Tuesday, April 1, 2014
I don't remember struggling with moving like this before I had kids. I moved quite a few times in my teens and twenties, what with back and forth to college, my first apartment and job away from home after college, moving back to my home town and working, then moving back in with my parents when I went to grad school. After that, I got married, and we had our first and second apartments. No big deal, really (although moving home with my parents as a twenty-something was difficult in its own way - a temporary step back on the way forward).
Then we bought a house. And had kids.
We were lucky - we got to stay in that first house for 12 years. That's a long time, longer than I've lived anywhere else, ever, in my entire life, when I really think about it. No wonder it was hard to leave that house, let alone under the circumstances of a layoff. The move wasn't our choice; it was by necessity, to follow my husband's job. It all worked out for good in the end, but that move was many shades of hell, for many reasons. I've had nightmares about moving whenever I get too stressed ever since then. (I had one last night, the first in quite a while.)
We've been in this house for about 5 years. Once again, it's time to move, under circumstances that I never thought I'd face. But even though we initiated this process because of our marital issues, we came to the realization last fall that we would have been doing this move even if we were still together, in order to get our kids into a better school district. It's our choice to move now, for the good of our family; I'm not blaming anyone. But it's still got me down this week.
Some people can move as easily as changing outfits. The living space itself doesn't mean that much to them - it's merely a vehicle for their lives. Some of us, though, get attached to a place, and try to put down roots. That makes it a bit harder to pick up and move, even for very good reasons. I'm trying to look at this in the most positive light I can, and I can see the positives, but I'm still sad and discombobulated over the process. I'd forgotten (selective memory?) what a pain looking for a rental can be, and what a hassle it is preparing a house to show. And packing, cleaning, packing, sorting, packing, donating, packing. It's all coming back now, believe me!
But wherever I go, there He is. Whatever rentals are available at the time I'm looking, He's curated as a selection for me. When the time is right, I'll find the right place. I need to learn to wait patiently. (Waiting happens to everyone; waiting patiently is a bit harder work for me.) I'm both taking control of my life, and letting go. It's like walking a tightrope - a fine balance, trusting the thin wire of my faith to help me navigate over my circumstances, and keeping my own perspective on what I have control over and what I cannot control at all.
Have you ever seen tight rope walkers cross major chasms, or gaps between buildings? They make it look too darn easy. But have you ever watched them set up their wire? They are meticulous in securing it at both ends, and checking its integrity, and inspecting it for flaws or weak spots. They prepare, they have reliable help, they practice and mentally focus. They check and double check. And in the end, they trust their lives to the wire. So it is with our faith. I've prepared as best I can, but in the end, who am I trusting? My balance? (Ha - anyone who knows me knows I don't have great physical balance, so I find that image truly funny, me on a tightrope.) No, I trust the One who holds me up, and who will be there to catch me if (when? - there's often a when) I fall.
Walk on. . . .