the things and see what sticks.

My first ever post here was about what I want for them and those words ring truer today than ever before. By giving them the time to grow and learn as they naturally would I believe that they will be better able to discern the choices they’ll need to make as they grow. I trust that by slowing down they will be more in tune with their inner rhythms. This all seems overly optimistic, I know.

I’ll also add here that my teeny is not so much keen on my “slow”. She pushes hard and fast from the moment she wakes until the last minute of the day. She has so much that she wants to do, so much to see, so many places to go. Perhaps this is just a factor of her age, fours and fives aren’t really known for their chill. I wonder though if she will follow this faster current and if she’ll be the one to drag the rest of us after her. She certainly has the determination to do so. I also wonder if we will let her do it or if the other children will fight her on this faster pace…they certainly have the determination to do it.

Ultimately, I know that I dont get to say what the kids will do or be. I know they are not really mine in that sense. They are already on their own path. For now it runs parallel to mine, or rather, it continually intersects mine. Sometimes they walk beside, other times they cross over, often they lead, occasionally they follow. I see the gift it is that I get to walk with them at all.

This was quite a ramble friends, I thank you if you made it this far. I suppose what I’m saying is that I want for all of my people to be true to themselves, and that I want to help them on that journey so much as I can. What is it you hope for your children, your spouse, your best-of-friends? How are you actively working toward that goal today? After spending a few days in the writing of this post I can see some places where I am not being as supportive as I should be. There is more that I can do. I’ll put more thought into that as these closer-to-Summer days unfold slow and long. Perhaps after some thought I’ll come back here with an update.

For today? Someone should go check on my flower beds…I imagine the peonies are gorgeous just now.

Beach Days

I’ve been practicing seeing the moments as they fly by me. The past couple of days are a good example of that. So many times I’ve thought about how grateful I am. Even though I had a bad attitude for most of this day and felt overall, in general “blech” there were so many times I felt supremely over-blessed.

First of all I get to wake up in my camper, on a beautiful piece of quiet land. I mean, who’s husband does that? Volunteers to help at a store that is failing, struggling, so that his girl can camp for six weeks?! I guess mine does and I can’t help but know how selfless that is.

Second I get to sit at the beach…in the sunshine…not really doing anything. Sure my kids were whiney and needy and the teeny did lose her cool more than once, but we were at the beach for crying out loud. Do I have any right to complain if I sat on the beach all afternoon? I’m thinking that’s a unanimous “NO!”, right? While I would’ve liked to read my book and take a nap, it was a gift of a day and I can not deny that.

If I typed out all of the small moments that have made these days NOT worth whining over this post would be crazy long. Here are just a couple; I made an amazing sandwich on focaccia (don’t judge my lack of carb restraint) from the local farmers market (yummm) and ate it at the picnic table in SILENCE! I grabbed a great Summer food book at the library, where my dog was not insane for twenty minutes. I sat outside after kids went to sleep with the man I love, I watched a hundred dragonflies dip and dive in the shade. Those are just a few highlights, but man I should not have been the moody, cranky person that I was yesterday.

Today I’ve been I smidge more present. I’ve seen the good and the not-so-good and I’ve not let one outweigh the other. As the rain has held off today we have done some workbook work outside, ran in for more good bread and to check out the local thrift store (where we scored Harry Potter Uno for two bucks!!). The tiny also melted down in epic fashion because her brother bumped her. One child refused to swim because there were people at the beach (wait…what??), and one of the children may be answering all of my requests with negativity bordering on anger (deep breath).

I’ve decided that I will take this trip one day at a time and enjoy all of the moments that I can without letting those annoyances get the best of me. We are settling into our new rhythm and finding the pace that we can sustain on the long hot days.

It is a pretty slow pace to be sure. This has me wondering if I should be doing more with the children, or if I should be working harder, or if I am taking advantage of my situation. All of that makes me think about the kind of childhood I’m trying to facilitate, the kind of life I’d like my whole family to be able to lead. That’s a post for another day though, we are off to the local library now…and then more sitting at the beach I think.

Beginnings and Circles

I sit here typing on my phone-something I really dont like to do. The keyboard always works against me adding letters and slurring my words. I have to proofread very carefully so that the autocorrect feature doesn’t make me look like a moron. It’s a frustratingly slow process, and you’ll still probably catch several errors that I’ve missed.

Today is the day though. The day we begin. The day we set out. The day where we put all excuses aside and go. All of the things have been packed, which is why I am typing on my phone. Most of the things have been cleaned, though not very well. None of the groceries have been bought, but the stores will open soon. If everything works perfectly this is the first of many nights I’ll fall asleep with my head in my camper bed.

I was up early today, sipping my coffee, waiting for the birds to wake up and begin their singing. Sitting in the stillness, seeking a bit of peace and a restfulness that did not come while sleeping. As I tap out these lines I wonder if everything is ready?

…if we are ready.

There is a lot a person needs to do to walk away from their house for six weeks. Most of it is done, but likely not all. I’m not sure how often I will wake in a panic realizing some thing I have left undone. Hopefully not too many. Hopefully I don’t think much about this place at all.

