begin again

 i'm here in wenham ma, where i swore i would never live again, sitting on my porch beneath the canopy of two red umbrellas looking out to a canopy of maple trees in the woods out back. trees that have stood still and held their place for over a 100 years, long before my days began. i am leaning on katenge covered pillows, missing african tea and the hot sun. the weather has turned cool, the sky is closed - bone white- but the leaves are still fully green and i hear many birds.

for the past month i've felt vulnerable and sandy, squinting and exposed, like a hermit crab who crawled out of her old shell but neglected to first find a new one.  i've been searching for a covering that fits. in retrospect it would have been better to have planned, started something and then said goodbye to my last writing space- but this honestly is much more typical of me, and a lot of life's lessons get learned when i'm sandy and exposed. 

after i wrote that last post, i immediately needed a space to write to process the leaving. transitions are hard but there is also goodness to be found in letting go. and that is what i was doing. letting go of my decade plus of raising zoe. letting go of those long years of my wrestling with what was, when it wasn't what i wanted. of moving to acceptance and the slow process of turning that acceptance into thanksgiving, into gratitude.which is where i have landed.

it's also a letting go of uganda, of our life being lived there. i left over a year ago that place i had thought we'd stay forever. there have been moments of deep longing and moments of tears, usually unexpected and at strange times. like at the fish counter of the supermarket when they wouldn't fillet the tilapia and didn't want to hear my story of the man who sold fish from the icebox on his bodaboda, or painting the hallway when that toto song "i bless the rains down in Africa.."came on.  or when i'm listening to someones lungs and i briefly close my eyes. i hear parts of the exam in luganda, "bikola okamwa" (open your mouth) and for a minute, i am there in the village in my mind. it's vivid, the colors, the light, chipped paint, a fly, the smell of sweat, a smile.  the struggle to let go becomes tangible, the longing a deep oceanic pull. 

the letting go these days feels different than the letting go that we are forced to do with time and physical leaving. these days, letting go is becoming a choice, a practice. 

because it seems my days are made of this. these days are very full, full of people becoming their own. my process with my kids is shifting into a space of letting them go. as they start to bike everywhere and drive cars, and navigate a world of constant change and choice - my job is to be in the business of learning to let them go. helping them hear their own voice, the indwelling Spirit of God within them, and trust it. my job changes from telling them what to do, to guiding them toward good choices. i remain the steady presence, the reliable background, the behind the scenes overseer but not the dictator.

as i searched what to call this 'new' space i couldn't part with 'be still and know' - it's ancient wisdom, a call to remembrance  - an invitational command- slow down, stop treading water and let yourself just be, be still, rest, and know that I am God- and that is enough. that is what lets me stop treading water, running in place, or up a mountain, God is bigger. the great Mystery of Love is holding down the fort. but instead of 'away we go', the sub text is 'letting go'.

i'm going to have to get used to this new shell, this new space. i still feel sandy and raw and that i haven't settled in yet. but i will get there. i will let go and begin again.