Moms, what is the hardest part of labor?
Transition is the hardest part of life, so "Transition Labor" is aptly named.
My little family is in a time of great transition. The upheaval it has taken to get us this far is unbelievable and almost unbearable.
We are now back in Florida, tucked safely behind the walls and wings of my parents' house and arms, as they feed us and love our little boy. I feel like I did back in high school--no one can hurt me here. We're here to lick our proverbial "wounds," get angry, kick and scream, take care of ourselves and each other (thanks, Jerry Springer), and re-learn dependence and independence.
Our belongings are either in storage or in other peoples' possession, causing us to cut ties with earthly "stuff," and we just wait until it's time to branch out on our own again.
I am in and out of tears on a daily basis, remembering, wishing, and wanting. But also, reflecting. On grace and goodness, and holiness. And sovereignty. All things I question but know to be true at the same time.
I know right now with the greatest of certainties that my soul is starving. Sometimes anorexic, refusing food; sometimes bulimic, regurgitating what it knows is best. I open the bible and grasp for straws and shove them in my mouth. But sometimes I can't keep them down so I just don't even try.
This is just a "season," to be sure. But Punxsutawney Phil said "six more weeks of winter." Bah Humbug. Transition to Spring.