Lots of fishing
Kayaking with Daddy
Tia's Catfish
Fun in the sun makes for good naps
Song by the lovely Rebekah Sullivant.
Insignificant
August 15, 2011 by
Post edit: I wrote this post several days ago and for a number of reasons decided to wait before publishing. I worried that it would sound like I was fishing for encouragement. I realize that many of my recent posts have been bemoaning our move to Florida. I’m sorry for that. This move has been more emotionally exhausting than I ever dreamed it could be. Thanks for your patience in letting me process in this space. I promise I won’t always talk about moving. I’ve got other things rolling through my head right now – get excited! I mean…ya know…if that sort of thing excites you…*sigh* I’m a dork. Read on…
You remember that awkward time in your early teens when you were gawky and moved clumsily through each day like a Great Dane on crack?
Remember those days?
Do you recall looking in the mirror at your oily, marked skin and wondering if you would ever grow into your nose and OMG why did your hair always look so weird and would your teeth really be straight when you finally got all that metal off of them?
Did you ever wander through your days back then feeling small and insignificant?
I mean, I didn’t, of course…but did you? Ahem.
I remember one conversation in particular. I was twelve and we had recently moved from Wisconsin to St. Louis. I felt lost in this new and foreign town. While I still harbored a small crush on the New Kids on the Block (Jordan and Joey...sigh), the people in my new classroom considered them soooo 1991. How did I know this?
We were in 6th grade art class and “The Right Stuff” came on the radio. I, of course, began humming along softly and suddenly the class macho man – let’s call him Troy for kicks because I honestly don’t remember his name – popped his head up.
“Who’s singing along to this song?” he demanded, his eyes scanning the room. I immediately froze and look up wide eyed and innocent.
“The New Kids are stupid,” he declared and everyone laughed and nodded in agreement. And thus ended my love affair with all things New Kids (publicly anyway). Tragic, indeed.
This incident combined with several other prepubescent crises caused me to come home and fling myself on the couch. It was totally melodramatic and very Disney Princess. “I don’t mean anything to anyone here,” I wailed, my hand over my eyes. My mom sat quietly next to me, just listening. After a few minutes, she finally spoke.
“You mean something to me,” she said.
I’d like to tell you that I smiled and leapt into her arms in a true After School moment, but I’m pretty sure I just huffed and rolled my eyes and muttered something incoherent about how she was only saying that because she had to and so on…
I was a peach.
But that conversation never left me. I bet she doesn’t even remember that moment, my mom. But I do – I remember. Because even though I didn’t really accept it, I knew that I mattered to someone. At twelve, I needed to know that.
I’m not twelve anymore.
Obviously.
But moving has brought on that feeling of insignificance once more. The other night we watched the most beautiful, glorious sunset I’ve ever seen. Seriously in all my life, I’ve never seen anything like it. And as I watched God paint the sky in brilliant purple and orange, I realized something.
I’ve felt insignificant since we moved here. Small.
Things happened and came about during the move that I didn’t foresee or expect and as I’ve dealt with those things, I’ve found myself shrinking back against the tapestry before me. And I’ve felt terribly insignificant. Suddenly, all the things that gave me comfort and…well…significance have been stripped away leaving me with nothing but my husband, children and a few earthly possessions that are easily within grasp. I tried to convince myself that these things should be enough. I don’t need any more than that in life, right?
Wrong.
I mean, I guess if I wanted to give the Sunday School answer, I would solemnly say, “All I need is my Jesus and my family. Nothing else matters.” But that’s not true. Relationships do matter. Taking care of my home does matter. Being in fellowship with others and taking part in a community matters. It matters to me.
I didn’t realize how small I felt until I was swept up in the glory of that sunset. And it made me emotional. Sad, even. I just felt so small.
Not that this move has been all stressful, of course. In the past few days, I’ve been overcome with peace regarding some of the bigger aspects of the move. Schooling, housing, etc…These are things that have caused a bit of stress in the last few weeks, but today, I feel nothing but rest when I think of them.
The other day, however, as I watched the sun dip beyond the horizon I wondered how I could feel such a combination of emotions. Peace mingled seamlessly with insignificance. And in a last burst of orange, the sun disappeared and I suddenly felt like that twelve year old girl lying on the threadbare couch once more. Only this time, I felt the Lord sitting over me and smiling gently.
“I don’t have anyone to share my heartaches and joy with,” my soul whispered. “I feel like I don’t mean anything to anyone here.”
