Transitions

Saturday was the last night of "my monastic cell" at Trinity United Methodist Church. For two months, once it was clear that my twenty year marriage was over, this room was home. It was really just an unrented office space that they were nice enough to let me have, but my monkish existence there, without the distractions of internet, television, or stereo, provided an uncomplicated space from which I could move toward clarity.

Last Wednesday, as I was putting Twin B to bed at their mom's house, I told her again that soon I would have a place, and she and her sister would have another bunk bed and another home. She looked me dead in the eye and said, "you keep saying that, but you never do it." She's four. She's that kind of a kid.

By Friday, I had the apartment. Four days later, I was sort of settled in. Today, I set up the bunk bed. A friend grew up in them. Another friend gave me a kitchen table, and yet another came through with chairs to match. Still others moved my 1,200 books and even put them away for me. Yay, friends.

The girls are asleep in their new room tonight. They live in two houses now. And have two parents who love them. They're happy.

As I prepared last Saturday to leave the room at Trinity for good, it occurred to me I'd miss the place. It was here that I came back to myself after the earthquake to renegotiate the shifting terrain of my life. The ground is still moving, but it feels more solid everyday.