This is the final post (I think) in what’s become a series of journal entries about our move.
The other morning, the first one in our new place, the aroma from the initial, new apartment, can’t-find-the-regular-coffee-filters-so-paper-towels-will-do, cup o’ joe filled the room. Open windows were inviting fall’s first cool breezes encouraged by a heart-stirring sunrise. My cushy, microwave-filled, cardboard box chair fit just right. Ah. Life’s good. Really good.
I gotta tell ya, sleep’s definitely underrated.
See, ten hours earlier I was finished. Done. Stick-a-fork-in-me done. That’s the most tired I’ve been in years.
That’s just not good because, at least for me, lack of sleep …
… and negativity, sadness, foreboding, and generally being a big, fat, ungrateful whiner (hmm … ok, I’ll leave that) go hand in hand. And man, was I whining. It’s when you stink so bad, I mean demeanor-wise (okay. well … both), that people run for the hills even if they smell you near.
Scalding hot bath and sleep. Cue sanity. Appreciation. Gratitude.
So, being in a new place … total blessing.
But the process of getting there? Ugh.
(It would’ve been a lot worse, if not impossible, to do this move without the help of some amazing friends: Kraig, Roy, Brandon, Garrett, Bill, Anastacia, Alexia, Isabella, and my kids, Ian and Chloe.)
The old house was wonderful, and we’re going to miss it. But things can cross a line from useful to burdensome, and in turn, become stressful (as in, any prospect of rain kicks in the leaky-roof stress, a 16-year-old a/c unit runs solely on prayers and, just one more day don’t burn down, pleeeease?!).
I think it’s hard to tell exactly when that happens. Often the line that’s crossed is only seen in the rear-view mirror. Like the boiling frog, we tend to put up with, deny, or become immune to the consequences. And we minimize the true weight of it.
Until we get beyond it.
Turning the page provides the opportunity for tangled emotions to unravel. 20/20 hindsight helps to heal, if we choose to look and learn. Then clarity’s reward opens previously unable-to-be-seen doors to the new thing.
Last night, as I was riding my bike around the complex, my 8-year-old Chloe was playing with some friends who included Maddy, an old friend, and 2 new friends that she just met here (kids make friends so easily, so quickly).
They were playing at the playground and grassy area which is about 20 yards from our front door. There was lots of digging in the sand and climbing between tumbling passes in the grass. And the screaming and yelling had me believing that each one of those 20 yards is a blessing.
How cool is that?
At the old house she had her safe places, her favorite places. A park down the street. The wash behind the house. A ratty, ripped trampoline that had outgrown its usefulness in a deserted backyard. She was missing that. Tearful about it. Having trouble letting it go. And rightly so. Even though old and torn, it’s still tough to see how things could be better.
It’s easier to hold on to that which we know, even after that line’s been crossed.
When I begin writing posts like this, I may have a sense of the subject yet seldom know the end. Or even if I do, it usually changes. It’s organic. Cathartic. Writing clarifies. That’s what’s so cool about it.
That’s the case with this post. I wasn’t clear on the point of it when I started, but I am now.
We need to let go of that which is safe, or comfortable, or what we think we have control over (ouch), or that which is old and torn to allow (a.k.a. get out-of-the-way) God to bless you with more than you could’ve ever imagined.
Forget about what’s happened; don’t keep going over old history. Be alert, be present. I’m about to do something brand-new. It’s bursting out! Don’t you see it? There it is! I’m making a road through the desert, rivers in the badlands.
– Isa 43:18-19 (MSG)
The unintended series about our move:
1. Making An 11th Hour Move
2. How to Remedy a “C-minus” Day. Or, 6 Things I Forgot
3. Unbelievable Coincidence
4. Turn The Page
5. A New Chapter