Roots

On July 28, 2010, we arrived in town with our car packed full and our eyes set forward.  We were beginning our new adventure.  With 18 days of marriage under our belt, we moved in and began to settle into our new life here.  And it was fun.

We loved exploring this new place, we loved living blocks away from Cole's brother and his wife, we loved our cute little apartment, we loved our proximity to the Oregon Coast, we loved it all.

Then, I got a job, Cole started school, and it wasn't long before the newness had begun to wear off, replaced by the reality of the work that lay ahead.  Homesickness came in overwhelming waves, and the neverending rain mirrored the feeling in my heart.  I was ready to be done with this place.

Slowly, and without warning, I grew more and more discontent with life as it was; and spent too much time wishing to fast-forward through our four years in grad school. I thought often about what life would be like once we were done and had moved closer to family.  I imagined nights that didn't include homework and weekends free from exam prep.  The longer I stared into the future, the harder it became to face the present.

There were moments, oh, were there moments!  Moments when the sun would finally come out from hiding and everything glistened.  Moments when we could spontaneously pack up and head to the beach for a weekend.  Moments spent walking hand in hand through our beautiful neighborhood.   Moments in my office when I'd look at my students and wonder how I would ever say goodbye.  Moments when I wondered how I'd move away from this church family.

It was in those moments that my heart began to change.

I wish I could say that - after praying to be content in our circumstance - my heart changed immediately.  Unfortunately, this contentment-seeking, joy-choosing process has been a slow one.  And one that, I fear, may near completion a little too late (at least in regards to our time here).

You see, today marks the One Year mark before we move away, move on to the next chapter in this story. 365 days to make the most of the time we have here.  52 weeks to cram in as much time as we can with these people we've grown to love.  12 months to drink deep the blessings.  1 year to figure out how to say goodbye.  And, I already feel the time slipping through my fingers.

Somewhere along the way, and seemingly without my notice, my stubborn, "I-don't-want-to-be-here," dug-in heels have transformed into roots, fiercely driving their way into the soil here.  It's going to be really tough to uproot them.

Hold on, heart.



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