Intruder here - 3 a.m. tears

I feel like an intruder on my own blog.  I don't write nearly as often as I ought, and hardly ever when God prompts me to express something that is on my heart.  Computers frustrate me.  Writing liberates my heart, but the idea of sitting at the computer for an hour writing isn't nearly as appealing as...making something.  Making something holds more appeal for me than most things.  I suppose writing is making something.  It's making sense of thoughts. 
          It helps.  
That fails to motivate. 

I awoke from an uncomfortable dream at 3 a.m. this morning.  It wasn't scary.  Hurt wasn't present.  No one died.  No one was in danger.  It was just uncomfortable.  I laid awake for a few moments while my heart  found it's usual rythm, but I wasn't able to dismiss the dream.  It's real.  It's going to happen.  It's nothing monumental.  It really isn't that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things.  Just uncomfortable.  Something I'd rather avoid.  

Not our move.
It wasn't the tale of that.

My brain will filter that into my sleep soon enough, I'm sure.  It will be more than uncomfortable.  
That move.  Only 3 months away.
In the heat of the Florida summer.
In the heat of spiritual growth I've had here.
In the heat of intimate community we've found here.
In the heat of friendships with genuine and God fearing brothers and sisters we've found.

I've always been uncomfortable in the heat.  That's how this move feels.  Like being doused in the July Florida sun.  It hurts.  All the way to my inner center.  There's the promise of the shade.   The healing.  I will grieve the heat, hard.  But the shade will come.  And it will sweet like balm for my heart.  

He always protects.  It's been paved.  
He's there always.  He doesn't leave me in the sun.  


The man of the house woke up when I laid back down after paying a visit to the bathroom.  He looked at me without words and his mouth peeled back sleepily.  It was refreshing to see his face.  He leaned over his side of the bed and his face was illuminated from the light of his cell phone.  
"What time is it?"
"Three."


....................................

"God doesn't usually wake me up without reason.  We must need to pray about something"

"So lets"

The move.

It's soon.

He prayed.  

He prayed for preparation.  For my heart.  For the path to be blazed ahead of us, as we have faith it already has been.  

My turn.                             Heat and pressure behind my eyes and I squinted them shut, tight.  My temples received the first tears of my prayers.
My heart heaves and my breathing paces to catch up.  My temples and ears are soaked.  My belly tightens with every squint of heat and wet.  These tears hurt.  

The people, the support, the community, the memories, the comfort, the routine.  
It will all be gone.  Different.

Wonderful, it always is with him.  But different.  
I felt pain when leaving Colorado 3 years ago this May 11th.  I felt pain when leaving Kirksville, MO 2 years before that.  I felt the hurt when leaving Maryland 1 year before that.  The pain was there when leaving Laramie 1 year before that.  The pain was all too present and excruciating when leaving Covenant Bible College in Canada 2 years before that.  

This is like that.  Different, but like that.
Leaving Canada was leaving spiritual community like I'd never had before. Like I'd never witnessed before.  The depths of those friendships was new for me. The community that spread all over the U.S. and Canada after graduation was like a root being ripped from my heart.  

I dream about CBC.  On a monthly basis.  Sometimes more.  I long for those friends.  For that closeness.  
I haven't dreamt about it as much here as I did other places.  The community we found here was similar.  I didn't long for CBC as much here as I had in the past.  

A root in my heart.  I can feel it growing there, strong and thick.  Weaving itself around all the intricate parts.   The friendships remain, but cyber community isn't the same.  That root gets ripped and it hurts.  


I clasped my hands tight and squeezed out more heat.  Heavy exhales in between incomplete sentences about trust and faith and provision.  It's all orchestrated, but that hurt is so prevalent still.   Every gathering with my community - every gathering with OUR community - every sister that finds out we are leaving and laments while standing in front of me after hearing my words.  Every child care worker that shows a hurt heart at the thought of losing our boys    - the way they love them.  The way they have helped us with their faith.  
That root twists and digs further every time.  And it just has to be ripped.  

None of this speaks to doubt.  None of it speaks of "dread".  None of it speaks of fear - fear is an emotion not worthy of anyone's time.


I trust.   

I hurt.