As my brother-in-law gracefully pointed out to me two weekends ago, I haven’t blogged for quite awhile.  Oops.  While I try not to make excuses, I can hardly say the last month has been slow or dull for me.  I’m still making so many adjustments to my new life, and I’m not entirely sure what that really entails yet.  My job is going well, but with far more chaos and disorganization than I idealistically imagined.  I still love coming home to Harold my fish and my quaint little apartment, and it’s getting more character every day (in a good way, that is...).  The emotional adjustment process is the slowest, but I don’t think it should be otherwise.  Jon made it to his first destination (FYI—he’s not still en route over the Atlantic, David) and I feel really lucky with how much we get to communicate.  But wow, it’s just not the same and I miss him terribly.  Something about my semi-delirious state at 4 a.m. isn’t real conducive for a good ‘ole heart-to-heart.  It’s another one of those point of perspective situations—I obviously know I love Jon and want to spend the rest of my life with him, but already our time apart has made me realize how easy it is to take someone for granted.  I just have this absence in my life right now, and he’s the only one who can fill it, so all I can do for now is wonder what he’s doing and wait.  It’s that patience thing again...clearly my strong point.

There’s just been a lot of inner turmoil for me lately.  My heart has been breaking for a few of my close friends who are going through unimaginable circumstances right now and still staying so strong.  Jon’s grandparents have just been through another round of medical excursions, and I ache for him as there is really no way around this difficult time.  I’m still searching for a home church in my new area, and that search is wearing and tiresome.  There is nothing I can do but pray, and for someone who loves to be a woman of action, the outwardly passive role is extremely hard.  In so many ways, I feel like there’s just not enough of me.  It’s as if parts of me are turning off, shutting down like vital organs without oxygen, and I don’t know what to do about it or how to stop it.  Though I run and run from living a facade, the fakeness and pleasantries of the world seem to somehow trap me and I end up feeling like I’m living a lie.  However, the big question is who am I lying to?  More often than not I’m afraid to answer.

So while I have been extremely busy, the blank page has begun to frighten me again as I attempt to form words that match even a sliver of my true thoughts.  As strange and deafening as it can be, silence has been my comfort lately.  In the quiet moments, my deepest vulnerabilities find exposure, and I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.