Hope

Sleep ebbed early this morning, leaving me to climb out of bed long before the sun awoke. Jug, of course, just cared that he went outside and was fed. So, with Jug on my heels, I opened the door, and stepped onto the patio. The sky, dyed a deep indigo, lit bright with individual points of clear light, momentarily iced me (Almost literally – it was freakishly cold.) in place with simple gratitude that I was witness to such a bravura display.

On the frosty air I could smell the cold, crisp winter, but there was the merest tendril of something else, something intangible yet completely, substantially present -change. I grew up with change, learned not to fear it (greatly), but this – this felt different. This felt just a bit like exhilarated anticipation.

I can’t say this is new. No, in fact, I believe this creature has slowly been approaching, making a decided effort not to scare me into my tower for months, possibly even a few years. This will be a break with tradition, with complacency, with the absolute known. And I believe the unhurried, measured approach has been His. After all, He knows me wholly, knows my heart, knows my tendency to run. So, it would be His deliberate pace to prepare me for a new chapter, even a complete new book. (Don’t you love that about Him? How greatly He individually knows and cares for you?)

You know already I chose a very non-traditional Christmas, went to one of my chosen families instead of my biological, and in my deepest heart I know this was the correct decision. There was no internal struggle once the decision was made, and it truly was a magnificent Christmas. A dear friend reminded me that the Passover the Apostles celebrated with Christ must’ve been a similar break with tradition: “What do you mean you’re not coming home for Passover? That’s ridiculous, of course you’re coming home. You always come home. Who celebrates big holidays with friends?”

And this will only be the beginning. I don’t know the specifics of the path yet; I can’t see that far. The lamp only lights the proverbial step I’m on, but I sense the twist in my route upcoming, and for the first time in years, I know this twist isn’t to a dark, dank, horrid place. The slight flutter of butterflies is unfamiliar, and I’m almost positive this feeling with which I am so unacquainted is what we call “hope.”

And in the quiet, darkest blue of the early morning chill  I whisper a prayer of peace and acknowledgment that this new phase will be His.