Strange

It is strange sometimes, being somewhere I never thought that I would be. I never thought that I would be living here for so long, never planned on letting the desert once again become home. It is strange to be surrounded by the faces of kids who I thought that I said goodbye to five and a half years ago, when I first left for college. 

It is strange to remember that, ultimately, I am not the one in control. 

Because, I would leave tomorrow if I could, that wanderlust in my belly never satisfied with being still for long. Always, a new month rolls along and something in my mind whispers that this could be it, that this could be the time that I leave. 

Always, there is the part that wants to be doing something bigger, grander, the part that is never satisfied with the small and the gradual and the steady work of building years of trust. There is the nomad's instinct to move and to move on, leaving a piece of my heart with no intention of ever going back to collect it.

There are the plans built on clouds and old prophesy, scraps of paper and hours of internet searches. There is the knowledge building up, waiting.

And yet, He has a better way. 

So, it is strange, but it is also beautiful.

It is beautiful when I can stand in the resource room, preparing for elementary Sunday school and talking with middle schoolers, while a high schooler tugs on my arm and reminds me of the application that we have to finish filling out. The one so that we can go back to work at a camp for foster kids where I was first her counselor. 

When a sixth grader sneaks up to poke me in the sides during game or bump into me during worship, much as he did as a kindergartener and fourth and fifth grader, and when I take an eighth grader's hand to spin around during music.

When we sit on the floor to listen to a speaker and they are curled in so tight that their feet are over mine and under my legs and folded knees are against my hip without thinking. When they reach my shoulder now, rather than my elbow, all lanky little boy and blushing shyness. When they still find me before they do anything else. 

When I teach Sunday school with seniors whose kindergarten class I once volunteered in and talk about Haiti with a sixteen year old, knowing that I was a flower girl in his parents' wedding. When my school kids are at church and my church kids are at school. 

When my discontent is silenced by His quiet whisper that I will move on when it is time and not a moment sooner. When I can trust that His way is better. 

Then it is strange, and it is beautiful.