When in Transition

My eldest graduated from preschool this evening in a brief ceremony celebrating he and his classmates. I assume that the graduation ceremony into kindergarten is more for parents than children.  The kids skip blithely across the stage for their award and the parents applaud, gasping in shock.  This right of passage from preschool to school-age (which might as well have been college, considering my day-long jitters) feels so omynous.  I surprised even myself with my weepiness as we finished out the evening.

The kids were basket-cases most of the day and Little Miss is just a giant barrel of angst.  If only I could still my heart long enough to discern why she’s so angsty and what I can do about it. Tonight I gave up and gave them both melatonin and then sat by them singing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” in the dark until both had drifted off to sleep.  (I honestly don’t know how any parent survives without Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star and Itsy-Bitsy Spider, as both seem to have magical powers on my children)

So I saw the golden summer sun setting through the ravine and snuck outside for a few moments of cool evening breeze in my parents’ backyard.

I keep hearing the word transition in my head each time one of my children dissolves into a puddle of wailing on a public floor.  In these moments its like God’s spirit is reminding me that, yes we’re in a familiar space (my parents’ basement), but our family is in the throws of transition.  And this transition will last until we are settled in a new apartment on the other side of the globe, 6 to 9 weeks from now. That’s sort of a long time, people.

It feels right to be in this known space (rent-free) until we depart home-soil, but that doesn’t make it comfortable for any of us.

Nope.  There’s nothing comfortable about change.  And even worse than change is a major move.

I just need to clear one thing up.  We don’t move because we like it or we think it’s fun. Or even because we’re better at it than other people (because we SO aren’t). We move and accept the temporary discomfort of transition because we have in our mind’s eye the destiny that awaits us.

For those facing change and the fears that paralyze, remember your destiny.  The discomfort is temporary and a small price to pay for the destiny you carry inside you.  I believe we each carry a God-given destiny inside.  When we say “yes” to Him and to the divine dream He’s placed inside, we allow ourselves to hope for the seasons to come.

Only you carry the destiny that God has placed within you.  And sometimes that means crossing the street, the city, or the ocean, to see that destiny fulfilled. No one else can fulfill the destiny God has planted inside you.

And tonight as the orange glow between the trees faded into darkness, that hope was the reminder I needed. The flickering hope of what is to come.

So that’s what I’ll do first thing tomorrow.  Yes, when Little Mister and Little Miss are up at sunrise, trying to sneak by my bed for the kitchen and their Mimi’s cupboards, I’ll be ready.  And I’ll sit and talk with them about the dreams and the joys that awaits us on the other side of the ocean. Friends, dreams, possibilities.  School, sweets, a new bunk bed. An apartment with a balcony and a view (we hope!).

And then I’ll try to bring our sights back to this day and encourage us to enjoy the moment, because we only have it for little while longer.