As I’ve shared previously, Steve and I have been in a season of waiting. Our next set of orders from the Navy (Steve is officially back on active duty) seemed to be a bit elusive. After a slew of possible options, we now have orders.
Steve will be leaving soon for the Middle East. As in, very soon.
Due to the recent unrest in the area, we are currently not able to go with him. However, this “stop movement” for dependents will be re-evaluated in the next couple of weeks. If we are able to go with him, we will move as soon as they are able to process our belongings—probably sometime this summer—and we’ll be back in the Middle East for the next two years.
If we’re not able to go with him, Steve will be overseas for the next year, and we’ll stay here in San Diego.
So, while we begin getting Steve ready to leave and tend to the never-ending list of details required for an overseas move, we also wait. Wait to see if we’ll be together or apart. Wait to see if we’ll be able to try to have another baby or if that will be put on hold indefinitely. Wait to see if we’ll be planting or uprooting.
Part of me longs for adventure. Part of me longs for permanence. It all feels complicated, to be sure. Sometimes it’s hard to see exactly how God is making things beautiful in its time (Ecc 3:11). What is best for my children? My husband? My marriage? My work? My soul?
Too soon, my husband will be gone. His side of the closet empty. His side of the bed empty. I can’t even feel how that will feel. I know it will seem as if he just evaporated. As I wrote yesterday, the waves roll in and out. Sometimes pooling. Sometimes crashing.
If you are looking for the beauty-in-the-making today—the found art—I am with you, holding a bit of space for the mystery to unfold . . . in all its promised beauty. Whatever that might mean.