To Everything there is a season, and I am going home.

Well, here I am again with much to say and words that fail. I am going to move back home to SC end of January and I know I have to do so as a successful failure. I have learned many lessons about God and about my relationship with God. That education made this journey out here in the great Northen Annex to Mexico we fondly call Texas successful for me.

I have learned my limits and that the world will make excuses for everything including failure. I only blame myself for my failure and my move 1027 miles from home. Failure isn't a death sentence. Who in this world can do everything?

My choice to go home is not met with excitement. It is gut wrenching and hurtful. I may be the only person to fully feel the weight of it but it is real pain none the less. The choices I have had since my divorce have not been many that are palatable. How do you decide which of two bad choices is the best choice. Dear Father, please open a door. The prospect of being jobless, starting over for the 7th time in 5 years does not thrill me. I am actually emotionally tired of that nonsense. It's time to throw in the towel. and I know it. I need to go home, heal, and settle into the inevitable. There is nothing I relish about SC but being so far away from my family, growing old, and dying alone in Texas is not what I want for my life.

I have fought this day with all my heart. I wanted to be successful here, grow old and enjoy life but that was denied me by forces bigger than myself. It never fit and settled into something you could be secure with.

So many times I am a dreamer, happy ever after person. Now this isn't meant to discourage but you have to realize that you can't do all things. I have to be true to who I am. I have to understand that God said that He will give me the desires of my heart. That isn't a blank check to get what I want out of life but I know that God does want the best for me.

That thought will keep me sane during this time of hurt, anger, transition and finally routine again. At 46, you would think I would have matured enough but dreamers don't ever let go until the dream dies.