Such a long break since I've written. I find, when I am stressed and working through things in my head, I back off from blogging. I'm not sure why. When I used to keep a journal, it was the tool I used to work through emotional stuff. When things felt chaotic, my journals were full. I don't journal anymore. I don't know why I stopped. And perhaps it is the public nature of a blog that makes me hesitate sometimes. I feel I need to get my words right. I feel the need to make sure I really say what my heart wants to say without getting misconstrued. I was to be clear and vulnerable and open, but it takes more work and effort to do that in a public setting.
The January to April semester started out on a difficult note. I was so proud of how things had gone the previous semester, but when it was over, I was tired. Oh, so tired. A 3 week break over Christmas felt unbelievably short. And while I was excited to start school last fall, the ultimate reality is that the only reason I'm back in school is because I'm a solo mum and I need to work someday and actually get a job that might make me more than minimum wage (I am SO proud of my undergraduate degree, but really folks, a Fine Arts degree does not get you much as far as useful skills in the workforce). I NEED to work someday. Once again, it is something that I haven't chosen. So I admit, I started the winter semester with a twinge of resentment that I wouldn't even have to do this if I was still married. Ugh. I hate when that stupid victim mentality gets stuck in my head.
I was registered in two classes again. The first seemed simple as far as the material, but the instructor! I have never experienced someone quite like her. She definitely wanted us to know OUR place as students and HER place as professor. She was confusing, her notes were confusing, she was not available to answer questions in a timely manner (crucial in an online setting!), and I FAILED the first assignment!! I can't remember the last time I failed anything in school. Maybe a math test in high school? The second class had a great instructor, but the material was so difficult for me to wrap my brain around, and I was literally in tears every day. Every day. So I dropped the second one. I toughed it out with the horrible instructor, knowing she will be teaching many of my future courses, and luckily made another friend in the course who kept me encouraged via text often (she lives in Edmonton).
I was beyond relieved to finish the semester and looked forward to 4 glorious stress-free months. I could once again focus on my chatty, energetic 4 year old who had so valiantly dealt with Mummy ignoring her for half of the last year ("Mummy has to do school, honey"), and I could read FOR FUN, and I could enjoy spring blooming in my garden, and get excited about my son going to camp again, and a much-anticipated 40th birthday trip for me. It was going to be great.
Sometime in April, my wonderful landlord (they are close friends of mine) told me they were selling my house. They had a couple who was interested. He struggled telling me this, because they knew what this house has meant to me. They knew they were placing me in a difficult situation. I tried to remain stoic as he told me, but I don't think I hid my distress well. A few days later, my friend (the wife part of my landlord team) came over and we cried together. I know they need to do what is right for their family, and they never wanted to cause me pain. Our landlord/tenant relationship has been fantastic, but I guess when you rent from friends, it can be heartbreaking when it ends. At least it has been for me.
They were also giving me a near steal on rent. For a whole house in this city, my budget falls way, way short. Long story short, after looking at many places, and many tears, and some anger, and constant, constant praying, and almost getting one that was practically my dream home, but fell through, I have found one. It does not have the character or homey-ness that my current home has. The yard falls way short as well, and is a shared yard, with a tenant who lives in a suite in the back garage. It is not in the best part of town, but also not the worst. But it is a whole house, that has been, for the most part, well kept. It has enough space for growing kids. It is my Father providing for his children. He is sheltering my babies, as I knew He would.
But today, I've been on the verge (and over the verge) of tears. I walked 1 block with my little girl to our wonderful little neighbourhood park, and realized that in 3 weeks, we will have no playgrounds close to us. My neighbourhood is one in which I have wanted to live my entire life. Truly. This exact neighbourhood. And I have to leave it. My backyard is a park unto itself. I have to leave it. I know and trust my neighbours and there are a myriad of lovely children who play with my kids. I am leaving all of them for the complete unknown.
'Krista', my heavenly Father tells me, 'this is okay. I know it is not your deepest heart's desire, but I go with you. My plans and ways are higher than yours. You don't know what I may bring to you in the next year or 2 or 3 or 4 that you live in this new place. I go with you. Every step, my precious daughter. I know your pain. I know that sometimes a home is more than just a place to live. Trust Me, my child. Trust Me and hold tight to My hand that will never let you go. I go before you, and behind you and beside you. And I can take your sadness and grief, My dear, precious girl.'
When I was growing up, we moved often. There was one house I lived in for 5 years, from grade 2 to grade 7. I cried leaving that house. That was my home more than any other had been. The next time I cried leaving a home was when I was forced to leave our Victoria home in 2007. I never wanted my kids to move so much. And this home has been our haven, in a way I cannot even express. This home gave me a sense of stability, that was apparently overblown, because it was not mine. I was still a tenant. My heart longs to have that home that we can move into and settle and never have to leave. A place where we can plant trees and flowers and watch them bloom for years and years and maybe decades. I long for ONE place, ONE home. Maybe it's a longing for my eternal Home. Maybe not being settled in one place here on earth is how God deeply plants in my heart, the longing for HOME. His Home. Home with Him.
But it's still hard. And my heart hurts tonight. And I can't stop these damn tears. I'm so thankful that my God understands and loves me regardless. I AM thankful that he has provided a good house. I am thankful that friends who love us will be living 4 blocks away. That is a blessing. That is my Father, not giving me everything I want, but giving me small love gifts that will see me through hard days. He led me to a house, a WHOLE house, which was the one thing I said over and over again to friends who have walked through this with me. He guided me there. I will trust You. My days are in Your hands, Father, and I CHOOSE to rest there. I will rest in You.
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