Hard not to Hope

Weeks away from 30, I find myself living in a brand new state, with a brand new job, a new home, and married to the military. It’s after midnight, and I’m laying in bed trying to find a local church that looks like maybe they could be a place for us. A place that matches what we look like, and that may have people who find themselves where we are.

Never in a million years did I think I would be where I find myself now. I’m not even sure how to follow up that sentence. I supposed I could list all the things that bring truth to the statement “I never imagined this.”

I could lay out my feelings. I could explain how we got here. I could pour out the details of what I was hoping for. But none of that would change or erase the fact that this is where we are now.

In a less than desirable part of the country, in a far cry from our dream home, hundreds of miles from anyones door we could walk in without knocking or at least calling first. I urge myself to choose gratitude each and every day. But it’s hard. It’s so incredibly hard to smile when the tears wait on the edge of my eyelids each moment of the day. It’s hard to be grateful for all these things I didn’t want. It’s hard to be grateful when things are busy being hard.

I write when I’m beyond thinking. There have been many many times in my life that I’ve taken up writing, blogging, sharing and jotting down my thoughts regularly. Things get better, and the well of words dries up. I always know when I’m really spiraling because I seek my book of words. And when I find that I don’t have one anymore, I make a new one. It’s hard not to hope that this one may last.