I am not alone.

Does music instantly slip into your core like it does mine? There has been a song that God has been replaying in my life lately. It compliments the theme of my January 2015. I'll give you a few clues and see if you can figure out where I am headed here. First clue - this month Taylor left to go back to Liberty. It was a monumental return in my mind, cause it was the very last extended period of time that we will all be together as the family we have known for almost 20 years. The only life I have known as an adult.... which is now more than half of my earthly existence. (See, this summer we #hope that God will make a way to return to our home across the planet. Far, far away from two of our baby girls.)

Second clue - one of my bestest girl friends, my heart-sister, my Beth, left for Papua New Guinea.

Third clue - our adopted Leah left for Papua New Guinea.

I bet you figured it out.

I have totally, completely and thoroughly been feeling left behind, abandoned even - in my most desperately pitiful, overly-tired and pathetic moments. Praise the Lord, my head knows this isn't truth! But going from a home full of all the people I hold closest in my heart to missing one of those that I fiercely love is tough. Add to that the fact that one of my most favoritest girl friends is on the other side of this world and I can't talk to her or see her face or hug her neck or drink coffee with her or laugh with her or tell her every single teeny tiny thing that happens every day... and BAM! I have felt lonely.

It's been quite a clear revelation of what our family and friends must feel when we leave. Being left is hard work.

One of the first times I cried to my theme song was after dropping the kids off to school. Taylor was gone. Beth was gone. Leah was gone. And Marty had left to help someone for the day. I knew there in the car, driving down that dreary road, on my way back to our empty and silent house, I was going to be alone. The words to 'I am Not Alone' by Kari Jobe played:

When I walk through deep waters

I know that You will be here with me

When I am standing in the fire

I will not be overcome

Through the valley of the shadow

I will not fear

I am not alone

I am not alone

 You will go before me

You will never leave me

In the midst of deep sorrow

I see Your light is breaking through

The dark of night will not overtake me

I am pressing into You

Lord, you fight my every battle

And I will not fear

You amaze me

Redeem me

You call me as Your own

You're my strength

You're my defender

You're my refuge in the storm

Through these trials

You've always been faithful

You bring healing to my soul

I listened to those words again and again once I was home. Listened to the truth in them. The truth in the reality that troubles happen. They are here. I needed to hear it over and over again. Hear the "when" and the "in the midst". 

I needed to be assured that it was okay that I was having to walk through deep waters. It's a weakness of mine to doubt "if I have to fight this hard for something, is it worth it? shouldn't it come a little easier?".

I simply love the first line to this song. "When I walk through deep waters." Often the only image I can conjure when I think of water is the walking on top of the water. And gosh, well, that doesn't quite fit my life right now. My reality isn't about being above or even on equal playing ground. My reality has me feeling like I am in deep, deep, deep. Not above. Not close by thinking about testing the water with a big toe. But in. Surrounded. Immersed. Pushing through when my feet ache to drag the sand.

"I am in deep water, and the floods overwhelm me. I am exhausted from crying for help; my throat is parched. My eyes are swollen from weeping, waiting for my God to help me." Psalm 69:2, 3 NLT 

I love the ocean, y'all. It must have something to do with the seven years I spent growing up on an island in a tropical paradise. Yup, I think that helps. I love the untouched beaches. Glorious teal water. The sweet smell of salty air. The ever consistent sound of the stunningly white waves rhythmically kissing the shore line. Yum. FYI, the ocean that has been on my mind for weeks. I am surrendered to the fact that this is because it will separate me from two of my littles later this year. 

Perhaps it is also because of these lyrics from Hillsong United's 'Oceans':

You call me out upon the waters 

The great unknown where feet may fail

And there I find you in the mystery

In oceans deep

My faith will stand

When oceans rise

My soul will rest in Your embrace

...

Your grace abounds in deepest waters

I have found myself to be in the deepest bits of life. Not depression. Not hopelessness. Not sadness necessarily. Just in the deepest, hardest parts. Everything I am walking through is big. Not only is it big, it is also brand new. Hard stuff. Big decisions. Monumental changes that will rock my world. This is the deep I am talking about.

My heart has been crying - rescue!! "pull me from these deep waters. Don't let the floods overwhelm me, or the deep waters swallow me" Psalm 69:14, 15 NLT

That rescue hasn't happened. Yet. But He has answered: "When you go through deep waters, I will be with you" Isaiah 43:2 NLT

I am not alone. Never have been. Never will be. Not when it's good. Not when it's bad. Not even in the deepest of the deep. Trudging through.

My loneliness lifted quickly following that first week or so of this month. But the image of me trudging through the deep has stuck. I don't know if and when and where or even how things will change. But I know He is with me and I know His grace abounds here. 

On that day, that day where the house was silent and no other person was here with me, something happened I have only shared once until now. (Don't pass me off as a crazy either for spilling my guts, k?) 

Let me paint my picture.

Hot tears were streaming down my face. My eyes were pinched shut. Brows furrowed. Theme song blaring. The words were playing again and again and again. And somewhere in between my off-key, teary, scratchy words - I heard His breath. My eyes shot opened and I looked for Him. Nope, I didn't see God, but I felt Him. I heard and felt the very breath of God while crying at my kitchen table. It's a presence my words cannot properly explain. But a presence I will never forget. 

Indeed, I am not alone. 

And you know what, friend? Neither are you.