Spanish Moss
12 years ago, I moved to Florida.
I knew no one in Tallahassee, was completely alone, and instantly felt homesick. The severity of my mistake set in quickly as I plotted how to break a lease and if it was too late to start grad school at Mizzou instead.
Those first couple of weeks were a major transition. Those couple of years were challenging. There were broken hearts and broken cars, emotional scars that run deep, laughter with friends until all hours of the night, and, of course, Bobby Bowden.
The first thing I remember about Florida State, other than the Doak, is the moss.
Spanish moss everywhere.
For a Missouri girl, this was the straight-up south.
And I loved it.
I loved that my friends, my adult friends, called their elders "Miss" and then their name. I loved that kids said "ma'am" and "sir." I loved that there is an actual difference between y'all, y'alls, and all-y'all (my personal fav.) When I found out what "might-could" means...well, actually, I never really loved that one because, come on, just say "could."
But the moss was my favorite. The thing that calmed me. The thing the grounded me. The thing that reminded me it's all bigger than me.
For whatever reason, be it God's call or just the Navy's staffing needs and decisions, we keep returning to Florida. And the moss continues to remind me that it's all bigger than me.
The humidity bears down on your body. Don't step on any snakes. Ouch, another mosquito.
Running in Florida brings it challenges.
But then I run under a tunnel of moss and all is well. There is peace in my heart. God speaks to my soul to tell me, "I've got this, girl!" I am shaded by His creation and His glory and I am tiny speck of nothingness in this great big world. Nothingness that the Creator of it all loves beyond comprehension.
And He has this.
I've had pain before. I've had loss before. I've been confused about everything before. I've wanted to give up before.
And God has always had it.
Spanish moss needs rain and fog and sunlight to survive.
Just like me.
And you.
We've been in a rainy, foggy place with this adoption story recently. But we need that. It's ok. Hurting is ok. We are created to feel. To experience. And to recognize that we have so, so many good things. Pain tries to block that from our minds.
But God's whisper is always there.
Somewhere.
Sometimes it is buried way down deep and it take a while to dig it out. But it's there. He doesn't give up. Sometimes we forgot that. But then He sends a reminder. I get lots of reminders.
One of them is the beautiful Spanish moss that hangs all around my neighborhood. Growing on trees, weighing them down, reaching to the ground. The invasive grey arms looks like they are strangling the tree. Like they will steal all of it's power and slowly kill it.
But look closer.
Spanish Moss isn't a parasite. It's totally separate from the tree. It takes no nutrients, no energy. It's just extra weight that the tree is stuck carrying around.
Kinda like heart pain.
We might be stuck with it, but it doesn't have to be the end of us.
God has this.
He has our hearts and our pain and our adoption story and our life story. He has little dude's heart and his pain and his adoption story and his life story.
He has yours, too.
He has it.
That can be difficult for a person who desires control. But, I have to tell you, it can also be so, so freeing. If you let it.
What's your thing? What's your pain and what's giving you peace?
---
Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin. And yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his splendor was not dressed like one of these. Matthew 6:28-29
I knew no one in Tallahassee, was completely alone, and instantly felt homesick. The severity of my mistake set in quickly as I plotted how to break a lease and if it was too late to start grad school at Mizzou instead.
Those first couple of weeks were a major transition. Those couple of years were challenging. There were broken hearts and broken cars, emotional scars that run deep, laughter with friends until all hours of the night, and, of course, Bobby Bowden.
The first thing I remember about Florida State, other than the Doak, is the moss.
Spanish moss everywhere.
For a Missouri girl, this was the straight-up south.
And I loved it.
I loved that my friends, my adult friends, called their elders "Miss" and then their name. I loved that kids said "ma'am" and "sir." I loved that there is an actual difference between y'all, y'alls, and all-y'all (my personal fav.) When I found out what "might-could" means...well, actually, I never really loved that one because, come on, just say "could."
But the moss was my favorite. The thing that calmed me. The thing the grounded me. The thing that reminded me it's all bigger than me.
For whatever reason, be it God's call or just the Navy's staffing needs and decisions, we keep returning to Florida. And the moss continues to remind me that it's all bigger than me.
The humidity bears down on your body. Don't step on any snakes. Ouch, another mosquito.
Running in Florida brings it challenges.
But then I run under a tunnel of moss and all is well. There is peace in my heart. God speaks to my soul to tell me, "I've got this, girl!" I am shaded by His creation and His glory and I am tiny speck of nothingness in this great big world. Nothingness that the Creator of it all loves beyond comprehension.
And He has this.
I've had pain before. I've had loss before. I've been confused about everything before. I've wanted to give up before.
And God has always had it.
Spanish moss needs rain and fog and sunlight to survive.
Just like me.
And you.
We've been in a rainy, foggy place with this adoption story recently. But we need that. It's ok. Hurting is ok. We are created to feel. To experience. And to recognize that we have so, so many good things. Pain tries to block that from our minds.
But God's whisper is always there.
Somewhere.
Sometimes it is buried way down deep and it take a while to dig it out. But it's there. He doesn't give up. Sometimes we forgot that. But then He sends a reminder. I get lots of reminders.
One of them is the beautiful Spanish moss that hangs all around my neighborhood. Growing on trees, weighing them down, reaching to the ground. The invasive grey arms looks like they are strangling the tree. Like they will steal all of it's power and slowly kill it.
But look closer.
Spanish Moss isn't a parasite. It's totally separate from the tree. It takes no nutrients, no energy. It's just extra weight that the tree is stuck carrying around.
Kinda like heart pain.
We might be stuck with it, but it doesn't have to be the end of us.
God has this.
He has our hearts and our pain and our adoption story and our life story. He has little dude's heart and his pain and his adoption story and his life story.
He has yours, too.
He has it.
That can be difficult for a person who desires control. But, I have to tell you, it can also be so, so freeing. If you let it.
What's your thing? What's your pain and what's giving you peace?
---
Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin. And yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his splendor was not dressed like one of these. Matthew 6:28-29
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