And the breeze caressed my face as the sky grew darker, orange fading to deep blue and finally to black. “You have Me,” I heard deep inside.
And I do. I also have the many who are loving us from afar and online and I thank you all for that. Sincerely and truly from the bottom of my heart, I thank you for loving our family. I have received several emails from people I don’t even know that have lifted my spirits in ways I can’t express. And the phone calls from old friends have served as a constant reminder that I am loved and blessed.
I will still feel small from time to time, I suppose, but isn’t that a good thing? Being stripped of all the things that gave me a sense of identity leaves me with nothing left but Him. And for the first time in a long time, I think I’m okay with that.
Sunsets with Friends
August 14, 2011 by
The doorbell rang and I answered, my four month old tucked snugly in the crook of my arm.
“Trick or Treat,” he cried, thrusting out his bag. He was three, dressed as a Power Ranger…or something like that. I pulled Sloan close and tossed some candy into the bag, his eager little face lit with joy. Sloan was dressed as a lion. Cruelly, I had even drawn whiskers on his chubby little infant face.
“Hi, I’m Carol,” she said reaching around the stroller to shake my hand. I also shook her husband’s hand and cooed over their brand new baby girl. We were fairly new to the neighborhood. Having only moved in a week after Sloan was born, I had spent the first several months in first time parents survival mode. I didn’t know many neighbors.
But here they were on my doorstep. And over the next few years, our relationship deepened. We borrowed sugar and eggs and carpooled to preschool. We celebrated birthdays and mourned the loss of beloved pets. We loved and lived and grew together. We created memories in the cul de sac and a beautiful thing happened:
Our children developed lifelong friends.
Three months ago, Carol came over and sat with me on my back porch. I forgot to mention one other shared love we had with these dear neighbors and friends:
Florida.
“So we’re really feeling like God is leading us to Florida,” she said. And I stared back my mouth gaped open. “Um…Lee is in Tampa right now interviewing for a job,” I told her. They were words I hadn’t been able to utter to anyone else.
“We’re thinking about going to Tampa too,” she said with a smile.
Saturday night we sat together and watched our children play as we’ve done countless times over the last eight years. Only this time…they were playing at the beach. Mike and Carol moved into their house last week. When it’s all said and done we will likely live within 15 minutes of one another.
One of the biggest surprises in this move has been the fear that crept in and pounced upon us like a lion in the night. We weren’t prepared to confront the attack. The questions that came up sent us into a tailspin. Did we make the right choice? Are we really supposed to be here? What were we thinking? Will life ever feel normal again?
The deepest sadness I felt was saying goodbye to the people who had known my children since the day they were born. People who visited us in the hospital and watched our children grow from chubby babies to tall, lanky little people. There is something special about having your children surrounded by people who have known them from day one. And I mourned the loss of that. Our move here felt like the end of such a blessing.
Why do I worry? Why do I fear?
This weekend, God gave us what can only be described as a miracle. We had a perfect sunset in the place that is to be our new home with comforts from our old home. By our side were people who had known our children from infancy. They’ve watched our children grow and we have watched theirs. And our hearts rejoiced as all those questions melted into the ocean with the sun. Rays of hope splayed across the sky.
As daylight faded into darkness and the past faded into tomorrow, I once again heard the whispers. “I was here before you and I will remain. The path is laid out before you and blessings abound.”
And we did count our blessings that night. They were wrapped in the rhythmic waves of the ocean, full of giggles. Friends from afar brought near. Love poured forth. Peace beyond what we can understand. Grace and mercy in the sand – dancing in the moonlight.
A lifetime of memories still to be made.
Anybody else want to join us?
The Homeschool Post
August 11, 2011 by
Forgive the lame photos. My good camera is at the spa getting a facelift.
I never planned to be a homeschooler. It was never something I desired to do. Never. In fact, I’m pretty sure my exact words in the past were, “There’s no way in H@#! I would ever do that.”
Classy.
But something happened earlier this year and a transformation began inside my heart.
Sometime after the New Year, Sloan began struggling in school. It wasn’t a major struggle. He was getting by just fine, but he wasn’t thriving. Part of that was my fault. Life was just so overscheduled. We had something almost every evening of every week – all good things, but it left my kids bouncing in the wake of life and they were tired.
So we started cutting things out. Good things. And I hated it. All the while, I shipped my worn out child off to school for eight hours a day despite his daily pleas to let him stay home “just this once.”
