Rolling down the back door of our moving truck was the last step. It was time to go. We were not riding off into the sunset. Instead, we were driving off into a summer rainstorm. I was both terrified and excited.

Last year, Jesse and I packed up everything and headed down to Eugene, OR. Jesse was accepted into a master’s program in his field after years of hoping and praying for this opportunity. I was excited to see him grow and learn in an area he was passionate about and that we would be able to explore a new city, a new town. It would give us a chance to figure out who we were away from our college town of Bellingham, WA.

Bellingham for me is a place of beautiful beginnings and heartbreaking endings. The place where I met Jesse and fell in love. The place where I received my bachelor’s degree and teaching certificate. A place with a safety net of family, close friends, and church people who supported us like family. The place where my niece was born.

But it is also a place where I struggled with my mom’s terminal cancer diagnosis and battled out those bitter first few months after her death. It is a town that is often rain-soaked. And those droplets running down my car window remind me of my endless grief there.

I couldn’t fit all those memories in the U-Haul, could I?

A Spirit of Adventure Instead of Fear

This new journey scared me. Without my memories tied to a physical home—with only new ones to be made—who would I be? Who would I become? Could I let go of the bittersweet moments and take my mother’s spirit of adventure and ingenuity with me? I knew she’d be tickled pink and proud of Jesse and me for going on to a new and big, wild and unruly next stage of life.

But if I’m being honest, I had lost my zeal for adventure and newness during the upheaval I experienced four years ago when my mom was sick. Grief affects everyone differently, but it made me resistant to change. I was afraid to start anything new, afraid of another ending.

As I chatted with my dad last spring about my apprehension to move, he always reframed my fears, saying, “It’s high adventure!”

I may have lost the passion back then, but I hadn’t completely lost the nerve for a new beginning. It’s a slow curation process to renew and revive a longing for adventure when you’ve felt burned by it in the past. I didn’t regret the refining fire; but I was scared of experiencing loss again.

A Gentle Correction

As I struggled to keep a balanced mindset, I was frustrated that so many good things that were a part of my life in Bellingham were ending.

Who am I in a place where my mom has never lived, breathed, or visited? Who are we in the places where we move forward toward new beginnings and away from heartbreaking endings?

I’m still unraveling that one today. Like the balls of yarn tangled at the bottom of my knitting bag, it’s not something you can tackle overnight.

In the midst of this emotional turbulence, the wavering bumps of transition, the Lord spoke a sweet word over me while I was in prayer:

“You think you’re at the end, but it’s really just the beginning.”

I turn 27 tomorrow, and it feels like the start of a new season with Jesus. My bones feel different: revived and clothed in God’s righteousness.

The next three years are not the end of my 20s, youth, and independence. It’s the beginning of my journey growing into a new woman, a new creation under God’s loving direction. I like to think my mom has been following along, tracking this new chapter of my life too.

A Resurrection Mindset for All of Us

I really think an Easter perspective is what we need. When Jesus died on the cross, it seemed like an ending to his followers.

The women in the Bible came to Jesus’ tomb after he was crucified and were astonished to find him not dead, but alive. Jesus asked them, “Why are you looking among the dead for someone who is alive?”

So I ask the same thing of myself:

“Why am I looking for the end in a place of new life and growth?” It’s like I’m watching the credits and behind-the-scenes clips before the previews.

Sometimes it feels like I’ll be trudging through this grief stuff forever. Like a winter snow that’s frozen over. I sometimes forget to celebrate the small victories or milestones and instead can get caught up in the knots.

I don’t want to rush toward a happy ending, a glorious ride off into the sunset, if Jesus is instead calling me to a morning sunrise where his mercies are new after every darkness.

The resurrected Jesus invites us to remember that he is the God of new beginnings, of rising from the dead on the third day.

When I find myself longing for the end or hesitant to begin, I remind myself of the one who holds both in his hands.

Revelation 22:13 I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last.