You need two cymbals to fully create the abrupt resounding crash at just the right moment within a song.
Inside my ongoing grief medley, the colliding emotions of joy and sorrow - or maybe even more narrowed - excitement and apprehension - clash often as I navigate big transitional moments.
So what's new:
My Arkansas house is officially under contract. This means that soon (in approximately two weeks), I will no longer call this place home. This is exciting news and the process has been going smoothly (Praise God!).
The change propels me forward in many new ways as it also creates an opportunity for me to be in Missouri with dear friends and family and to start a new job at Schweitzer United Methodist Church as the communications director. Beyond this, the change means many new adventures and memories in my new Springfield home that already is fueling my imagination. All great things!
Yet, in contrast, there is an apprehension. There is, at times, a feeling of deep sorrow that brings me to a halt. Leaving Arkansas means saying, "Goodbye" to this home, the last place where I saw Josh’s face. It means letting go of the physical space filled with memories of laughter, joy, tears, deep friendships and so much more. The memories won't disappear, but still the space is uniquely special.
In preparing to list the house, I recalled the first time Josh and I visited this home. It was kind of a stinky, weirdly-painted mess and I immediately reject it. But the home's location and lot size drew us back. We began to see the potential, put in an offer, and soon were fixing up the place in our style, creating the perfect place to host friends, small groups, relax and call home. Part of me is sad that Josh isn't here to cheer with me that we got three offers on the house. It would be fun to cheer with him as we realized that the messy, stinky house that seemed a little risky, worked out just fine. Even with amazing friends and family cheering me on, it is his "yeah!!!" that I miss the most.
Navigating this big transition means navigating the varied emotions that go with it. "How do you do that?" I asked a good friend this very question, and we both determined there isn't a roadmap. The answer: acknowledge it. As some would say, "It is what it is!"
Sometimes within our songs, the emotional cymbals just need to crash and create a jolting moment for recognition. Within this resounding silence, I focus on remembering some truly amazing moments. I take time to thank God for a great life and love story and to trust that God is still actively working and restoring my hope for the next part of my journey. What a year it has been. What a season it has been.
I'm still going to feel all the feels, and at times the clashing emotions might seem a bit too loud – that's okay too, let them ring.
If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a ringing gong or a clanging cymbal. – 1 Corinthians 13:1"
A few photos from move in to now (yea we got rid of the red and yellow walls)
Hi! It's Jenn Brown, writing my story that is now slightly different as we enter a season of new grief. On September 30, 2019, my dear husband Josh passed away after battling brain cancer.