I’ve said it before but it bears repeating. I don’t have major issues with the public school system. I have nothing but respect for the men and women who choose to teach our children. Some are better than others, to be sure and the system is far from perfect. But it deserves respect and it has that from me. I wasn’t necessarily upset with the quality of education my son was receiving so much as the time it seemed to take to get it. I feel like one of the biggest flaws in our school system (and this applies to both public and private schools, incidentally) is the amount of time we are keeping our children in the school building.
Sloan got on the bus at 8:00 every morning and he got off at 3:30. This left very little evening time for us as a family. It also left him tired and unwilling to concentrate on any kind of homework. He never wanted to sit and read a book and I didn’t blame him. If I were forced to sit and listen for roughly 30 hours per week I wouldn’t want to read a book either. That’s a lot of time for our little guys to be away.
This combined with a lot of prayer led me to seriously begin considering homeschooling. I entertained that idea alongside the idea of checking myself into the loony bin, because I felt sincerely crazy. Homeschooling? Really?
Yes. Really.
Two kids, two sets of study guides, double the crazy?
I mulled all these things over by myself for awhile, then I went to my husband. I was positive that he would have his head squarely placed on his shoulders and would practically and reasonably talk me out of this silly little notion.
“I think you should look into it,” he said. And then I passed out.
When I came to, he continued. “Obviously the Lord is working something out in your heart because I’ve never heard you talk like this before, so I really think this is something we need to research and pursue.” So being the dutiful wife that I am (wink, wink) I took his advice and began talking to every single homeschooling friend I have. I asked them all for the exact same information:
– Give me every reason I should do this and…
-Give me every single reason I should not.
Not surprisingly, the reasons I should far outnumbered the reasons I shouldn’t, and the reasons I shouldn’t were mostly selfish in nature. But I still wasn’t convinced, so I researched and prayed and waffled and wavered and questioned and finally decided that homeschooling was something I needed to do. Not for me, but for them. (When I say them, I’m referring to the children…you already knew that, didn’t you?)
Ultimately, I knew that I needed to get my clutches into my kids and show them what a joy learning can be. Even if I only do it one year, I want the year to count. I want them to know that I was willing to give up everything for them so that they could see the magic of opening a book.
Now I’m not sure I can show the the magic in math. Because math is not magical. It’s just numbers. Lame.
Right after I made the decision to homeschool, we found out we were moving and the timing just felt right. It also felt horrible. How would I do this without a local network of support? HOW?!
I’ll tell you how. Yesterday, as I watched Landon at swimming lessons, one of the other moms walked up to me. “Do you homeschool?” she asked. I was taken aback, because why would she ask that? What a random question? Was I putting off some kind of homeschool vibe? It must have been the denim jumper I was wearing…the one with the apple and ruler appliques on the front.
I kid.
“Yes,” I answered. “This is my first year.”
“Oh you’ll love it,” she said with a smile. “I’ve been homeschooling for years. What curriculum are you using?”
“Sonlight,” I replied.
“Wonderful!” she cried. “That’s what we use. Let me know if you have any questions about it.”
OMG - So many pages. I feel like I'm decoding the key to a secret world...
Is it coincidence that she randomly struck up a homeschooling conversation? Maybe…but I doubt it. Because today our curriculum arrived in the mail and I am thoroughly and completely overwhelmed by it all. Thankfully, I have a new friend who will be able to show me the ropes. And for me, that was one more confirmation that we are in the right place, doing the right thing.
Now if you will excuse me, I am going to go churn my own butter while simultaneously working on my needlepoint and baking homemade bread.
I kid. I’m not going to do any of those things. I’m going to finish my wine cooler and go to bed.
So this is the part where you join in, my bloggy friends. Would you ever homeschool your children (or are you currently)? Give me the best and worst. I want to be prepared.
What was important is now a necessity
August 7, 2011 by
Three weeks ago Landon wouldn’t put his face under water without a good deal of weeping and gnashing of teeth. If water splashed even in the vicinity of his eyes, he wailed and stumbled around blindly until he was given a towel to wipe away the unwelcome and foreign liquid from his face.
Then one day he decided he wasn’t scared anymore. And now I’m the one who is terrified. Because my cautious baby with a healthy respect for the water has turned into this:
While in the ocean, he is required to leave his swim vest on. As soon as we enter the pool, though, the vest comes off and he is ninety to nothin’, balls to the walls, kamikaze, I’m-gonna-cause-Mama-to-gray-early scary. Twice we’ve had to tell him not to do front flips off the side. To which he replies with wide eyes, “Why, Mom? It’s so fun!”
