Two weeks ago, when the plans began to solidify, I broke down while Jeremy and I were talking about what to do next. He saw I needed some fresh air and suggested we continue the conversation later. In I went to the long peacoat and warm boots. I clenched a cup of hot coffee and stepped outside. It was cold, cloudy, and very windy. It felt just right, even if my coffee was being blown out of it's cup and onto my sleeve. Now what? I headed to the field and trudged toward a big oak tree to sit under for a while. I let the tears flow. Then the weeping welled up and came right out.
I loved this place. I attached to it deeply. Letting go hurt. But as I sat there, I released it. Then I had the strength to bless it, and bless the new dwellers of this dreamland (whomever they were) and asked for favor and prosperity on both the land and it's inhabitants. It felt good and freeing. I got up to take a walk. Then, I saw the garden, my soft spot. There were four perfect rows of healthy potato sprouts, four rows of little pea plants, a full bed of lettuce in various stages of growth, parsley, chives, oregano, and rosemary, all ready to season something nourishing, some barren beds all fertilized and waiting for the seeds and starts I had prepared for each square inch. So much love and hope poured into those raised beds. It all came pouring back in. It was almost too much to look at. I walked past it, tears streaming, wind blasting. All along the way, though, the Father was speaking very comforting, very peaceful words to my spirit and it was like salve on dry, parched skin.
There's this horse on our street that I've wanted to stop and look at for a while. So I did. We locked eyes and it seemed to know he was comforting me. I walked further down the road and he followed me, so I stopped, and we locked eyes again for several moments. As I continued my stroll, he watched me until I turned a corner. For all I knew, he was patiently awaiting an apple to be pulled from my pocket, but it was a nice moment, nonetheless.
I stopped at the corner by a patch of red flowers I'd been meaning to look at ever since they sprang up at the beginning of spring. They were starting to wilt a little, but they were still so pretty. More and more, I was making my peace with this transition.
New life was everywhere. The manzanitas had beautiful new growth, as well. Everything I looked at said, change and new life are in the air. I embraced it. I was feeling more ready now.
Excitement welled back up a bit, and I was ready to head back and continue the process by telling the kids the news with Jer.
"We have something to tell you, and it entails adventure."