The One Thing To Do When You Can't See What Comes Next

She messages me because she can't say the words and even on facebook I can read the quaver in her words. "It's official."

 I can't breathe.

"We're moving, Lyd."

"Ok." I type back, too quickly, because if I don't say something positive now I'll lose it forever. "Ok."

21 years she's been as close as a sister. 21 years is enough time to think that some things never change. 21 years is longer than any relationship I've ever had aside from my own family and 21 years feels like an eternity and a flash all in one.

So when my best friend messages me on facebook that she's moving to California, my first thought is regret. California may as well be Mars as far as I'm concerned. We had babies this year, my 7th, her 5th. We homeschool and we raise littles and we can hardly fit in coffee with each other when we live 5 minutes apart. Yeah, regret hits me like a bus and I'm reeling.

Regret for all the times I could have seen her that I didn't. All the times I cancelled a get together or didn't return a phone call. All the times I forgot that our 21 year friendship is the answer to so many prayers and the encapsulation of a desire of my heart. Regret that I've been living the dream this whole time and I got comfortable. I got discontented. I grew blind to what was right in front of me. 

I think about it after visiting her in the hospital and holding her perfect baby #5. This is a gift. We got to be best friends and grow up together. We were there for weddings. We welcomed each other's babies. Stood in the trenches for each other in those hard early years of learning how to be on our own. Now I'll hold space for her while she navigates something new, scary, exciting and incredible. 21 years of a friendship like that - how can I be anything but grateful?

I get so caught up in my unfulfilled dreams that I can miss that I'm every day living proof that God has granted the desires of my heart. Even and maybe especially without me knowing it's exactly what I wanted. Today, lounging on my moms couch tangled up in the laughs if my sisters. This morning, cuddled awake by two giggling babes and the sunshine smile of my littlest love. This year, held in prayer by a woman I've had the pleasure of doing life with for 21 fantastic years. When I see it, I can intentionally live better. 

Living intentionally isn't about unplugging, or meticulously scrapbooking every moment of your life. Living intentionally is always, always about choosing love as much as you possibly can, yes, even at those times you think you can't. Because we are all made for this, to be love, to give love, to pass on love. And when you are choosing love you are always, always standing right smack dab in the center of His will for you, right now. You are aligned in His desire for you and when you're living in that space, amazing things happen.

To be a Christian is to be a little Christ. And what is God?

Love.

When I realize it, my panicked "what am I going to do?" response finds its answer.

Be love.

I'll be there the day that she loads her kids in the 12 passenger van that matches mine right down to the color. I'll be there when she leaves and I'll be love for her no matter where life takes her, no matter how long it's been. Knowing my purpose, I can intentionally choose His way through this - and see the light there up ahead.

That's the thing about love. It's not confined by space or time. It's something I can do from here for her no matter where she goes. 

It's the answer to a life full of giving away, of grappling with goodbyes.  

(Be)love. (Be)loved.

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