The most difficult part for me is the people, as I knew it would be. Leaving this community makes me cautious. I know I can leave this over-large house with all of it’s sweeping and scrubbing. I know that I can (someday) leave Minnesota and it’s frigid temps without any sadness at all. I can even leave the gardens I’ve cultivated for going on seven Summers; though that one is a close second. The women in my circle though…I’m not sure what life will look like without their daily influence.

In this modern-American culture we tend to think that we can do everything by ourselves, and that we should. I’ve written about this before (here and here and especially here), but community can not be ignored. Indeed it should not. As I think about the ways my people have built upon each other I am overwhelmed. I know we have our struggles, our difficulties, our disagreements; we do life together after all, but the good in the group outweighs the bad of being outside of it.

In the past few weeks I have dug berry plants for and with friends, I have been delivered wood chips, I have gifted garden accessories and other small treasures, I have been saved from an empty gas tank, and I have sold off a million pieces of my life to these friends. I have people to pray for and people who pray over me. I have friends whom I message daily and those whom I wish I could touch base with more often.

This. This I will miss a lot. This I may regret leaving.

I will miss sitting, tucked away in a corner of a yard while children run and scream. I will miss a friend dropping by to my messy, chaotic house with no worry over it. I will miss all of their children. I will miss rushing to a planned event because I want every possible minute with these women. This worries me, makes me think I can’t do it. Can’t really go for good, isn’t that messed up? I mean it’s not, but I spent all of these years aching for this community only to finally have it and then to come to a point where I am in a position to go where my heart calls. Which requires me to start over on so many different spirals of life. Maybe we always need something to cry out for?

I was telling a friend recently how I was nervous to walk away for this season and she kindly reminded me that we will still be together, if not physically. She noted that my circle may be a couple of hours away but that the values we share will hold us close. She was right of course. We will have to work harder to maintain friendships, but they can be maintained. Even grown.

This opportunity to travel (even a bit) and to live smaller is something I have longed for, as most of you know. I can’t pass it up. The need to follow this path and see where it leads beats within my very heart. Who knows what we will learn over the next few weeks? I am excited too.

Often I get stuck in that worrisome place. Seeing only the difficult part of the adventure ahead. I don’t want to do that with this. This chance to be out there, living something that has long called to me is exciting. I see that too. I will be concerned over walking away from dear friends, but! Instead of only worrying, I plan to work. To work on building a larger community for myself, for my family. I mean, there are people everywhere, and most of them probably want the love and the connection I am fortunate enough to feel every day. So, I’ll try to bring it, to build it, to create it.

I’m praying for this opportunity right now. I dont want to get bogged down in the sadness of leaving my people, and I dont want to simply find new or different people. What I am hoping for is complex, I know. That ever-widening of the circle will be difficult to be sure, but I’m pretty sure it’ll be worth it too. If you’re close, you know there are still many miles to go but I thank you for being here on the path with me.

And so today is the beginning. The start of a wider circle, a wilder path, a larger wonder.

Or maybe tomorrow, the rain forecast for tonight looks pretty severe…

I Want You to Know

If you’re wondering what’s going on with us, please read this post.

There are many thoughts that fill my head. More ramblings that roll through my mind than y’all would ever care to read about here. Often I think so long on something that I feel everyone in my circle must understand, even if I had never actually vocalized the thoughts. The last few days have found me wondering about all of the things we have. I have written, though not in a very long time, about the ways my family has been abundantly blessed over the years. People have have given to us, we have stumbled across things, opportunities have just worked out more than I can remember.

All of these gifts and met-needs have filled our home with comforts. I scribble down thanks for these comforts daily. Over the last few days I was caught off guard when several dear friends told me that they didn’t fully know of our plan to escape the Minnesota cold. While we don’t really anticipate leaving anytime soon, we do hope to go, and we are planning accordingly. This is one of those things that is so often on my mind, I had felt that everyone must know. I was wrong, and glaringly so. These two seemingly random ramblings; my overwhelming blessings and my inability to vocalize the thoughts in my head do actually go together…just give it a minute please.

I’ve been wondering why I have so much. I mean, I didn’t really set out the second time around to have this typical American dream with the picket fence and two fancy cars in the garage. Yet here I sit.

I’m not complaining, please let me explain.

Post-divorce things got tricky for us. Jobs lost and given up, a new baby, blending a family that was not so sure it wanted mixing at times. We were in a bad financial place and all I could do was to pray. I asked for enough money to pay the bills. I asked for toys and activities for my children. I asked for friends and a community. I asked for the gas in my car to make it through the week. I asked for a home with a yard, a place to call ours. All of the things I prayed for through tears and with a very humbled heart I was given.

Hear me.

Hear me when I say that there was often not enough money to pay all of the bills, that my children did go without a lot of things other kids have, that I had to work to build a community twice, that very often the gas was not enough to get through the week., that the house we were given took a lot of work and a few years to become a home. Sometimes Frequently the prayers are not answered in the way we expect.

Now though.