This is why, starting tomorrow, he will be in swim lessons every day for the next two weeks. Fun for him, peace of mind for me – everybody wins. I knew swim lessons were going to be important when we moved to Florida. Now, however, they have become a necessity.
While the other two were brave in the water, neither were this…um…terrifying. Here they all are (with my cousin Leslie’s little boy) jumping off the back of the boat together:
You’ll notice the older three are all wearing masks to prevent salt water up the nose. Not Landon. Nope. Salt water doesn’t phase him a bit. That kid’s gonna have the cleanest sinuses on the block.
He’s a brave one, my little guy. I have no idea where he gets it from:
What about you? Do you have a child who is aging you early?
Whispers
August 2, 2011 by
Image Credit: www.moopandsaba.blogspot.com
“I have a secret,” he whispers. Or a “theekwet,” in his lispy language.
“What’s your secret?” I ask, leaning down so my nose is inches from his freckled face. (Oh how I love his dotted little nose.)
“I wub you,” he answers with a grin.
And then I melt. And promise him all the Cheezit’s he could ever want. And a pony. And his sibling’s inheritance.
How is it that children know the exact words to say when we need it most? I was tired this morning, and a little crabby. I wanted to sleep longer and wake up happier. My yummy little guy was actually still waking up himself and had snuggled his warm body close, his sippy cup tucked under his arm. (Because my third born does not function in any capacity in the morning without a sippy cup of juice or milk first. He’s a toddler coffee addict…without the coffee.)
How did he know that I just needed some kind of encouragement to get the day started? When I pulled back from our “theekwet” he grinned at me slyly. He’s a heartbreaker that one. Mama’s lock your doors, cause this kid is trouble. Adorable, squeezable trouble – the most dangerous kind.
There have been so many encouragement’s these past few days. Are you guys praying? Because I am feeling the power of God working in ways I didn’t imagine. Tangible delight being poured upon us. From “theekwets” to the making of new friends. From house hunting encouragement to just an overall feeling of contentment.
Today, I went with Lee to the bank to be added to our new account. The woman who helped Lee last week when he first went in wasn’t available, but another woman was there to help us. Her name was Ekaterina, or Katya – her accent was Russian. After we sat down, she left the room briefly and Lee looked at me with eyebrows raised.
“Hmmm…” he said, all smug-like.
“Don’t, please,” I groaned. “I don’t feel like it.” You see, friends, my husband feels the need to tell every single Russian we ever meet that his wife speaks Russian. Then he slaps me on the back and tells me to talk. It’s not my favorite.
But I’m also really grateful to him for it. Because, honestly, my personality is one that I would let all those opportunities just slide right by because it makes me a little uncomfortable and embarrassed. And this morning…well, the “theekwet” hadn’t totally burned off my crabby mood.
When she returned the firs thing Lee asked was where she was from. “Russia,” she replied in the accent that is so familiar to me. “Huh,” he said, looking at me. I sighed and turned and began speaking with her in Russian. And you know what?
It was awesome!
Why do I resist that sexy man of mine?!
So my new friend and I will be getting together sometime soon to go shopping at some local Russian stores. And it was yet another whisper – a “theekwet,” if you will – that everything is going to be okay. I love making Russian friends. Love it, love it, love it. And I would have completely passed that opportunity up today had it not been for my annoying supportive husband. And God once again whispered to my heart. “I’ve got you covered, young one. Just enjoy the ride…and stop complaining when your husband brags on you.”
I feel like I’m getting a lot of those whispers lately. And a few slaps upside the head.
Moving is hard. But right now, in this moment, I’m kind of enjoying the ride.
Thank you for riding this roller coaster with us and praying us from one side to the other.
*For more awesome pictures of my kids, and my nephews, visit my sister-in-law’s blog. Not only is Becke’ an amazing photographer, but she is a spectacular writer as well. She inspires me. You can see more of her photography here.
Signs
July 27, 2011 by
We rolled into Florida today, my smokin’ hot minivan dragging a bit under the weight of all the life shoved inside. It has been an emotional roller coaster, this trip into town. Of course any move is fraught with emotion. Change hurts. It’s hard. Tears must be shed in order to cleanse the soul of the fire that rages in your heart.
