And then there was three.

A last minute change of plans; there's a need to fill and I can fill it, am pleased and honored and grateful to do so, and suddenly I find myself down to only three days left in my floating home of the last five years.

Tuesday I head to Guinea on an eight-day assessment trip; the person who was supposed to go is not feeling well, so suddenly the twelve days I had left here is three, and I'm simultaneously ridiculously excited and achingly sentimental... such is the time of last things.

I'm thrilled to be able to do assessment; I've done them in several countries and it uses all my skills and abilities and experience and strengths in a way that truly makes me feel alive. I have incredibly fond memories of Guinea; that's where my onboarding class (the entry training for long-term Mercy Ships crew) did our field service, that's where I met some of my closest and dearest friends, that's where I started the journey of finding out who I really am and what I was created to do.

I'm the opposite of a procrastinator, I'm not sure what the word is for that, but in this last week I found myself feeling the same sort of restlessness as I felt the month before I left for the Peace Corps and the month before I left for Mercy Ships the second time; a sense of restless boredom, that I've already completed all my work and I've already grieved my departure and saying goodbye to friends and I'm just ready to get this show on the road.  I was stressed out in April trying to get all my work done because I couldn't stand the thought of panicking the last few weeks trying to get it all done.  But now it's done, and I'm absolutely thrilled to be able to jump into a last minute adventure where I am needed, my skills are useful and I'm really, really excited about it.

But at the same time, suddenly the last things are here; the last frisbee game, the the last community meeting, the last coffee with this friend and meal with that friend.  I don't really consider myself a sentimental person, but walking up to deck 8 this morning I gasped in realization that this view of my backyard, this panorama I've gazed at countless times over the last five years will soon be but a memory; while I am very much looking forward to seeing trees and grass out my window instead of concrete and steel, the water, the sky, the containers, the ships, the birds, even the trash floating in the water is the familiar landscape of my life; a landscape about to dramatically change. I'm thrilled and excited but would be lying if I said not even a little piece of me will miss this and is still grieving the goodbye.

So my days are numbered; filling quickly with friendly tea and hugs and goodbye cards and packing and finishing up the odds and ends here and there that still need to be crossed off the list. Tuesday I'll hop over to Guinea, returning the following Wednesday to one last night in my floating home, walking down the gangway the last time on Thursday to a new season of life on land.

Thank you, treasured friends, both here and there, for being a part of the journey.  I am deeply grateful.

My backyard.

xxk