neera

right now i need the mountains- to place me. i need the woods- to hide in.  i need the lake- to hold me buoyantly.  i need to sense the physical boundary of where my body meets the water- the shelter of tall trees and the perspective of heights.  i am closing me eyes. i am seeing this.  i am breathing the air of my years. i am feeling my history. i need my past to call me forward.  i need remembering.  i am longing for these things that have made me and led me.

three years ago on this day, we packed it up and boarded a plane with our years packed into 15 bags and three wide-eyed children who were stuck with us- moving their little american city lives across a large ocean to the great unknown of africa. i remember that day in bits.  it was full of piles of 'coming' and 'not' and 'trash'.  it was full of last minute gathering and hard goodbyes. the weighing of bags, the stashing of random scraps in pockets, the checking of lists. and it was full of lasts.   

the last time i see this basement playroom that we worked on every night for a week as the kids big Christmas gift.  the last time i sit with my friend sara on this bed, in this city, in this life that i'm leaving.  the last time i hear this floor squeak. the last time i sit on this porch and look over these great water oaks.

i remember thinking those things- but i didn't know how real it was. i didn't know what 'last' really meant. i didn't know that coming back was forever going to be different because i would become different.  i didn't know that things i thought were important - wouldn't matter anymore.  i didn't know that it could never be the same again because a part of me would always be somewhere else- here.  you can't go back - it's like imagining your life without kids now that you have them.  it's like what karen blixen says to denys in out of africa , "you've ruined it for me, being alone." this place has become a part of me- a part i can't imagine not being in me. all of it. the deep green and the forever red dirt and the way the rain sweeps in and then goes fast followed by the sun- never a day of only rain. this place of undone and unkempt and often broken, but generous.  full.  always the same- growing, blooming, starting over, getting back up, going on, persevering. hoping for better, trying. and those parts make sense to me. those things play out the realness of our lives- that sameness, that hope, that effort, that falling, that starting again. and again, and again, and again, neera.

tomorrow we will celebrate our three year anniversary here.  we will eat cake and hear from those three-wide eyed children and now a fourth- about this place that they know as home- more now home than they knew the last place to be. and we will talk about here and there- and transitions and living and who we are and who we are becoming and what home really means and how there are mountains and woods and water almost everywhere.  and how that same great God made all of it- and even the ocean that separates us from our old days.  and we will talk about how we are part of both now and always will be- and in that is a challenge and a blessing.  and that it's okay.  it is okay to miss and love both- that it's good to hold the tension of those opposites- to allow and embrace what makes us and leads us.

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“The Sun will rise and set regardless. What we choose to do with the light while it's here is up to us. Journey wisely.”
― Alexandra Elle