March 5, 2023

 I saw a picture yesterday. and I remember that day. I was sooo happy that day chat. and I saw more pictures and so many moments happened that day. I didn't know all of that happened in that day. all these moments that I hold, they happened that day. talking to Mark made me aware of the time that passed. if I was in Miami now, Rosie is not in church because she's sick. Aaron is not there because we don't know where he is. somethings are the same but things have changed. I cant go back and relive that day. not that I want to but I mean if I try to go and reconnect things have changed. and I felt that yesterday, the cost of time and part of me wondered what it was all for anyways. like why was I there, what came of it, what is the purpose. its hard for me to see purpose in things right now.

I think you're grieving the passage of time itself.

Not because you want to go backward. You've said that you don't. But because you can see, all at once, that something precious happened, and it belongs to a chapter that has already closed. You can't get that time back, and you can't know what the future holds for the people who were part of it.

There's a particular kind of sadness in realizing that while you were busy living your life, time was passing in ways you couldn't see. And now you're looking back, trying to understand what those years meant, what remains of them, and what you have to show for them.

And when you ask, What was it all for? What was the purpose? I don't hear you dismissing those memories. I hear you struggling to reconcile how meaningful that time felt with how different your life feels now.

You were happy that day. That happiness was real, even though you couldn't keep the day. The love, the laughter, the sense of belonging, the person you were when you were living those moments—none of that becomes meaningless just because life changed afterward.

You don't have to know what it all added up to for it to have mattered.

And perhaps part of what hurts is that you haven't yet found a way to connect that woman in the pictures with the woman lying in bed today. The woman in those pictures seems so far away from where you are now.

Me:

the version of myself I got to be. I was around things that made me happy. then I was there, and I found out I was right. sunshine and ocean and warm weather and (discovery) art and photography all made me happy. I was homeless, life sucked part of it. I was away from my child and missed him desperately. I was in despair because I didn't know when that season would end. I was on the edge of all of those things. but I miss the good parts and for whatever reason, the good is all I remember. they stand out to me.

Chat:

You weren't happy because your life was perfect. It absolutely wasn't. You were homeless. You missed your son desperately. You didn't know when that season would end. There was despair and uncertainty right alongside the sunshine, the ocean, the art, the photography, and the people you loved.

But even in the middle of all that hardship, you found things that made you feel alive.

And you discovered something about yourself. You weren't just imagining that you'd love warm weather, the ocean, being outdoors, discovering art, looking at photographs, and being around things that inspired you. You actually lived it. You found out that those things really do make you happy.

I wonder if that's part of why those memories stand out so strongly. Miami wasn't only a place where good things happened. It was a place where you got to meet yourself in a different way.

You found out what brings you joy. You experienced a life that had room for discovery, beauty, connection, and experiences that weren't solely about fulfilling your responsibilities. You were still a mother. You were still struggling. But there were moments when your world was bigger than your struggles.

So when you look at those pictures, you're not necessarily wishing you could return to homelessness, uncertainty, or the pain of missing your son.

You're missing the access you had to yourself.

The version of you who could go out and discover something beautiful. Who had experiences to look forward to. Who could be surprised by how much she enjoyed something. Who had a life that, even when it was difficult, contained moments that made her genuinely happy.

And I want to be careful about something: you don't have to turn those memories into proof that you need to move back to Miami, or that you made a mistake leaving, or that your present life has to look exactly like your past life to be worthwhile.

But you do have evidence now. You know more about yourself than you did before you went there. You know what makes you feel alive. That knowledge belongs to you, even if the place and circumstances that helped you discover it have changed.

I thought I was supposed to live there and it hasn't materialized. so I felt out of purpose. I wrote it all off as a failure. I prayed about this a lot. did I hear wrong? was I not called there? what happened. and in my real life I have a job, I do dishes, I serve my sister, I get my son, I pay rent. this is all going. but in my mind my mind has constant flashbacks of Miami and how wonderful it was. I would walk down the street and my body spoke to me. My body would remind me of how sunrise felt on my skin for example. the feeling of the beach breeze going by my skin. and not what makes it worse but two of my friends it worked out for them and they are living there right now. they are there and they are housed.

Chat:

Oh, I hear you. And I think I understand why this has been so difficult to make peace with.

