Have you ever wanted to scream, “I WANT MY LIFE BACK!!!” into the ether? I’m sure we all have. Writers have a hard time keeping their emotions in check on a page, and I won’t go on and on about it after this because I know everyone has a heartache. I will tell you that there have only been a few times in my life where I have felt so utterly destroyed. In the past, I could have blamed it on others- the abusive ex or the landlord that caused us to be homeless and lose our farm- this time the blame stares squarely in my own face. In the past, we had forward motion, we had hope. This time we are caught in a wheel of despair. There is no forward motion. There is no hope. I have, in a very short amount of time, destroyed my entire life, it feels. I cannot get the last year back. I cannot get time with my kids and grandkids back. I can’t get my farm back. I cannot undo our move. I cannot get my animals back. I cannot take it back. And I cannot sell my house to move forward. It is very frustrating.

Like the dog in the parable, who got a new bone, and proudly took it to the lake to enjoy. He saw his reflection with a bigger bone, and dropped the one he had to get the bigger one. And in the process, ended up with nothing.

If it sounds like- in Anne of Green Gable’s famous words- I am in the depths of despair, you would be correct. Everything I want to manifest is what I already had. Ironic?

I get caught up in the idea that I am too old to do it all again. I had every homesteading implement I could need, and gave them up. I even gave up my beloved aprons. I would have to start from scratch. Can we even afford to get a homestead? Maybe it’s all too late. And that’s where hope goes away, in the illusions of time.

We have to hold onto hope. We can stay present, we can have gratitude, we can make the most of situations, but we also have to dream. We have to think ahead when the present is too daunting.

Perhaps this can be exciting. Perhaps we will sell soon and we will find a small place we can homestead back in Colorado. Perhaps I can find the implements at garage sales or in antique stores and start a new collection of aprons. Perhaps we will have chickens again and a root cellar. Maybe we aren’t even close to being done dreaming. Maybe- now that we have learned some powerful lessons- we will have more fun than ever and will truly appreciate what we have. Maybe the fun is just beginning…