The Fog

Lately it feels like I have been living in a fog.

A cold quiet mist surrounds me with a veil that blocks the path ahead of me and the one that I left behind.  It is cold here and I shiver, confused and alone.  I am searching and searching and longing for a hand to materialize from the mist, to feel the firm grip in mine, to pull me through the valley towards higher ground.  To help me climb the hill to where the sun will be shining on my face, burning away the mist that consumes me.

But my outstretched hand is left untouched.  As I reach for something, someone, some way out, the tips of my fingers disappear in the fog.  And they touch nothing but the ever present chill of the air.  I have stumbled so many times from the journey, from not knowing my path that my knees are bleeding profusely from scraping against the rocks.

 It triggers a memory of when I was a young girl.  I have never been the most agile of creatures and much to the chagrin of my parents would often fall and skin my knees.  I vividly recall one Sunday after church when we were visiting the fountain at the mall.  I was decked out in tights and shiny black shoes, and somehow I wound up scraping myself on the sides of the fountain and I looked down to see the bright swath of red blood on my snowy white tights.  I was embarrassed then, because although I wore a fancy dress and shiny shoes, I knew that everyone would find out I was a fraud.  I wasn’t a pretty little girl in a dress but a tomboy who couldn’t walk a straight line without running into everything in her way.  I carry those scars on my knees to this day, the scars of a girl who couldn’t help but stumble every time she tried to run.

I am feeling the sting of disappointment.  I have come so far, I have tried so hard for so very long.  I have held onto Faith, Hope, the belief that something great was right around the corner.  I honestly believed that when I got to where I am now the puzzle of my life would start clicking into place.  But so far the fog has gotten heavier, denser, and my fear of making a mistake even greater.

Where do I go from here?  And how do I get there?

A while ago I stopped picturing what my life was going to be because it had gotten so blurry I simply couldn’t see.  The vision I had of my future has been erased.  I used to think that was fine because now I had a blank slate on which to write a new story, a new tale, but that tale has long since lost its appeal.  It is very hard to write a new story when you can’t find your pen.  And the inspiration has left you somewhere between a shattered dream and heart wrenching pain.

Oh how I long for the climb to be over.  I need to rest, I need to find the light that I have been searching for.  The hand to pull me through.  I need to feel the rough palm enveloping mine, the sure grip of one who knows where to go, helping me get to where I need to be.  I have been trying to carry the weight of our future on my own and the burden is just too great.  I still have Faith and Hope and Belief in something greater, but they have blurred like the view around me.  They too, are shrouded in the fog.

I have to find my way soon.  I have to feel the warmth of the sun on my face and my heart.  I have to know that I have not been walking circles in the valley, or walking towards the edge of a cliff that drops to jagged rocks down below.

Soon, I need His hand to pull me through.

Change

Change scares me.  But having everything stay the same, scares me even more. 
The kids and I will be embarking on a new adventure.  One that I feel will begin sooner rather than later.  This house that we live in, the one that I thought would be my home until the kids were grown up and gone, is for sale again.  And with good feedback and buyers who actually like the property, it's only a matter of time before it sells.  But running through my head are the plans that were made so long ago, when the house was nothing but a falling down shell of what it is today.  When the weeds choked the land, the walls were covered with wallpaper and holes, and the kitchen was a place that no one truly wanted to be.  When the property renovations were nothing more than a plan, a vision, a dream.  And now that the dream is a reality, the house finally a home, we are getting ready to leave.
I think of the large room above the garage, the bedroom for the whole family when we first moved in, and I feel sadness.  I always envisioned it being the backdrop for slumber parties and cold pizza and loud movies, but it will never be more than what it is today.  A wide empty space that is used for storage and the kid's basketball game.
The apple trees that line the driveway, the ones that we planted with such care and waited for three years to be able to pick our first apple from, will blossom and grow tall and yield apples for someone else to enjoy.  The rolling land that had so much potential, the front pasture that was meant for horses, now stands empty and silent.  No more nickers or whinnies, no more pounding of hooves as the ponies race for their dinner.  The barn, once a respite from the wind and a rain, a favorite place to go during the late fall days when the ponies left the thinning grass to bury themselves in the hay that was tossed over the fence, has also fallen silent.  Although not empty, it still holds saddles and brushes and buckets of things that are needed for horses, it is filled with memories that I haven't been able to quite face.  When the horses left, so did the happiness that resided there.
This house has good memories that I will never forget.  Watching movies in front of the warm fire, curled up on bean bags and munching on popcorn.  Being outside in the warm summer sun planting flowers, knowing that I would be around to watch them grow year after year.  Playing in the yard with the kids, tossing Frisbee or shooting basketball.  Teaching them how to hit a baseball, ride a skateboard, or just slide over the ice-covered driveway in their boots.  Letting off fireworks in the driveway, watching Brandi the horse roll in the chest deep grass, her legs kicking in the air.
These are good memories that I will always hold onto.
But along with the good memories are the bad ones, and you can't have one without thinking of the other.  The bad moments, days, months, when life stood still and pain ate away at every part of me.  And all I wanted to do was get out of this place, this house, the one filled with so many memories of a life that I needed to forget.
Now the frenzy of remodeling so that the house could be sold, is finally complete.  The product is better than anything I could have dreamed.  I see now what I saw then, when there was nothing to love about this house but the vision in my head.  I see rooms that are bright and open and clean, walls that are fresh and soothing.  A kitchen that I could live in all day, where we string beads and bake cookies, watch funny video clips and whip up hot chocolate with whipped cream, where we turn up the music and dance.  A house that is now a home, that has seen as many changes in the last few years as the family that lived in it.
But it's time to move on.
It's time to walk away from the stand of woods where Brandi is buried, from the land where she gave me one last ride.  It's time to walk away from Roc who is also buried in the woods, a quiet place in the summer, where the dappled sun spills through the leaves of the trees and the birds flit through the brush, where in the middle of an empty ravine, a patch of sunflowers will grow every year.  It's time to leave the peace and quiet of the country, where the garden plot has since turned to grass and the flowers I so painstakingly planted and cared for will be left to another.
One more change in a life that has been in turmoil since that warm fall day when I realized that nothing would ever be the same again.
There is only one way I can do this, to trade in a home with character and space, where I can walk outside and breathe, for a home that looks like every other home around it.  Where the yards are so small, you can almost reach out and shake your neighbor's hand.  Where I have convinced myself that it is where we need to be, because I am stretched too thin and too tight, a wire about to snap.  And letting go of the dream I once had is only a part of what I have had to do these last several months.  It's not the biggest, but it's one of the last.  And as the time draws nearer, the possibility of a sale becoming more real, I am clutching tighter and tighter to the old dream that brought us here in the first place.  But the only way I can do this is to let go.
I have let go of so many things that I'm not even sure there is much to hold onto anymore.  Change is inevitable.  But at some point change  has become our life, and nothing has stayed the same.  The losses are mounting.  But I pray that with this move, whenever it actually happens, comes a life where we start to gain back everything that we have lost. 
I have to trust in God.  I have to trust that He knows the plan for our life.  That when the house sells, He will time it right.  And when we move, He will show us where to go.
Without faith there is no hope.  Without trust, there is no happiness, only fear of the unknown.
I have to believe that there is peace waiting on the other side, peace, and rest.
And more dreams to replace the ones that I have lost.