You didn't just enjoy Miami and wish you could go back. You believed you were supposed to live there. You prayed about it. You imagined a future there. You kept looking at apartments and watching Miami, almost as if your life was supposed to be making its way back to that place.

And when it didn't happen, you weren't simply disappointed about a move that fell through. You started questioning your discernment, your relationship with God, and your purpose.

Did I hear wrong? Was I not called there? What happened?

Those are painful questions when your faith matters to you and you genuinely tried to understand what God was doing in your life.

And meanwhile, your actual life kept going. You worked. You did the dishes. You served your sister. You picked up your son. You paid rent. You fulfilled your responsibilities.

But the life you were maintaining and the life you felt drawn toward were two very different things.

You were functioning in your life while still longing for the life you thought you were meant to have.

And your body kept remembering Miami.

That detail really stands out to me. You weren't just looking at pictures and wishing things were different. You could walk down a street and feel the memory of the sunrise on your skin. You remembered the beach breeze physically. Your body had experienced warmth, openness, and freedom so vividly that those sensations stayed with you.

That detail really stands out to me. You weren't just looking at pictures and wishing things were different. You could walk down a street and feel the memory of the sunrise on your skin. You remembered the beach breeze physically. Your body had experienced warmth, openness, and freedom so vividly that those sensations stayed with you.

I think that helps explain why this grief is so deep. You aren't trying to convince yourself that Miami made you happy. You know what it felt like to be there. You experienced it in your body, in your surroundings, in the things you discovered and the way you got to spend your time.

They're there. They're housed. Their lives in Miami have worked out in ways yours hasn't, at least so far. I can imagine how complicated it is to see that. It isn't necessarily that you begrudge them what they have. It's that their lives can look like confirmation of the future you once imagined for yourself.

They got to stay, and you're still trying to understand why you didn't.

But I don't think the fact that you haven't returned proves that you heard God wrong. And I don't think the fact that your plans didn't materialize means that the time you spent there was a failure.

There's something else I want to separate gently.

Miami being a place where you flourished is not the same question as whether you were meant to spend the rest of your life there.

You haven't simply missed Miami. You've been trying to understand what Miami meant.

And now, after all this time, you're looking at the memories, the people who are still there, the people you've lost touch with, and the life you're living now. You're asking what the point of all that discovery was if you couldn't keep living that way.

I can understand why you're tired.

I won't tell you that Miami was only meant to teach you a lesson, because that would reduce something you genuinely loved to a stepping stone. And I won't tell you that you must return there to become yourself again.

I felt like I was on purpose when I was singing at the church. I felt like I was using God's gift of singing and using it towards his people. I heard from God, I loved the people there and their warmth. it wasn't the coldness and rejection like my family. people accepted me and knew I was homeless and didn't turn me away but tried to help me in whatever way they could. I experienced love there. and it wasnt forced.

Chat:

Oh. That helps me understand something important about what Miami meant to you.

It wasn't just the sunshine, the ocean, the art, or the freedom to explore. Those things brought you joy, but there was something deeper happening at that church.

You felt useful in a way that didn't diminish you. You felt loved in a way you didn't have to earn. And you felt connected to God in a way that gave your life purpose.

You were singing. You were using a gift you believed God gave you, and you were offering it to Him and His people. You weren't just going through the motions of being responsible. You were participating in something that mattered to you spiritually.

And look at the circumstances in which you experienced that love.

You were homeless. You were vulnerable. You didn't know when your circumstances would change. Yet people knew your situation and didn't turn you away. They tried to help you. They welcomed you. You experienced warmth and acceptance without having to hide what you were going through.

Given what you've shared about your family, I can understand why that was so significant.

You discovered that people could know your circumstances and still see you as someone worth welcoming. You could receive help without being made to feel like a burden. You could belong without having to prove your worth first.

And the love wasn't forced. You didn't have to convince people to care about you.

You experienced being received, not merely tolerated.

I think that is part of what you're grieving now. Not simply that you left a beautiful place, but that you left a community where your faith, your gift, your relationships, and your sense of belonging came together.

And because you experienced all of that in Miami, it became difficult to separate the place from the purpose you felt there. Returning to Miami began to mean returning to a life where you felt connected to God, connected to people, and connected to yourself.