There are two kinds of people in this world: the kind who leave and the kind who get left. Certainly, at one point or another, we've all worn both titles, but in general, we identify more as one or the other.
I'm the kind who gets left.
I say this, naturally, on the day my parents fly back around the world and on the Man's first weekend trip out of town (we made it a whole month here!). And before you think that I'm acting sorry for myself (always a possibility), let me just say that I got to sit on the front porch with the boys after we tucked the twins in, and we watched the twilight shimmer on the sea while we ate M&Ms and enjoyed our pterodactyl jack-o-lantern.
Okay, okay, I admit, I did have a few moments of feeling sorry for myself. You see, even after a lifetime of primarily being the kind who gets left--growing up in language school city, watching my sisters leave for boarding school and then college, repeatedly sending my family members back overseas, deployments, TDYs, and random out of town trips--I still don't enjoy it.
While it's never fun to say goodbye, when you're the one leaving, at least you have something to look forward to. But when you're the one being left? All there is left is the absence of someone that you love.
The last couple of months, I've identified as "the kind who leaves". In a lot of ways, it's been kind of fun. It was an adventure. There were exciting life experiences on the horizon. But today, I'm back to feeling like "the kind who gets left."
You know what, though? I can feel sorry for myself or I can eat M&Ms on the darkening porch with some adorable children and an awesome pumpkin (and then make said awesome children run up and down the stairs multiple times moving my tablecloths from the linen closet to the kitchen).
And perhaps more importantly, I can brand myself forever as "the kind who gets left" or I can rename myself as "the kind whose Jesus never leaves her or forsakes her".
I think I'll take the M&Ms and Jesus.
I'm the kind who gets left.
I say this, naturally, on the day my parents fly back around the world and on the Man's first weekend trip out of town (we made it a whole month here!). And before you think that I'm acting sorry for myself (always a possibility), let me just say that I got to sit on the front porch with the boys after we tucked the twins in, and we watched the twilight shimmer on the sea while we ate M&Ms and enjoyed our pterodactyl jack-o-lantern.
Okay, okay, I admit, I did have a few moments of feeling sorry for myself. You see, even after a lifetime of primarily being the kind who gets left--growing up in language school city, watching my sisters leave for boarding school and then college, repeatedly sending my family members back overseas, deployments, TDYs, and random out of town trips--I still don't enjoy it.
The last couple of months, I've identified as "the kind who leaves". In a lot of ways, it's been kind of fun. It was an adventure. There were exciting life experiences on the horizon. But today, I'm back to feeling like "the kind who gets left."
You know what, though? I can feel sorry for myself or I can eat M&Ms on the darkening porch with some adorable children and an awesome pumpkin (and then make said awesome children run up and down the stairs multiple times moving my tablecloths from the linen closet to the kitchen).
And perhaps more importantly, I can brand myself forever as "the kind who gets left" or I can rename myself as "the kind whose Jesus never leaves her or forsakes her".
I think I'll take the M&Ms and Jesus.
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| Pick me! Pick me! Pick me! |
1 comment:
You are also the kind who "gets visited"--which is not the kind of person that I am. So that's fun!
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