Another difficult question.

Sorry about missing Monday's post yet again. I thought I'd put one up after I came back from my choir practice. *snort* Yeah. Right. I dragged my exhausted body straight to bed and slept for ten hours before I remembered my good intentions.

But... before I have another three hours lost because I overestimated my energy levels, I shall ask another thorny question.

When does one move on?

I'm not talking about death or break-ups. I'm talking about life in general.

If there's one word that sums up how I've lived my life thus far, nomadic would be it. I went to five primary schools. Three high schools. We've moved house about fifteen times. And if I've spent more than two years in one place, I'd burn.

My skin would start crawling and I would feel the air being choked out of me. And for some reason, we've always managed to move just as the situation got to be at its worst.

I never looked back. Still don't.

Then came University. I changed courses half-way through my second year, so instead of three, I spent four years in the campus town. By the third term of year three, I wanted out. OK, it was more than just my nomadic tendencies talking, but they certainly did make themselves heard. I even signed up for combat duty in the navy in a desperate attempt to escape. Got reaaaaally close to getting accepted, but then someone lost my medical exam and I was asked to reapply the following year.

I did. And some racist recruitment officers "lost" my application. So I applied to go air stewardessing. No go. Despite the fact that I was fit, and spoke four languages. Hmm.

At some point, God and I had some heart to hearts and He made me realize that I couldn't run away every time something got difficult. Especially when those challenges are to teach me how to become who I'm supposed to be.

So I stuck out my degree. And I got more involved in my local church than I've ever been.

And I dove into following my dream.

And for a long time everything went well.

Except... now it isn't. I'm not happy. Although I love singing and praising God and doing His work, something's not right. Not because something is being a challenge, but rather because it isn't.

Things are stalling.

My services are offered and promptly disregarded or underutilized. I make sacrifices and only get aggravation back - except I hardly care any more. A year's worth of Fridays seem to have gone wasted. As did my emotional involvement.

Fact is, I'm working harder to keep my emotional bond to my church and community than I am to form relationships.

And now I'm starting to wonder. Is God, after a year of telling me to stay put, telling me it's time to go? Or is He going to push me a little further? Because I know what I'm supposed to be doing, but I'm alone. And feeling lost. And feeling a painter without brushes and paint.

Do I sit still and wait? Or do I go back to my old roaming ways? Because one thing can be said: My faith was a lot stronger when I wasn't committed to a single church. I learnt a lot more. Because I could go to places that were the right depth for me.

Now I'm a fish floundering on drying sand.