when you just don’t know

this is a post that i’ve put off writing.

i’ve known that i need to. so many of you have asked the questions that have told me you want to know. “what are you up to?” “where are you?” “how are you?”

the answer is one i hate having to give:: “i don’t know.”

i don’t know what i’m doing these days. i’m doing so much that it’s all starting to run together, and i just. don’t. know.
i don’t know where i am half the time. i go to bed too late and get up too early. my body forgets what time zone i’m in, and i just. don’t. know.
i don’t know how i’m doing. a million and one adjectives come to mind, and i’m feeling all of them, but that just tells you my emotions and not my current state. i’m sorry, but i just. don’t. know.

three weeks ago i left Liberia. i kissed my babies goodbye and held them close. i told them i love them, that i’d pray for them every day, that i’d see them in January. 

i got home and hit the ground running. i spoke at my church and struggled to say the words for the last six months of my life.

i unpacked my suitcase only to repack it again. i realized how much of my life has been spent living out of suitcases. i flew to Seattle.

i drove to Idaho. i met friends who quickly became family, who welcomed me in their homes and fed me meals and laughed with me and prayed for me. i walked on dirt roads and found heart-shaped rocks and heard His whisper in the wind.

i retreated to a cabin in the woods. i shut myself off from the rest of the world and sought answers to the questions my soul has been asking for a long, long time. i cried in a bathtub and took a nap on the front lawn in the sunshine.

i wrote (a lot).

i faced the fears and put words to the feelings.

i swam in hot springs. i drank coffee on a dock. i took a walk in a forest and spent an hour staring at the cottage with the red roof.

i got homesick. even more so once i realized i have no idea where home even is anymore. i watched the birds flying above me and saw the shadows their wings made on the ground. i thought of psalm 91. i took it as a promise.

i learned about myself. i laughed, and i cried. i realized how much i need to grieve the hard things. i felt the weariness. i started talking about it. i gave thanks for the people in my life who love me enough to ask.

i started thinking ahead, making plans, organizing events. 
and in 36 hours, i’ll be on my way home…again.
i am going to rest.
i am going to prepare.
i am going to share my heart openly.
i am not going to hold back. 

because even if i don’t know what’s ahead,
i do know the One who does.


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