There’s been a lot of change over the last couple of days. Or perhaps more accurately, I’ve come face to face with the results of change that has already been happening.
I’ve found myself returning to places that mean a great deal to me. Places woven into my story, not just geographically, but emotionally and spiritually too. There are people I love, rhythms I recognise, atmospheres that used to feel like home. Except… something has shifted.
I went back to a place so familiar I could have walked around it with my eyes closed. A place where I once knew people’s stories almost better than my own. A place where I poured in over a decade of heart and soul, of showing up, serving, building, loving.
And yet, this time, I felt like a visitor.
Not completely lost. Not unwelcome. But… not quite at home either. I could understand it if I’d been gone for years. If time had changed me as much. But it hasn’t even been a year.
And if I’m honest? It hurt.
I’m used to following moments like this with a neat, well-rehearsed ‘but’ sentence:
“…but God is clearly at work there.”
“…but it’s good change.”
“…but it’s all part of His plan.”
And those things might well be true. But there’s another sentence I don’t let myself say out loud.
It sucks.
It sucks to see something you nurtured, something you helped shape, something you gave yourself to, no longer look or feel the way it once did.
It sucks to stand in a place that once fit you so naturally, and feel slightly out of place in it.
Both of these things can be true at the same time. God is at work. And this is hard.
Earlier, a friend told me she’s been praying through the Psalms, averaging five a day, working through the whole collection each month. “There’s everything in there,” she said. “Every emotion, every situation.” And she’s right.
The Psalms don’t rush to tidy things up. They don’t always add a neat “but” on the end. They don’t silence grief with quick reassurance. They let joy be joyful, anger be loud, sorrow be unfiltered.
They tell the truth.
Sometimes I think I forget that I’m allowed to do the same. To say: this is good, and God is at work… and also to say: this is painful.
Or even, just for a moment, to drop the optimistic “but” altogether.
So here is the truth, without qualification: I went back to somewhere that means a lot to me this weekend, and it felt completely different. And that was hard.
And somehow, that honesty isn’t a failure of faith. It’s an invitation. Because the God who is at work in all the change… is also the God who meets me in the middle of it, not asking me to tidy up my feelings before I come, but simply to bring them as they are.
No “but” required.
The Reason for my Hope Blog 