More Snow, More Substance

More snow.

Still soothing, still beautiful and reminiscent of home. But it now reminds me of my restlessness. I want all this KC living to feel natural. I want to know how to do my job. I want to not have to rely on others to show me where to get gas and how to get on the freeway. I want to find my own place to live but I'm only familiar with a large block of area where I've been staying.

Last night I missed my family. It's a lot lonelier going from chaos and noise to silence and subdued. I Face Timed with my parents and brother and I saw their faces, heard the noise and watched them go about their nightly routine that I was involved in so naturally less than a week ago. Let's be honest, it's only been five days since I've been gone, but it was one of those moments last night as I sat in my room and watched the activity on the other side of the screen when I realized I wasn't going back.

I'm not going back. I'm either stuck in place or forced to move forward. I am planting seeds in mid winter, no sign of growth, only brittle fingers burrowing into earth to swipe soil over the new holes, hope and blind faith.

What then, am I hoping for with this transition and new life I live? Am I hoping to make a difference at FCA and impact people with my writing? Certainly. Am I hoping I can find a new church where I can get involved and they can peel away the layers of my soul? Yes. Am I hoping to find my niche, to find friends who can dream with me and encourage me like they did back home? My heart cries its agreement.

There is that restlessness inside me again, scratching at me with dull claws. What do I want? So I chose to move, but it wasn't a choice made 100% enthusiastically. What do I want from this new world? A chance to breathe? To see a familiar face? If I'm out at the grocery store or visiting a church, my eyes scan over the throngs of people, watching to see someone I know.

They are all faces I don't recognize, strangers I've never seen before.

I get notes from wonderful people back home telling me they are happy for me and can't wait to see what is in store for me, what God reveals next. I am thankful for their confidence. I guess I can't see past where I am at this very moment. My vision doesn't stretch far. I see where I have come, and I see a muddle of footprints in the blinding snow. I take one tiny, tentative step after another. It's as far as I can walk. It's as far as I allow my heart to be.

Restless, though silent.

Somehow, the two go together, twisting to combine into something that's bigger than I can see. The sun will still rise, snow will still fall. And I will continue to venture forward and anticipate that each new day will bloom something with substance.