Moving

I wrote this in November 2014, with a cross-country move looming, boxes waiting to be packed and sad kids dragging their feet in the hopes that if they didn't pack - we just couldn't move.  My husband was 1196.27 miles away which did nothing for my peace of mind.  Just so you know, that's where I "was" when I sat at the kitchen table and wrote this.




Moving


If you google the word "moving", you will get 123,000,000 results in 0.48 seconds.  That's pages and pages of tips on everything from when to begin packing to where to get the best free boxes for your books to who to call for estimates on packing your belongings onto a truck.  There are tips on how to keep your friends happy once you enlist them to help and how to keep your pets from feeling insecure.  Did you know that it's a good idea to wrap your drinking glasses in socks for extra protection before placing them in a box, or that you should feed your friends something they can eat off paper plates with no utensils to keep their spirits and their stamina up? 

Well, I did.

I've moved 12 times and am about a month out from my 13th.  Most of these moves happened after I met and married the blond-haired, blue-eyed boy with the easy smile.  My parents didn't move.  Still haven't all these years later.  Today, I could magically appear on my parents' front porch and run my hands over the same beautiful, shiny, wooden door all my friends could unlock with the not-so-hidden key.  My saxophone and wedding dress are under my childhood bed.  And, the coffee table my sister kicked, hard, while we were making up dances in the living room is still implanted in the carpet.

That house with the magnolia tree in the front yard will always be home to me.  I breathe a sigh of relief when I pull up in the driveway and know there will be a pitcher of iced tea in the fridge, so sweet it will make my teeth hurt.  My children know where my mom has "hidden" the Krispy Kreme donuts and my husband doesn't hesitate to kick his feet up in the recliner in the den and commandeer the remote.

It's comfortable.  It's worn and familiar.

My children will never have that.  They've lived in 3 homes in 3 states in their lifetimes and will soon add a fourth.  Though I hope they'll feel peace and security when they come back to visit from their adventures, they won't have that same sense of place, that same feeling of belonging to one particular spot.  That's the life God has chosen for them, and I'm alright with it.  It's just so different from the life I lived til I was 22.

Their world is much, much bigger than mine was at 15 years old.  They've learned how to make friends much earlier than I did.  They know what it's like to wake up to breath-taking heat or intense cold outside.  They know what different accents sound like from the lips of people who've adopted them as family.  They've had to do adjusting and growing that can only help them be better men.  And I'm alright with that.

So, as I look at websites for packing tips, again, and wonder at all the quotes about "moving on" on pintrest, I wonder why there's not something out there about how to handle your heart as you move to a new place or unpacking those hard feelings that surface, get pushed down because you're too busy or overwhelmed to deal with them, and then surface again.

Moving is hard.  It's exhausting to purge, pack, load, clean, clean again and unpack. But, it's just as hard to find the right fit in a church, a home, a friend.  If you're like me, it can even be hard to find the grocery store without a map or figure out which gas station has cheap Coke from a fountain.  (Because the Coke from a fountain is different, I promise you.  You don't believe me, but it's true!  And, they don't put THAT on maps.)  It's hard to face the fact that you'll never be able to fit all your earthly belongings in the back of a pickup truck.  You may blame this on your wife and children, but you might want to clean out your closet before you do.  

In his novel Angle of Repose, Wallace Stegner says, “It's easier to die than to move ... at least for the Other Side you don't need trunks."  True, very true.  When you die and get to see Jesus face to face, you probably don't worry too much about the stuff you didn't bring with you.  You probably don't worry about the people you left behind either.

None of that is true of moving across the country.  If I leave something in this move, say, my new, long-wanted, Mary and Martha lazy Susan that sits regally and helpfully on my kitchen table, I'll be upset.  I may even need to return to collect it.  If I couldn't get back, I might make a very nice gift of it to a very dear friend.  But, I'd like to take it with me.  

I'd like to pack up my friends and take them as well.  I've fought and prayed and worked hard for these friends.  I've risked vulnerability and honesty and they've just begun to realize they love me.  And, I'm just really getting to know and love them.  I can't pack them up and take them with me, even if I wrap them lovingly in my socks.  They can't come because God has another plan for them that doesn't include the horrifying realization of how much dust has settled on the baseboards behind the entertainment center, or that it takes more than 50 boxes to pack up the stuff in their kitchen.  Those dear friends get to / have to walk the same aisles at the same grocery store and drive the same roads to the burger joint.  They get to / have to see the same people in Sunday school and sit in the same section at next year's high school football games.  I know it's not any easier than what I'm called to in this move.  It's just different.  

And, I'm working really hard to be alright with that.