new-ances.

you and i both know it, so there's little reason to spend a ton of time discussing my absence here.  i could lie and say i've been busy, but that's not really the case. i could say that i haven't felt much like talking, or that i wouldn't know what to say; but those two would be fallacies.

living in Indianapolis has not been Nashville.  this fall has not been last fall, and this year has not been last year.  this move was not like my move to Tennessee a short six-and-a-half years ago. this coffee shop i'm sitting in is more Taking Back Sunday than Sufjan; this Mexican Hot Chocolate is definitely not a Mayan Mocha from The Well (which definitely is not in Indy, either).

so, i'm adjusting.  i've been slow to write, because i've been slow to acclimate.  embarrassingly slow.  like, an i-thought-i'd-be-good-at-this-by-now, but-i-was-wrong sort of pace.

and that's okay.  Indy was not meant to be Nashville.  and this year was not meant to resemble the one prior, or any others for that matter.  nothing here is meant to replace that which came before it.  nothing here can take away that which already exists.

there's a deep tension in life of what we have and what we are missing.  contentment happens when we focus on what we have.  resentment happens when we focus on what we are missing. 

when I first moved, it was difficult to see past all the life I have just given up to transplant myself in a new city.  all the changes at once: new city, new job (and the initial lack of one), new district with new curriculum and a new demographic and new administration, a new church, a new house; and all of the things missing: friendships that have surpassed a decade, or even longer than 10 minutes, being roommateless for the first time ever, those local spots that felt like second homes (second reference of The Well, in case you missed it), my yoga class from 4 blocks away, faith friendships that i could call on with a moment's notice, even just knowing where to get the best taco (the perma-parked truck on Charlotte) or good felafel (Farmer's Market). I felt the tangible absence of each and everyone of these things.

And, even in the presence of the goodness of why I moved (my own personal McDreamy), it was hard not to feel the withdrawal pains of all I chose to leave behind.  it was much less of a battle against resentment than it was a fight for contentment.

i expected carbon-copies of friendships and churches and coffeehouses. and the reality is, not only is that unrealistic, it is also limiting and mildly insulting that those things could ever be replaced.

i'm finding a rhythm to life.  the cadence to this new song is different than that i've danced to before.  but different is not bad.  how often are you afforded the chance to start anew?  to build a life from scratch, and share in that new life with the one you love?  to fall face-first into new experiences and treasure them as unique and valuable and shaping?

in the same way i expected to replicate life from Nashville in Indianapolis, i've expected my walk with the Lord to be duplicitous to how I've experienced Him in prior seasons of change.

I'm learning that the ways I've experienced the Lord, or looked to Him, or grown to know Him in the past, are not the ways I'm experiencing Him, looking to Him, or growing with Him here, in the present. At first, I thought that meant I was doing it all wrong. But after the tides have settled from the drastic ebbs and flows of change, I've been able to see that in this new season, I need Him in new ways. and a good friend reminded me during a quick meet-up in Nashville that is the way it is supposed to be.

He says I am, because, He is. all things. any thing. every thing. exactly what I need. even when I don't see it, don't notice it. 

in this new season, I need a fresh facet of His face.  where i've latched on in faith before, I may need His hands to hold me in my doubts.  where i've walked in confidence, I've forgotten my identity in Him, and desire Him to patch up the places of my life that have been riddled with the holes of insecurity.  the aspects of His character that I've gotten to know intimately have suddenly felt foreign.  and for a time, it left me feeling that i was holding onto the tattered rags of what once was, but is no longer.  it was a scary place to be.

but i can't help but think of the tabernacle from the Old Testament. it had to be torn down, and reconstructed to a set of standards each time it moved on to a new place among the people.  God has been hard at work rebuilding my tabernacle, and although it's a life-long journey, I think this phase of the project has just met completion.

as scary as that can be, it has been beautiful.  although we're in the throws of fall, my heart seems to be on the verge of spring.  and what's prettier than Paris in the spring?