If I knew I could, I would run a marathon.
I would write a book.
I would have more children.
I would adopt a child.

I would write poetry.
I would work.
I would start a business.
I would give all my money away.
I would play guitar.
I would be a kick-a** homemaker.

I play this game a lot. What I would do if I knew, absolutely, 100%, no risk of failure, that I could do it. I actually really hate playing it. I'm too good at looking at the would'ves and could'ves and should'ves, leaving me feeling incomplete or inadequate or unable to really accomplish much of anything. There are one too many things on that list that I know I literally cannot do.

In real life, failure is always a risk. And I'm just never at the place where I'm willing to take that leap without the fear of falling.

Bummer of a Five Minute Friday. I'm pretty sure it was meant to be a positive prompt, but perhaps I need more coffee or more time or more clarity this morning. I'm pretty sure you could do it better than I just did it.

Thoughts on Going

The original title for this was "Thoughts on Leaving", but leaving implies a whole lot of permanence, and though sneaking doubt and fear lies at every corner, our going is a temporary thing. With that in mind...

I hate to go. I hate to say goodbye. I cry a lot. I hug a lot. I get awkward. My words get all messed up and my heart hurts a lot. Like, physically hurts. I can literally feel little pinpricks of pain in my soul. I want to say the things I didn't get the chance to say, but don't know how to say them. I get frustrated. I feel like I should've done more. I wish there was more time. I get afraid. I worry about the future. I'm afraid I'll be forgotten. I'm afraid I'll forget. I want to take everyone and everything with me.

But...

This is all temporary. Only a fleeting a moment. Reunion waits on the other side. Will things be forgotten? Yes. Will things stay the same? Probably not. Going always involves a little bit of sacrifice, from both sides of the ocean. But to go back and be remembered... that will be sweet.

See you soon, Ireland. Wait for me.

Keenly aware

We had every ambitious intention of hosting a Thanksgiving gathering for our Irish friends. Really we did. But then Ella was hospitalized for four days and all hell broke loose.

I was doing fine with it. Really, I was. On Friday evening a friend drove me and the boys to the hospital so I could spend a few precious minutes with the girl and collect the car. It became more complicated due to the hospital being closed to visitors, especially children, so we waited in the cold for Matt to trade with me. The boys, so good, spent a good majority of the weekend waiting in the car in the dark and the wind and the rain. For the first 2 1/2 days, I handled that OK. It was lonely, it was stressful, it was exhausting driving back and forth twice a day - a half hour trip each way - carrying the baby to and from the car, nursing him in the front seat, feeding Jackson fast food (when I remembered to feed him, that is). I was handling it. I was super single Mom.

Then Sunday afternoon the doctors told us she'd have to spend one more night in hospital. I was with her all afternoon and early evening while she slept, reading a book in a recliner by her bedside. I thought to myself, for no particular reason, that there was no one. No one to call. No one to come visit her. No one to leave the boys with. No one to bring us food. No one to remind me to feed Jackson. No one to update. We were in the midst of a real health emergency, and I felt as if I had no one.

I cried all this out in the empty children's ward and on the phone with Matt. He reminded me that the boys were fine, Ella was on her way to being fine, and we would all be fine once she was home. "But I'm not fine!" I shouted to him. I'm not fine. I needed my family, I needed a friend, I needed someone to help me put the boys to bed and to stay with them when I was at the hospital. I needed to be in the same room with Matt. I needed Asher to take a bottle. I was in need. And that feeling really sucked.

The truth is, there are people here. We aren't alone. There are people who love us here and who we love. But having been able to rely on my family and close friends for years and years, I have no idea how to ask for help from new friends. I cry help, but only in my head - never out loud. Thankfully, I have Matt, who asks for help on my behalf. He passed the boys into the open arms of our wonderful neighbour, came to the hospital, and held me. The first time in 3 days we had been in the same room. He knew I needed help.

So Ella just came home on Monday, the house is a mess, I am a mess, and our Thanksgiving plans are now a mess. So instead of serving everyone a big dinner, we've invited them over to share in some American football joy, our favourite Thanksgiving tradition. I need the company, I need the companionship. I hope it comes.

Cheater

Lately I've been feeling like a cheater. I know this thought in itself is ridiculous, but still... it swims in the back of my mind on the hard days, when the support is down, the morale is down, when it feels like we came here a lot sooner - with a lot less - than we should have.

After four years of trying, we were given the chance to come here with a slashed budget for a shorter amount of time. Obviously, we jumped at the chance. It was not of our own doing, but was presented to us by the Higher Ups. By people who wanted to see us here as much as we wanted to be here. So we came, still coming up slightly short in the financial department. And I felt like a cheater.

The upside: it was the perfect timing, really. We knew it would be tough, would be a struggle, would be tight on all sides. But it was time. God had presented us with this moment in time, with a promise, or rather, the hope of a promise: it'll all work out.

And really, work-wise, it is working out. We are doing what we love, working with people we are growing to love, and getting to see something big and wonderful happen from way up close. And still, I feel like a cheater. Because between the cracks of those big and wonderful moments... still the idea of us not having measured up in that one area, still not measuring up. Never being 100%. Never being perfect.

The question of if we made this all happen, if we skipped a beat, if we didn't pay our proper dues... leaves me feeling like a cheater. Like we really don't deserve to be here. Like at any moment we'll receive a phone call, "The jig is up. The money's gone. Go home. Better luck next time."

And still, there are 176 people who at one point or another, believed in this with us, so much so as to give a part of themselves. It fills up my whole heart with hope and gratitude when I think of it.

God did that, not us. Surely, He has something in mind.