I took Greta to a Blue and Gold tennis tournament today — an event that I’ve attended since Elsa was old enough to play. The closer we get to moving out of the house, the more I’ve tried to pull away from all that has connected me to this community. The community must sense it, because today, I was on the outside looking in. Last year, I was helping with the setup of lunch, helping at the desk, watching Elsa and Greta play or hanging out with all of the tennis parents and players. This year, I wasn’t. I was just someone who dropped her daughter off and watched from inside the car.

I left to do some errands and cried about it for awhile. For eleven years, Prineville has been a welcoming home. I really, really don’t want to leave it.

Elsa has broken two records in track in the 100 and 200. Her times have beaten every girl (including high schoolers) in Crook County and the entire district. The track coach says she could play tennis and sprint. She’s so excited.

These moments mean a lot to a kid. If we move, she might forever regret it.

I know she would be the mature daughter that she is and carefully smooth it over. She would never mention it or bring it up. But who knows what really goes on inside? Elsa is reserved and unemotional — it’s hard to tell what she’s feeling.

Perhaps the move would be magical. Perhaps we’ll go somewhere that has even more opportunities. Perhaps it will be better than we ever imagined.

But that’s the trouble with faith. It’s believing without seeing. You can’t know what’s on the other side.

You either have to be happy where you are or venture forth.

It’s not easy, though, looking at the warm, cozy fire and the family you used to have. It’s not easy at all.

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