As I prepare to leave behind (almost) everything I know, I prepare to see more clearly what is stable about my life and what isn’t. Whether I’ve placed my identity correctly, that is, in things that will never change about who I am, and whether I’m really leaning on what will remain unshaken.
 
Routine. Resources. Refuges. Relationships… It’s amazing how easily I settle into quicksand, longing for it to be the solid ground my heart seeks for it to be.
 
I hope to gain and to give, though I fear I’ll lose a part of me. But maybe what I fear is not so much losing my footing… but losing the warmth of the quicksand that so captured my affections.
 
As the ground shifts and I’m suddenly brought from the mountains to the edge of the shore, what shall be my anchor? May I ever carry that anchor, whether I am settled or unsettled.
 
So I can sail without drifting.
So I can face the wind without swerving three degrees off course.
So I can reach my destination and help start some revolution.
 
An anchor is something that has sunk in your place so you don’t have to do the sinking. An anchor is something heavy that holds onto what you’re too light to grasp (and rightly so) so you can stay afloat. May my anchor never once be found jealous of the quicksand I throw hopelessly into the water to save me.
 
May I not betray the
Best
object of my deepest affections
in favor of the wind and the waves and the sand.