Feels strange to be starting over
We haven't moved (to a new church) in eight years. Our last two appointments were in the same community (more or less), so we haven't been uprooted from social network and where-to-shop and so on for eleven years. Since starting my first appointment in seminary, we have never moved to a new appointment without children. This move feels very strange, indeed.
I told collinsmom
today that when I left Spencer following High School, I never looked back. Everything I was looking for was ahead of me, rather than behind me. To this day, I keep in touch with almost nobody from my youth. The friends I made in seminary are my "old friends" today. So I suppose I ought to be able to see this new start as a new phase in my life and go forward without worrying over the past, but I just can't.
It feels so weird to contemplate Christmas this year without my family (for instance). I mean, I'd welcome my family in a hearbeat, but somehow I don't think we'll get together; at least, my own two children won't be coming home, I don't think. stryck
is mulling over other Christmas possibilities. siege
has launched himself off in a different direction, and I don't think he'll have transportation. So it may just be me and ða wif
, together with dog and cat. And as everybody follows their own centripetal orbits, it may be that way for much of the future.
So we're going to have to learn how to do our thing where we are, by ourselves. And we're going to have to learn how to make friends -- something we aren't particularly good at. We have few really comfortable friends whom we eagerly look forward to being with (and all of them, like us, are incredibly busy). And if we couldn't figure this out very well as newlyweds, imagine two middle-aged introverts trying to figure it out now. Doesn't sound promising.
Anyway, I miss my children. My daughter and I were always the type who could just about finish each other's sentences. I understand about her constructing her own life, but I miss her. I have always enjoyed her company immensely. My son I love, but what I mostly feel in contemplating his current situation is a great sense of "unfinished business." There is so much I have tried to do with him and for him, and, well, paraphrasing Jesus, "he would not." I fear for him, but feel helpless to do anything else for him.