As we talked today on our second day of driving, we discussed the Why. Why did we make this move? What purpose did God have in picking our family up out of everything comfortable and placing us smack dab in the middle of the unknown. For all practical purposes, this is our wilderness. Albeit a wilderness with a beach (the best kind), but nonetheless this is our journey.
Why are we here?
Suddenly the reasons for the move become clouded beneath the emotion. Did we make the right choice? Was this really the path we were supposed to take? Did we somehow misread the signs? Were we instead chasing our own desires, or own passions?
Why?
While at my in-laws this past weekend, we had the blessing of soaking in their wisdom for several days straight. One thing my father-in-law (one of the three wisest men in my life, my dad and my husband rounding out the trio) said to us has really stuck with me.
“What makes you think,” he said in his thick Arkansas drawl, “that you had anything at all to do with this decision? It was God who moved you in this direction. Don’t forget that God is in full control. When you are seeking Him, you’re not going to make a mistake.”
What freedom that gave us. And what a wonderful lesson on which to dwell. Who are we to question the will of God? There were times when doubt caused us to wonder if, perhaps, we should scrap the plan all together – flee back to St. Louis. It’s peaceful there, simple. We know it. We know what we can and need to do there to stay comfortable.
But then what? Comfort is boring. As we drove today, the Cyprus and Palm trees buzzing by our windows, I held a book in my lap. “Reading the same page of a book over and over is boring,” I told Lee. “You have to turn the page to see what’s going to happen next in the story.”
We turned the page when we left St. Louis. Not that staying there would have meant our story stagnated, but ignoring God’s call and being unwilling to face something new would have been extremely boring. To live life wondering “what if we had?” would be a terrible burden to bear. And even on our trip, the Lord gave us little signs that we are on the right path – we are continuing our story.
Lee was given the opportunity to fly up to Arkansas to be with his family and to help us drive down here. An unexpected blessing and something we didn’t know we needed. Lee got a very encouraging call from his manager. It was unexpected and unprompted. And the words spoken and messages exchanged were a balm to the soul.
As we lay in our frigid hotel room last night, everyone slowly drifting to sleep, Sloan hopped up out of bed and came over to Lee and I. “I have something for you,” he said, the freckles on his nose dancing in the golden lamp light. He pulled two silly bands off his arm. They were shaped like palm trees. “These are to help you remember that we used to live in St. Louis, but now we live in Florida.”
How did he know that was the exact thing tearing at our hearts? We hadn’t spoken of our fears and heartache in front of him.
When we pulled out of the hotel parking lot this morning, the kids screeched and pointed at a beautiful rainbow painted across the gray sky. God’s promises never fail. He is still the same. All of these signs worked together to provide a bit of comfort as we continued to haul our lives southward. Nothing about this move has been easy. A part of me feels a bit like a spoiled brat who’s finally been given what she wanted, but it’s not enough.
“I want it MY way.” Foot stomp.
I want comfort and stability. I want the perfect house. I want it easy and fun. I want friends. I want, I want, I want…
The new goal is to take my eyes off of what I want. Together Lee and I are changing our focus. We’re turning the page. We want to know what’s going to happen next. And we want to know what part we get to play in it. To His glory. Arms stretched out wide, palms open, dancing in the rain. What’s next? And how do we keep our eyes pointed up? Not looking backward and definately not staring inward.
Not about us.
What’s next to His glory?
This is really hard. Really, really hard. As my sister-in-law told us the other night – this is a threshing. It’s a step into the Refiner’s Fire. The selfishness that has pervaded our souls for a long time needs to be burned away. There is nothing fun about that. Nothing at all. We are feeling vulnerable and the only refuge is God Himself. To seek any other would be foolish. There is no hiding – not even St. Louis could shelter us from the need to change these deepest parts.
Join us as we step forward in faith, our hearts open to what He wants and longs for us. And we would like to join you in whatever journey you might be on. What does a next step look like for you? Because we’re all on a different journey. How can we pray for you? What would stepping out of comfort look like for you? Who can you serve? What can you do to step outside of what you know? Or, if you’re already doing that, what are you learning? If you would like to share or ask for prayer, please feel free to comment and we can all join together. Or send me an email (kellistuart00 (at) hotmail (dot) com) and I will be happy to lift you up as you turn your face up.
Let’s dance in the rain together.
