All my confidence and positive attitude towards moving went down the drain yesterday morning, only hours after I wrote the true and shining report that I was so ready to move from Katy to San Antonio into my new home.
I forgot that moving is not just a physical condition. I am smarter than that, but being so distracted with traveling, it has kept me from doing the important work of preparing my heart to move.
I drove into the church parking lot at eight and the moment I lifted my eyes to the familiar and comforting view of the way our church welcomes my soul, they filled with tears, my throat tightened, and I had a mild panic reaction: “What were you thinking coming here by yourself?”
I have been away for five weeks, and I was so happy and eager to go “home” to church that it never occurred to me I hadn’t done a moment’s work on my heart to prepare for our move. I felt as surprised as it would feel to come home and see my house ransacked. There was a big mess to sort.
I sat in the car and tried to prepare myself for what I was about to do. I really needed a major miracle, like when God parted the red sea, my tears being the sea, and me the one who needed to walk through the morning in church knowing the other side meant parting and saying good-bye. I didn’t get a miracle, I got a red nose, sore throat, and pinched eyes.
I took Kira to her classroom and bumped into Patrick, and when he said, how are you? My face changed, and my voice quivered, and I said, not well. We changed the subject, and talked about his adoption instead. It’s just too hard catching up in a real way, passing in the hallway on Sunday morning. But he has been the most incredible leader for my sons, encourager with our adoption, and family friend. His family and ours simply can’t part just because we moved. I know this, but my heart was aching.
I sat on the third row, as we always do, but without my crew of five men surrounding me, and the seats were all empty as if no one would take them knowing they all might arrive late. The moment the music began to flow, tears dripped down my face, and I struggled to keep the emotion from embarking into an all out sobbing ordeal. I am sure everyone around me was wondering if my family drowned at sea and I was all alone in this world with my tears. But I wasn’t alone. If I ever wanted to be anywhere and have a breakdown, the third row, eight o’clock service, at Kingsland Baptist Church is where I want to do it. There is such love in this body of believers. And my heart is directed straight into the hands and lap of Jesus, who is my Comforter. I felt His arms envelop me as I sat there alone on that row and though I couldn’t help the overflow I knew He was with me to help me stretch and grow through the pain of leaving the one place I would call home here in Katy, Texas.
I knew God would have something there for me in that service, and He did, I needed the direct message from John3 about imitating what is good and how to manage conflicts with others. I could only take so much though, so I fetched Kira and got out of there quick when the service was over. But I couldn’t escape the sinking sadness; it stayed with me all day. The simplest memory or thought could trigger the waterworks and I walked with heaviness through my day.
For a little self therapy I headed straight to the Container Store so I could do some re-organizing in Kira’s closet and be prepared for less hassle in moving her things. (It wasn’t lost on me that somewhere I was shopping for a container to stuff all those wild feelings into as well.) Her closet is both guest room and baby room, so I thought I might separate them now so I wouldn’t have a lot of problems in the new house moving things around. Craig arrived home in the afternoon and found me with her things strewn like a ransack and said, “what’s wrong?” He knows its good therapy for me to organize something when I’m also sorting out a mess of emotion. (Oragnizing is practicing making decisions.)
As we talked and I worked to fit all her things on one side beautifully arranged and contained we also arranged and contained all the pesky feelings that spill out at the brink of a move. He is the best listener and no one knows me like he does. He didn’t try to resolve my sadness for me, which would really be the hope of getting to the end of it all quickly, and he didn’t dare ask if it was that time of the month. (I’m not a violent person, but I might have punched him if he did.) And when it was finished, I closed her closet door; he hugged me and whispered in my ear, “you are my best friend.” And all I could think was “thank God for our relationship”. We’ll push through this move together, and as all the ten prior moves have done, this one will make us all stronger. When I am weak, then I am strong. It is God who gives us all the strength to do what we are about to do. I was reminded today, it’s not the physical stress of moving a big house and family, it’s the emotional upheaval of parting with dear friends, and the fear of loneliness. It’s the mountain to climb of starting all over…again. But I know when we walk into our new front door in San Antonio, Jesus will be opening the door for us and I know he will say, “Welcome home, you are not alone here, I’ve come ahead and I’ve laid out the next path for you, please follow me.” Ok, it is You I trust.
(some family pictures from the beach…to cheer me up, and not leaving you crying too)
(tech issue with the caption, it bled from the one below…too busy to fix it now…sorry)