I moved on Saturday.
In preparation for moving, I was asked how the packing process was going, if I was ready to move, where I was moving, etc.
I had a some lovely people offer to help and was thrilled to accept the help provided.
And yesterday (Sunday) I talked with people who each asked the question, “so are you all moved in?”
As if, suddenly, the process ends once things are transfered. The build up and packing up takes time, there is a labor involved in the transition, and then, I’m here.
But grafting into the new takes as much time as the breaking away.
This move also happened to coincide with my last day at my church. Talk about breaking. I think as people we do not realize our habits and routines until they are disrupted. Similarly, I do not think we fully understand how much we love something or someone until we leave them; as if parting allows us to feel the desire more fully.
I have been a part of my church since I moved to Savannah. I have held different positions within the church and had different views of the church. It has been my socialization, my hobby, my safe place, my routine, and, in this last year, it has been my passion. I feel blessed and simultaneously heartbroken to have been given time to untangle myself over the last three weeks from this place – slowly backing away and watching as the women step up and come together; it has been the most bitter sweet time I can recall in my life.
I wish I had a clear and concise answer when people ask, “what’s next?”
I’m here in this new place. Trying to get organized and settled in. Trying to catch my breath between leaving and beginning. Waiting to begin the process of grafting in to what is next.
My understanding of grafting (from cursory reading) is that it is difficult and takes time and patience and attention.
And I like to think God has been letting me learn how to wait patiently and attentively through difficult places, as if preparing me ahead of time for what he knew I would need.