I fear just one thing
July 25, 2011 by
Sloan and Landon's seats
The bags are packed and have been strategically wedged into the car in what I can only describe as the worst game of Tetris ever. We have everything but the kitchen sink and that’s because my in-laws wouldn’t let us take it. We even gained a chest of drawers. This was Tia’s birthday present from her grandparents and it’s the first time we’ve been able to pick it up.
We packed it before packing it. Everyone has to carry their weight.
The floors are covered in bags, boxes and with last minute crap treasures we couldn’t bear to part with. In short, we are hauling whatever bits of our lives that didn’t fit in the PODS beneath our feet. For 16.5 hours. Who’s having fun?
I’m not overly concerned about the trip, really. Especially since Lee was able to fly up here and make the drive with us. Not having to do that trip alone? Priceless. Mastercard has nothin’ on that miracle. I’m quite looking forward to the adventure of driving down to Florida. I think it will be fun. Stressful, but fun.
Really...how important is it to see out the back window? On a scale of 1 to 10?
But I am worried about one tiny, little thing. It’s really the only thing that I find myself thinking about pretty regularly with some anxiety. And you would too – in fact, most of you will probably understand and identify with this thing I fear. It’s quite frightening and is worth a bit of trepidation. What’s the one thing I fear?
GAS. And not the kind you purchase at a station (although that has me a little anxious too. Expensive much?) No. The gas I fear is the kind that you don’t want and comes with a price all its own. The “cut the cheese” kind of gas…
Three kids. One dog. And a husband.
I don’t stand a chance.
You coop that many people up in a box for two days straight eating food out of a bag or a fast food joint and the smell is bound to err on the side of ruthless. Add to it my extremely motion sick first born and his tendency to get barfy in the car and you’re looking at a good time right there.
Good. Time.
So there you have. I am afraid. I’m woman enough to admit it. I’m scared of gas. Because it’s hot outside so cracking the windows just stirs around hot air, which only makes everyone sticky and sweaty. It doesn’t help.
Tia and Sadie's seats
We covet your prayers – for safety, for enjoyment, for excitement and for provision. But if you think about it, and you feel so inclined, feel free to say an extra prayer for me. Because I’m about to be trapped for 16.5 hours in a metal box and I kind of have a sensitive sense of smell. Smells get trapped up in my nose and don’t come out. It is a curse.
Good times. Good. Times.
Tell me your favorite, and funniest, car trip story. It will give me something to do while I try to survive the box.
The In-Between
July 24, 2011 by
He didn’t want to try it. Fear prevented him from true joy, from enjoying to the fullest that which stood before him. The vibrant blue waters of the pool were enticing and he tasted the joy when he stepped into the water.
But fear held him back.
He couldn’t bring himself to put his face in the water. The fear of the unknown was too much and so he simply watched in longing. Every once in awhile he put his chin beneath the surface, delighted to feel the cool water – such a contrast to the blazing heat of the sun. If, by accident, water splashed into his eyes he cried and dashed for a towel, wiping it away before realizing how refreshing it could actually be.
I wondered if he would ever overcome this fear. I wondered if he would ever experience the miracle and joy that comes with taking the plunge and diving beneath the surface. I wondered if he would ever realize that conquering fear leads to freedom.
And then one day he did it. He stepped off the edge and took a leap of faith. Faith that he wouldn’t sink, but would indeed return to the surface as promised. Faith that fun awaited if he just took a chance. And do you know what happened?
Photo courtesy of my sister-in-law, Becke'
Inexplicable Joy. Freedom. And he hasn’t looked back.
We’re stuck in the in-between right now. We’re in Arkansas for a week visiting family, which simply feels like any other vacation. I am having a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that we won’t be going back to St. Louis from here.
We head to Clearwater to stay in my parent’s condo until we either find a house or decide to rent. That, too, will feel like a familiar vacation, which in the past has always ended in us returning home. But Florida is home now. It doesn’t feel that way yet, but that’s what it is.
Mark Twain once wrote, “Change is the handmaiden Nature requires to do her miracles with.” I so hope for miracles as we make this move. What does a miracle look like? I don’t know. Maybe it will be something big and measurable. Maybe it will be something that can’t be seen but only felt…realized only upon looking backward after time has propelled us past this unsure moment.
Maybe the miracle is our willingness to take the plunge – to face our fear of change and dip our head beneath the cool waters of the unknown. We would have been fine splashing in the waters of familiarity, but then we might have missed out on the joy and freedom that comes from taking a plunge beneath the surface.
