I want you not to go.

And then, in that moment, I knew I was in way over my head. There was no rope left to pull myself back out because I had cut it, too high for me to grab and too low to no longer be tantalizing. The waves came up and threatened to crash over me, and all I had was a small-yet-sturdy vessel called hope to rely on. He had beckoned me in, gave me the choice, and I took it hard.

There are a precious few moments that I can recall in a lifetime and know that they were God-directed. Of course, they all are, but these stick out pointedly, prominently, promisingly.

I wish I could say that in this moment I am perfectly okay with the changes going on around me. I wish I could say that I'm not even the slightest bit anxious, or that I'm good at transitioning and letting life change. But those would be lies, and since I don't want to be a liar, I can't truthfully say any of them. I move into Carolina on Saturday. Luke and the guys and Amanda are moving into UNCG today. I have this funny sort of bittersweet ache in my chest; it's like I want to be sad, but at the same time, there's an excitement and an acceptance. Part of me is nostalgic and wants to pull back into being a child, but the other part is ready and willing life to begin this next phase, which everyone tells me consists of the best years of your life. Father, teach me to let go. Teach me to open up my hands and let you have your way in me. It's impossible not to think about the past but it doesn't have to hurt. You are in complete control, and I need to trust you. Help me to trust you more.