I have to get this out in words; I’m not even sure I will do
anything with it. Will it end up on TEOM? On my personal blog (which I haven’t
written anything for in over a year) or will it remain just a word doc that I
used to get all my junk out? Truly, as I sit here and write this I don’t know
what will ever come of it and if I will share it with even a single soul.
Writing is simply therapeutic, and so here I sit, banging away at the keyboard
and hoping when I stop, somehow, some part of this journey will make sense. So,
where am I toda? exhausted. I don’t even really know why today, but here it is
hitting me today. I went to PWOC (Protestant Women of the Chapel), a Bible
study group for women found on most Army posts all over the world. And it was
lovely. Everyone was sweet, introduced themselves, there was coffee (obviously
this is important to me) and I went with a sweet friend and her gorgeous little
baby. It was really a lovely time full of worship, encouragement, prayer and
testimony. Except, when I got home, I was miserable. I cried. I retreated to my
room and put on a sitcom and curled in a ball. Dramatic much? Yes, I know; it
was. I found myself missing Georgia, which for most of you who know me, your
jaw just dropped to the ground. Our PCS (Permanent [ha] Change of Station or in
layman’s terms: a big move to somewhere new) to Georgia was nothing if not
traumatic for me. I was leaving the first place I’d felt home in a very long
time, Colorado. My heart still longs for Colorado, yet today I would’ve turned
around and headed back to Georgia. Why? Because it was familiar, because I knew
how to get to the commissary alone, because even though I despised our PA, at
least we had a doctor, because I was allowed to bring Bella into her Pre-K
class instead of drop her off at the “kiss n hug” station and watch her sadly
wander to her class, because I knew the ladies on the PTO at Timmy’s school,
because I had a friend to work out with, a friend to text complaining about the
kids homework… Because it was as much home as I had those six months. I never
felt quite settled there, but…at least it was familiar. Nothing seems familiar
today. Everything seems foreign, from the highways, to the greeting at the
gate, from the temporary name badge I received today that just reminded me that
I am, once again, the new girl…I’m exhausted. I am tired of putting on a happy
face and counting my blessings, plentiful as they are. Before I lose you (if
anyone is reading this) or myself…I know full well how blessed I am. Really, I do.
Is it ok to be this honest? To tell the truth? To share the messiness that is
this Army life? To say that even though I love my life and I am so very
thankful for it, that there are days where curling up in a ball seems like the
only way to handle it? This year has been hard. We have moved twice. Our kids
have been in 3 schools in less than one years’ time. We left a church in
Colorado that was HOME, only to wander aimlessly through GA, never really
finding one that felt home…and honestly just so tired of looking for a church
home, that we don’t even want to church hunt. I think we will just stay where
we landed the first week out of sheer exhaustion. At least for awhile anyway. I
know this move will ultimately be for our good, that there are great lessons
here, that we will watch our children grow here, that we are nearby to my
husband’s family for the first time in nearly ten years, that ultimately it is
for God’s glory, but right now…it’s hard to see all of that through the tears,
the desire for the familiar and the desire to be known. To be near friends who
know the full ins and outs. The down and dirty. The most awful parts of you and
love you anyway. Those people who REALLY really know me…are all over the
country. None of them are here. And Facebook is great. Texting is amazing. But
the difference between sitting with your girls with a bottle of wine and
cupcakes and chatting them over facebook…is huge. And I miss it. I miss knowing
that people really KNOW me, mess and all, and still want to be around me, still
love me, aren’t afraid to call me out when I am drifting, and never fail to
give me a hug when I need it are just a short car ride away. 10 minutes in the
car is a big difference from 10 hours…or a plane ride. The truth is, the
hardest part of this journey is allowing yourself to be known first and finding
people who want to know you and love you anyway.