Although you're never supposed to say that when someone's hurting, in this case? I've been there, too. I've walked a mile in your fair trade, poppy-embellished slippers, so all those bumps in the road you're feeling? I'm hurting with you.
When you set down roots in that new, fertile soil you found years ago, you dug in deep. You drank from the wisdom and blessings you found there. You flourished and blossomed and became a version of yourself you never knew possible. You grew in the sunshine and stretched out your arms and gathered others into the light you found. You found nourishment and, in turn, nourished others. This version of you? It's stunning. Amazing. God has blessed and healed you far beyond what you could have asked, or even imagined.
So now? When it's time to be transplanted, you willingly accept the assignment. How could you not, knowing God has a plan?
And yet...it hurts.
Had you never set down roots, had you not dug deep and bloomed where you were planted, this would be easy. Had you chosen to stay safe in your shell, never dying to the old life, never allowing your environment to pierce your husk and crack you open, you could move on and feel no pain. Had you chosen to hide in the dark, unmoved and unchanged, you could be transplanted with no trauma whatsoever.
But you chose life. You chose to pry out of that hard exterior, to send out tender shoots and gentle roots, feeling your way through this dark place. You sought light and found warmth. You dug deep and were nurtured. Your roots intertwined with those of your community and together, you became a solid foundation, holding one another up.
And now, you're being uprooted. It's a painful process, ripping at those roots you worked so hard to grow. Tearing through connections with neighbors who reached out, too, is excruciating and seems a bit unfair..."God, you put me here, and I did my part. I dug in. I grew. I changed..."
It's so true. You did all those things. And had you not grown, this season would have been meaningless.
But look at all you've done. It's painful because you've done so much. It's been beautiful and so worth it. You grew and blossomed and you've reached the time of incredible harvest.
You will be back to this home and you will keep in touch. I know- It won't be the same. It can't. That world will go on spinning without you, and that hurts, too.
When I made my painful move, a friend told me, "People come into our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime." Somehow, that helped. It helped discern the lessons to be learned. It helped to know when to let go of treasured friends, who were only mine for a season and to find gratitude for that season.
This may hurt for a while. Even a long while - mine did, even though I always believed it to be directed by God. Even when I could see all the good reasons to make the move.
With some time and distance, I can accept that it was always meant for a season. It was a really great season, and I will always cherish the growth, the lessons, and the community that welcomed us. And finally, I've made a new home, where I feel like I belong.
You'll get there, too. One day, you'll find you've dug down deep once more...that you've truly found a new home that allows for new growth and more beauty.
You will get there, friend. Bring all that love you've gathered along with you and take the next step in your little poppy slippers.
God's got you, and you've got this. I promise, you will find warmth and love and grace, and you will bloom wildly in your new terrain, too.