story {pt. 4}

“And so my prayer is that your story will have involved some leaving and some coming home, some summer and some winter, some roses blooming out like children in a play. My hope is your story will be about changing, about getting something beautiful born inside of you about learning to love a woman or a man, about learning to love a child, about moving yourself around water, around mountains, around friends, about learning to love others more than we love ourselves, about learning oneness as a way of understanding God. We get one story, you and I, and one story alone. God has established the elements, the setting and the climax and the resolution. It would be a crime not to venture out, wouldn’t it?

It might be time for you to go. It might be time to change, to shine out.

I want to repeat one word for you:
Leave.

Roll the word around on your tongue for a bit. It is a beautiful word, isn’t it? So strong and forceful, the way you have always wanted to be. And you will not be alone. You have never been alone. Don’t worry. Everything will still be here when you get back. It is you who will have changed.”  – Donald Miller, Through Painted Deserts.

 

That benediction touches my heart. It’s been my story for the last year.

Last week, a dear friend told me that it was so good to see how God had changed my heart and that I had started to put down roots.

I cried. I didn’t want it to be true. It wasn’t a bad thing, he didn’t mean it that way at all, but it was hard for me to hear just the same.

I have changed. Somewhere along this crazy journey, I’m not the same pale Portlander who flitted between coffee shops. The half-scared, overly ambitious girl who had such high dreams but not enough gumption to do anything about them. But then, I did. I packed all my belongings into a car that I barely knew how to drive and hit the restart button on life.

When I moved to Texas, I resisted the change. Part of it was culture shock (remember the quilting bee from last year? Or the lawn mower races?), but part of it was trying to hold on to what was. A nostalgic version of what was. No one wants to lose their identity.

Jumping back and forth between Portland and San Antonio has done a number on my heart. I felt like I fully fit into both worlds but belonged to neither and that’s a disturbing place to be. My heart tore a little bit more every time I went to the airport.

But I’m in Texas now. I can’t live always wishing I were somewhere else. That’s not really living. The time will come for me to go back to Portland and all the glorious family+friends that I know there. But even if that doesn’t ever happen, it’s a beautiful thing.

Characters have to develop. And I’ve been given one heckuva opportunity to do that this year. To do anything less would be shameful.

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Comments
3 Responses to “story {pt. 4}”
  1. Anna says:

    Love this… its a fickle feeling right. I fought for so long to get back to WA, but God had other plans and I am comforted in the fact that I belong in such a wonderful and beautiful place that I can call home. Sometimes you just got to let go..

    • caitlinmuir says:

      You know, Anna. While you were walking through that hard time, I wasn’t able to grasp all that you were feeling. I had an idea but never fully felt it. So glad we became friends!

  2. Lauren Bleser says:

    Wow Caitlin. I could totally relate to this one… Great post.

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