prodigal

I sincerely thought I would come back here, overflowing.

I haven't been here in four months.

Haven't written a word.

And I pretended it was because I didn't have a way to post here, because a seven year old, refurbished Macbook was finally fried and I couldn't get here.

But that's not why.

I haven't written a word because I haven't had a word.

Because my writing requires an examination of self I wasn't willing to commit to.  Because when I looked into my life, I saw a skeleton and we don't share our skeletons.

I have just survived, am currently surviving, a season of stripping.

Of reduction.

A desert season when and where I've been tested in what feels like every way possible (this statement is not a challenge, by any means, and should not be interpreted as such).

I have lost friends, I have lost comfort, I have lost my security, I have lost relationships, I have lost time.

I have changed jobs twice, I have lost and regained my good health, I have said goodbye a good number of times and hollowed out places, which have not been refilled.  I have read some.  Still have written none.  I have trusted and been betrayed, I have tried to problem solve.  I have researched and I have chopped all my hair off.

Judah has learned his ABCs and a few of his numbers and he knows the color blue.  He has formed opinions I did not teach him and we have struggled severely with a number of family crises, which I pray have long been laid to rest.  He was Mickey Mouse for Halloween and after two solid months of no sleep, he's sleeping through the night again.  Thank you, melatonin and coffee.

None of this did I want to glorify by naming it.  I have been rip roaring mad and so sunk deep in loneliness I couldn't see out.  And none of it made sense because I couldn't connect the dots.  The first job change in May sent me reeling into a situational depression I couldn't quite make sense of, leading me to copious amounts of research, homeopathic medicines, problem solving and desperate prayers sounding a lot like what I've prayed in the past.

Prayers I've prayed before, which were answered.  Prayers which set everything in motion.

Prayers about risk and next right moves and discernment.

And one application filled out randomly over my phone, which landed me in my current job: the North He was drawing me to.

My story is compartmentalized into seasons; as I look out the window at my childhood Starbucks I see the leaves have turned red and people are coming in and out of these doors wearing scarves and tall boots and I know fall is here.

Fall is here and I am speaking newness into our lives.

I speaking goodness into our lives.

And movement.

Coming back here feels a lot like coming back home empty handed. The prodigal son, I come back having thought I could make it on my own.  Thinking without this place, I would be okay.  But here I come, over the hill.  Knowing these words will not have been missed by many of you.  Knowing they will go unread and the story laid out here will be worth reading, if I can get it right.

And knowing as the old season quietly turns into the new, I'll want to be here.  I'll want witnesses.