Our word prompt this week is Belong.
Transition is a thief of belonging.
As I stand (okay, I'm actually sitting right now, work with me) I don't have a permanent residence and although my family all have beds and a roof right now, I'm sure some might consider us homeless. All of our stuff is sardine-packed into the garage of a place we own but no longer inhabit. We finished a two-week painting project on another house we don't live in yesterday, and return to the home-away-from-home we have here at my in-laws'. We're always welcome here and I'm thankful, but the back of my mind reminds me again that as good as this feels, it's only temporary. We're not settled yet.
(that's my Guy there on the top of the roof; and that's my heart pounding, my soul praying he won't fall there behind the lens)
Looking ahead I know God will plant us again in a new garden, but seeds blowing in the wind must take captive fluttering anxieties every moment if they want to abide intact and have any grain worth pushing down into the soil. Transition breeds unrest, worry, and anxiety faster than rabbits. And I know that I don't want to worry but worry finds me out. I wasn't playing hide and seek with it. Seriously - leave me alone already.
When I wonder where I belong on this earth, there's an answer. I'll always have a place with this guy.
He's the gift I didn't know I needed, but Someone gave him to me 18 years ago, anyway, and it seems so strange that I've known him now longer that I haven't. Who knew that little ignorant girl would find all the belonging her flailing heart needed in him, and that for decades he would calm all of her flutters in the strength of his arms and the clarity of his eyes, the flash of his smile? Her Maker knew, knew how much she would need to belong to someone.
I still sign notes to him this way: fyg. Forever Your Girl. And when I don't belong anywhere I still belong to him. His love still amazes me. The way he still only has eyes for me. That's rare, you know. Even last night as I drifted off, I was struck by how he still looks at me. Still wants me. Still turns his eyes from other prettier things back to my eyes. Still offers me treasures like strength, time, kisses, devotion, words, balance, dreams, and hands.
I don't know where I'll be sleeping next month, or cooking or working or going to church - those kinds of things offer belonging. But I do know that whatever may come, my hand will be in his. And even though my citizenship is of a different Place, I will always belong with him.
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