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We have been among old friends this week.  We hugged them, looking at the landscape behind them that has not changed in the last ten years.  We are a little wistful.  They hug us, a little wistful, too.  “I wish we could travel and live in different places like you all!” they say.  And we shake our heads and declare back, “We wish we could settle into one place!”  And in unison, we all say, “Oh, no, you don’t!”  We laugh. 

One day the boats will come into port and leave us all on the dock. We will wave goodbye to this crazy, beautiful military life. Until then, we work at peace—which is mostly an ongoing struggle of waiting and accepting, grieving and celebrating. 

The cycle reminds me that I have wasted too much time trying to get back somewhere.  Each time we return to a place we have lived, we find it has tilted.  We arrive with great anticipation, excited to feel back, to feel comfortable, and then as we step into place, we find that the place has changed.  We have changed.  We can’t get back.  The grieving begins again.  The accepting begins again.  All that is left is the relationships that we nurtured, and sometimes those have shifted too.  I often feel like hibernating—hiding from the joy and pain and grief.  Or, I can keep my arms open, accepting the fullness of loving people where they are and being accepted for where I am.  Thank you to so many of our friends and family who continue to welcome us as we are– you all who remind us of the sweetness of fellowship, regardless of the time that has passed.  I am grateful for the reminder that I must choose to live today.  It really is all I have, for I won’t pass this way again.