Maybe the miracle will be my children suddenly waking up each morning with smiles on their faces and nothing but kindness on their lips. Maybe the miracle will be my children sleeping past 6:30 every morning!
I can dream can’t I?
Change leaves your heart and spirit in a vulnerable place. When you’re cut off from the passivity of the familiar, suddenly a whole new world of options are opened before you. There are no schedules to keep up with, no obligations to meet. Those will likely develop quickly, of course, but in the beginning, when life has finally, mercifully, slowed down the prospects of a clean slate leave me excited. What will we finally do that we’ve been dreaming of but lacked the time? What lies in wait for our fragile hearts?
It’s terrifying and exciting and wonderful. A tightly woven ball of “What if?” What if we had the time to finally do that? What if we were closer to finally participate in this? What if we finally set aside the resources to accomplish that dream? What if we watched in grand expectation and looked for the miracles?
While the in-between has given me a touch of vertigo, unsure of which way to turn, it’s also left me excited. I love what ifs. I love to see miracles happen and for the first time in a long time, I’m finally watching for them.
“Change is the handmaiden Nature uses to do her miracles with.”
Have you seen any miracles lately? Let’s share and all join in the excitement!
“For I know the plans I have for. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you a hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11
For more pictures by my awesome sister-in-law, visit her blog. We’re having some wonderful, sweet cousin time.
On the horizon
July 19, 2011 by
It’s late and I am weary. I have said my goodbyes and I have cried my tears. A few weeks ago, I thought that this final night in the town that has long been my home would be filled with emotion and anxiety, but right now I feel neither of those things. I think I am done. I don’t have any more goodbyes left and my eyes are, for the moment, dry. My throat isn’t burning and my stomach has finally settled. I’m ready to move forward.
It’s still hard. If I think too long about the people we are leaving behind, the emotion wells up again so I am choosing to not focus on that. What’s the point? It’s time to move forward and you know what?
I’m excited.
It took me a little while to feel comfortable admitting that. To do so somehow felt like a betrayal to the city and the people I love so dearly. But I also dearly love the state of Florida and I am thrilled to be able to call it my home. I’ve always wanted to be a true Floridian (I was born there so somehow I think it’s in my blood). I can’t wait to be close to my family. And the beach. In that order, of course. I’m excited to meet new people and make new friends but, of course, keep the old – I hear that one’s silver and the other gold.
I’m nervous, too.
I wish we had a house to go to. That’s been a bit of a struggle. God has been so faithful in this entire process and every single detail has worked out smoothly and easily and perfectly. Until we began house hunting and then suddenly the flow came to a screeching halt. But one thing I know – He hasn’t forgotten that tiny little detail. And the right house is out there waiting for us.
I’m trying to be patient as I wait for it.
So tomorrow we hit the road. And it’s going to be an adventure. We’ll go to Arkansas first to stay with family for a week. From there we’ll head to the Sunshine State. Just me, three kids and the dog. Alone. I can’t decide who will need to be sedated more – them or me.
I kid.
Maybe.
You’ll never know and I’ll never tell.
St. Louis will always be home. I have duel citizenship. I consider that a blessing. We have been blessed abundantly beyond anything I could have ever asked or imagined in this town. I never in my wildest dreams thought I would so enjoy coming back here after Lee and I had lived in Dallas for two years. We didn’t want to leave Texas either.
Funny how things work out, isn’t it?
Yes, I’m excited to see what comes next. We’re going to be alright. This process, more than any other, has shown me the value of clinging to one another. We have each other. It’s really all we need.
Friends are nice too, though.
I am saying see ya to most of my friends. I value friendship deeply and I am not one to move on and not look back. The people in my past have shaped who I am today. And I value loyalty. To me, friendships are not dispensable. I’ve never fully understood how they could be such to others. And so I look forward to continuing to grow and love the people God has placed in my life, both past and present. I cling to those relationships.
It makes me grateful for Facebook. The value of the internet is also very real to me now.
I do covet your prayers as we travel. Safety, Sanity and other such necessities. And we long to establish ourselves quickly into a new community. A new church family to serve and be blessed by. A new house to make our home and neighbors with whom to create memories. Will you pray for us? And every once in awhile shoot us an email if you’re so inclined. It would bless us greatly to hear from you.
And now I’m off to sleep. Tomorrow a new chapter begins.
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