As I look around this over-large house full of all sorts of things that I’d consider luxury, I wonder over the gift it all is. And I feel a bit ungrateful to think of walking away from it all. I feel like I am being wasteful of His gifts to me by seeing now that I no longer need or want all of this. Why would He have met these wants if they were just wants? Surely the creator would have known that I’d arrive here, in a place where the wants would be excess and the gifts would be nearly burdensome? This has something to do with First John 3:1 I think.

Yet here I am.

The only way I can rationalize it is in somehow paying it all forward. As I begin to think about discarding things, begin to wonder about selling off pieces of this American dream I also wonder how we can do some sort of good in the lives of our community. How this will look is uncertain to me, but I want to donate to more than just the Goodwill. I’ve asked to see the people in need in my community; read my personal community, not only the place where I live. I’m asking to offer up what I have because it is so much more than we need. I don’t yet know how this looks, but I hope that I see it as it is happening.

That I don’t miss it.

 

 

I want to know, I guess, that all I’ve been given is not wasted. That the notes of thanks I’ve written out continue to have meaning to someone, even if I am no longer that someone. I think about this a lot. And that is why I’m writing it down here to share to you, because I don’t want my circle of friends to miss this or feel as though I didn’t mention it.

I want you to know.

I want you to know that I see the needs you have, and while I may not be the one to meet them, I trust the One who will. I want you to know and so I (hope to follow through with this) will talk about what is going on with us and our stuff in person with you. I will make more of an effort to share with my dear friends where we are on this journey toward less stuff and more happiness.

It may be slow, but it will be deliberate.

The choices we are making today may end up not being the ones we want to live with ten years from now, but as I don’t regret any of the things I have asked for up till now I am sure that asking for this opportunity to travel, to live where there is more warmth and sunshine, to do something that feels selfish, but right… I trust that these prayers will be answered and that I’ll take each day as the gift it is. That is, I think, how I can show my appreciation and gratitude.

 

First Thoughts

The sea has long called to me. Most don’t understand this call as I was born and raised about as far as one could be from any ocean. Yet I feel the pull of the tide deep in my soul. I listen to the waves crash in my head as I steal the quiet of mornings. I feel the vastness of the ocean when I close my eyes on the day. Somehow the Lord saw fit to put this longing in me. I can’t see where else it would have come from. This is a different, a deeper desire than the one that calls me off down dirt roads and toward far off sunsets. A more plaintive whisper in my very heart. I hear it and I wait.

A person can not just set off to the sea when there are obligations and responsibilities; children and bills and chores…can she? We did just that for a brief moment in time. I can not recount here my entire journey to my heart, for it is long and vulnerable, and not quite “wordy” enough. More of it is felt than spoken, really. Over the next string of days I do hope to lock the thoughts down on paper, if only for myself. Some I’ll share, others will be the whispers that take me back one day to that forgotten place inside my own spirit. Set down in pencil and ink as a reminder that I am more than…than what…?

The waves were more powerful than I had recalled. As I stood on the shore watching swells crash over my children, seeing their small bodies submerged by the power of the ocean. I was at once in awe and yet fearful. This is something I had long wanted; babes at the sea, splashing, swimming, giggling. I had wanted to give them the power of a wave, the quiet of low-tide, the beauty of the sun over the water.

More.

I had wanted to drum the sound of the water into their hearts, had prayed that they would feel the pull of a place like this in their subconscious. I can not guarantee that they will long for it, live for it, run after it (or any other thing), but I can give them the experience at the shoreline. Can fill their cups to brimming over with tidal waters. This trip was a start, was a drop in the bucket.

I allowed the ocean to speak deeply to my children and I can only pray that the voice of it will not diminish as they grow. That if not the call of the waves than the cries of their own hearts will be loud and forceful. That through the power and wonder of the sea, they can relate their desires. I have watched them sleep on this adventure, seen their sun-kissed faces as they rest, the joy spread wide from their hearts. I have brought them to the type of place I could call home, a place I am my truest self and I have given it to them. I have kept nothing back. Yet I know it was only a vacation, an adventure, a respite. They see it as such and I fear that if it is only this then it will not have been enough.

How could a few days ever be enough?

I have given them a taste though. At this time it is what I can give. Who can say how the weeks and months and years ahead will unfold? We try to craft our future, jot outlines of plans, make a way to get what I want. I know though, in that deepest place, that I am not in control. Proverbs 19:21 is familiar to me; “Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.”. Honestly I’ll keep scheming, keep asking, keep planning for what I want from this life, for the lives of my children. I’ll seek that place where my want and His Will intersect. I trust that the place exists and that I will be made aware of it as I come upon it.

This day I will look for the guideposts which must be along my path. The signs and signals which will direct me in the way I should go, the way that I should lead them. Optimistically these paths will cut close to the water, easily and with deep crying out to us. We will not have to stretch to see the way they will fulfill a longing. More so, I will trust that the Lord wants good for me and that I can live that good by the sea…or not. Place matters, but not so much as well, this I’ve come to know over years spent out of place.

I circle back to the beginning. If this desire for the sea is not from the Lord than from where has it come? If He put a desire in me which is this strong I can trust that He will fulfill that desire in the way that only He can. I know this to be true. I will not force it or overly strive for it, but I will actively work toward my own goals seeking His will for me as I go along.