finding my morning…

As of this week, we’ve now been Florida residents for three years. In some ways, it seems like far less time has passed, and yet, in other ways, it feels like an eternity.

Three years. Griff’s attended two different schools, had three different homeroom teachers and one amazing gifted teacher, had surgery on both legs and learned that he’s stronger than he thought. Eliza’s gone from daycare to pre-k graduation, lost her first tooth and completely forgotten her life before Florida.

Mike has grown into this strong, capable, motivating professor. He has his own style and is comfortable in it. He’s serving on committees and hating it and missing his own faculty, but he’s so very good at what he does.

My three years were harder than Mike’s. Though now that I’m feeling better, stronger and more confident myself, I think that those first months, years, were just as hard on him as they were on me as he had to watch me struggle and suffer and flounder. And while we made the decision to move together, the move initially was far kinder to him than to me, and I was not too proud to mention that to him, more often than was necessary. He’s a kind man to have stayed with me when I was so miserable that I considered not staying with him.

But even then, all curled up in the bed, aching from the depression and homesickness, longing to go home, I couldn’t have possibly left him. He’s my anchor, and I’m deeply thankful for his kindness and compassion and patience.

Because today, I am happy here. Now, there are things we’re lacking - namely, a church home - but a lacking of our own making. But in general, I’m happy here now. Contented with my life.

A few months ago, I was driving home from work (I had already applied for the promotion but hadn’t been told that I had gotten it) and thinking that I was liking this life. It was really a lovely realization that we had come so far. And in that moment, I decided that if I got the promotion, I would do something permanent to remind myself that things will eventually even out, even after something so completely unsettling to me as the move.

I wanted something that would be a tangible reminder to me that the bad in life rarely lasts forever. For as long as I can remember, Psalm 30:5 has been one of my favorites.

For His anger is but for a moment, His favor is for a lifetime; Weeping may last for the night, But a shout of joy comes in the morning. (New American Standard)

There’s something endlessly comforting to me about the notion that sorry and weeping and aching and longing and soul-searing unhappiness are only temporary. I understand that the time between night and morning can be a really long time. My Florida night seemed endless. But this morning, it is lovely.

One of my 101 Things in 1001 Days goals was to get a tattoo, and when I decided that I wanted something happy and permanent to be a reminder to me that joy will always come in the morning, I decided to get a tattoo.

So I asked my brother to design something for me, and he agreed. A couple of days later, he sent me the design. It was something I already had, something Aleece did for me years ago.

John told me, “I think I’ve got the right one for ya.  For years now, you’ve been chasing it.  Now, when we spoke the other day, it sounded like you’ve all essentially found it.