Brave – Adopted Joy

Last week was Fall Break for the kids, and it was fun/crazy having them all home, lazing about, watching endless reruns of NCIS, playing LOUDLY on their computer games together, sleeping days and cooking all night, and begging to go somewhere or order food because “I’m so borrrrrred!!”

Yet all week I was worriting my brain about the end of the week when Paul was planning to take advantage of the time off and take the kids up north. I’ve been getting stronger, now that I’ve lost 90 lbs, and have been able to move around the house without the use of the walker at all. And it’s been so exciting to feel like I’m getting back to normal and what I wanted more than anything was to get back up to the ranch with the family (and my camera).

But could I? Really? All that hupping up and down the hill between the campfire and the cabin… going up into the mountains to take pics in the trees – could I actually get out of the van and do it?

I didn’t know. But I wanted it, desperately, and in a fit of overconfidence I enthusiastically proclaimed: I will do it!

And then I panicked! What if it hurts? It’s going to hurt.

What if it’s too much? What if I’m too much?

What if I can do nothing but sit in my chair the whole weekend while everyone goes out and sees the world?

I was terrified.

And you know what my husband did? Nothing. He left the choice completely up to me, and was 100% ok with whatever I chose.

That was exactly the right move and I decided I don’t care if I’m afraid, I’m going to do it anyway.

And Thursday morning came, we packed up and hit the road, and my heart was singing all the way — up the mountains, past all the old familiar sights, through all the old familiar towns, and finally on to the dusty rumbly dirt roads of the ranch, to the train crossing where for the first time in five years I gazed across the Carrizo:

And on through the ranch lands, up the hill and around the corner, and there at last, my valley lay below.

Down to the bottom of the hill and through the gate, where Ruben, in his excitement to be there, jumped out with his bag to follow daddy (who had just opened the gate), trudging up the sandy drive to the cabin on foot!

And finally, after four-plus hours in the van, and for the first time in five years (I said that a lot last weekend) I got to ring my bell!!

And then take a load off my screaming tailbone and relax in my beautiful recliner chair. My view, as I reclined:

As I rested, it began to sink in, what I had just done. My heart was so full as I watched the kids get things ready for our supper down at the campfire.

I was here, because I battled my fear. I fought, and I won. I was not wrong – there was a lot of pain in that drive. I knew there would be more before I got home again. But nonetheless, I persevered.