Tick..tick..boom.

This past week was one for the books...

You know those times in the phases of your seasons of life when everything is going so smoothly;

too smoothly. 

And you're half waiting for the inevitable explosion, the conclusive eruption of the soft and steady, in with the chaos and confusion. The latter came in like a lion this past week. After the phase of soft and steady. All at once, and gradually.

My mind and heart spun like a web of doubt into the future of my choices; my tried and true story of what I've always thought turned into questions of if I can do it, why am I doing it, what if I can't do it. Life and voice across the continent was quiet. Home continued to slowly become a vague and confusing term meaning both something physical and emotionally and metaphorical, juggling far too many people and concepts and places connected to that term. Too afraid to leave any of them behind in the fury of change and shifting chapters, too afraid to leave behind pieces of me in places I'm uncertain of when I will return to. I have this capability, of magnifying every little problem into something twelve thousand times worse. Maybe we all do that. Or at least I hope that I'm not the only one. I also am a pro at pushing people away and lashing out when all of this happens, people closest to me love when this happens, I swear. It's taken a little while for the dust to settle. To return to sane mind (mostly) and somewhat of a sane spirit.

It's taken awhile in all this change and movement, to remember that even though I will change, that this is inevitable, and leave and move on in life, the places I have dubbed home will still remain, the people within them will still be there or somewhere to relive these moments again. A place called home at any point can be made accessible again and better yet, home will reshape itself into some place different.

We will have a little abode to call our own. 

My lovely fiance long-distance-‘house’-hunted (after we looked online) and we’ve settled on a lovely townhome style set-up in a familiar complex. He toured it and deemed it “homey” and a “nice couples living place” while I await a video. My heart is full and awaiting the day when we walk through the doors as newlyweds, exhausted and exhilarated, ready to start this adventure God has blessed us with.

A day when I get to put this print I got almost a year ago now just as we were first engaged, on our wall and chant this motto wherever we may be planted in the future; both physically and everything else. I cannot wait for a life and a home. I cannot wait for the first terrifying and exhausting two weeks of our life together, which holds a wedding, a honeymoon, a first flight with my husband and moving into our first home together. But until then, I remember to treasure the present to the best of my ability. I continue to grow on my own, to learn how to be the best wife and friend I can potentially be, to learn everyday how to not only love someone else but to love myself, to cherish the seconds of alone time and dreams of the future that hangs just far enough to see but not close enough to touch just yet. For today, I grow where I am planted. For right now, I am planted here. My roots may not be set in the place that I am in, but temporary ones are. They won’t be broken when I leave this place, but I will shed them like skin and leave them here, with the changes I will take everything this place and these people and this person I am here have taught me. I cannot believe how soon that will be. And that is both terrifying and exhilarating to me. It is something I am processing and will continue to do so for the next seven months until that plane flight with my husband sitting next to me happens.

Even still, I will continue to shed the skin of home and carry it with me. Attached, but not so much. Connected, but differently. Reshaped into my own home, a new home. A new chapter. Among all the other stresses of life, having this constantly in the foreground of my heart and my brain overwhelms me.

This week, I was a ticking time bomb, ashamed to admit that I was unable to get all my scattered thoughts and daily stresses under control.

So I stand before you, a human. I am not perfect. But that is no excuse to hurt myself or other people around me. I'm working on it. Flaws are not pretty, but they are capable of growing pretty things, meaningful lessons

with a little water and sunlight

and a whole lotta grace.

Growth. 
It's happening. Not always without a little pain, though.