Road trip! This is a good plan, right? A handful of my close friends decided to take a little road trip to Myrtle Beach for a long weekend. Let’s face the realities, this isn’t what we were hoping to be doing in February this year. We were hoping that I wouldn’t be able to go because I would have a baby. But since Enoch died, it seemed like the right thing to do. We can’t escape grief, but we can at least change scenery. A free condo, let’s go.
Unfortunately at 3:00 am the first night, I woke up very ill. Note to self, when you’re eating something and think “I don’t think this is right. Maybe I should stop eating it,” listen! Needless to say, I was up vominting most of the night and the next day. My friends were kind and cared for me well, but I tried to stay away from them, as I wasn’t sure whether it was the food or the flu.
Day two I woke up feeling much better. I started the day the way I anticipated starting day one. I drank coffee, journaled, and read. But it didn’t take long before I needed out of there. I had been in that condo for so many hours straight. I had to get out!
Despite it being 35 degrees and raining, I opted for a walk on the beach. It was not surprising when nobody wanted to join me in those conditions. But I had to go. I had to get out energy. I had to get out of that room. I had to!
So I made it the 12 floors down and journeyed along the shore. It was cold, the rain pelted my face, there were large unavoidable puddles, and the more I walked the more my glasses became hard to see out of. In all honesty it was a pretty miserable morning for a walk. As I walked the beach I was fairly discouraged: sad that Enoch had died, mad that this trip was supposed to be a break, and yet I had missed a third of it to illness. It was a frustrating moment in a hard season.
As I continued on, I realized the parallel of this grief season with this walk along the beach. It’s cold, it’s lonely, and it’s hard to see or know what’s next. What I do know is to just keep walking. One step at a time. One breath at a time. One minute at a time. I can’t see where I’m going exactly. I can’t see what the new normal of life is going to look like. It feels sad and cold and miserable at times, but I just have to keep walking and trusting God in it.
When I got back from my walk, unknown to me one of my friends took this picture from the balcony. It demonstrated perfectly what I had felt walking along the beach. Feeling small and a little lost in the dreariness, but knowing God is big and near and I to just keep taking one step at a time.