I complained a lot about moving. I had some reason to. I thought I was going to live where I was for a while. I thought I was going to enjoy the job I had, the location, and my life. When none of those things were true, I didn’t really turn my mind around and decide that moving would be an ok thing to do.
So moving didn’t sound like any fun. It wasn’t. Unlike all my previous moves, I had some friends help out. That made the insanity of getting everything I own (and everything I ever owned–my parents cleared my out of their home last July) much more bearable. I hadn’t have help moving previously, so it was nice to have some friends step forward and help.
My room still isn’t perfect. I don’t know where it all fits yet. But I’m in and every moment here has been better.
I sat in church my first Sunday in my new ward and just cried.
With so much building up for so long, sitting in church among friends was just Right. It simply was. I knew so many people and so many of them knew me. I knew they cared (some of them) and I knew God loved me. Moving back was a brilliant showing of God’s love for me. He knew I needed people nearby whom I would trust enough to share my burdens with. He knew I needed love in my life from people I hardly knew.
And so I simply sat in church and wept. Wept out of happiness. Wept with gratitude. Wept with the love of a kind Father filling my heart and forcing out some of my deepest fears.
I was surrounded by friends, but the poor girl to my right didn’t know me. I hope she didn’t feel too strange, because sometimes all you can do is cry, and you shouldn’t apologize for that.