It happens like this: for a couple hours, I'm in a lousy mood. No reason why, or so it seems. The day could have been lovely (as today was) or not, but the little cartoon storm cloud settles above my head and won't go away. Then I realize, again, that I'm still grieving.
Last night I dreamed about my church in California. And now tonight, I'm awake wondering how this one is recovering from surgery, how that one is handling another loss. I'm remembering how funny she is, and how he is the best kind of curmudgeonly. I'm thinking about the quality of light in the sanctuary on Sunday mornings, and how they haven't missed a week since they started serving that pancake breakfast.
There's no doubt that it was time to go. We just couldn't make California home. We needed to be closer to family, and be in a community with more kids Juliette's age. I love where we've landed, and believe I am exactly where I'm supposed to be. But my God, it's painful to not be their pastor anymore.