Good night.

One last walk up to deck 8 to gaze at the beauty that is found there, under cover of darkness and lights.

The port at night

It’s finally here, the last night.  I was thinking about how crazy this life is; I’ve lived five years on board a hospital ship, where I’ve moved a dozen times and never even had to pack. And all my friends came with me. I’ve met presidents and first ladies and prime ministers, and zillions of incredible people serving in one way or another across the globe. It’s been awesome and hard and I’ve cried and I’ve laughed and I’ve wanted to quit and I’ve wanted to stay forever and ever; I’ve loved and I’ve hurt and I’ve forgiven and I’ve learned so much about who I am, what I’m made of, and what makes me feel alive.

Just this afternoon, I felt tears pricking the back of my eyes.  It was almost a relief, as for several months now I’ve just been so excited about what is next I haven’t felt much about leaving. For the final time I’ll be rocked gently to sleep, and tomorrow the rest of my stuff will end up in bags or in the dumpster and I’ll close this chapter entitled Mercy Ships.   Tears remind me what complex creatures we are; they roll down my face while my heart sings with anticipation, with peace, with joy.

I really, really hope my story will bring me back here someday. But until then, I will embrace the season in which I am living; grateful for all the people and places that have brought me to this day, to this place, for the oxygen I breathe and the blood in my veins, for the hope and purpose that propel me to never stop reaching for greater heights in serving, in loving, in living, in life to the full.

I plan to keep writing; expect a few changes on the blog in the coming days, but as long as God gives me words to share I will be obedient in the sharing of them here.  Thanks for reading. Thanks for encouraging.  Thanks for being a part of my story, too. 

Good night, dear loves; sweet ship, home, friends, and family. Good night.