One of the first rules of unpacking is that it takes a long time! Then, you have to scout down a teenager in the house to help you remember your password to post on your blog....who by the way had been sick in bed for a week...That said, here you go!
We looked somewhat like the Clampett family in our 3 vehicle caravan to MN. First went the 12 passenger van, loaded to the ceiling with things too precious to put on a truck as well as necessities for the first week in MN. On the back was our platform trailer strapped down with bins of "stuff". Grandma Dianne followed with her own things and our little ones, showing the patience of Job when our 3 year old son begged to listen to Toby Mac. For 2 days straight. Big Red the faithful Chevy Pick-up played caboose, a rotating child in front with Darryl and our 2 terrified cats safe in the old dog pen in back under a tarp. My potted terrace plants tried to fend off the windy ride amidst the gas and oil cans.
We survived driving into the sunset amidst rush hour in downtown St. Louis and stopped on the west side for the night. I couldn't remember ever being so exhausted. Having a newborn in the house makes one tired. Not enough sleep after 5 weeks on a movie set makes one tired. But this, this was different. My very soul was so weary. Six months of cleaning, organizing, then running a household and training children by myself with a non-resident husband had taken its toll. Multi-tasking of huge proportions had become a way of life. There were weeks when I knew that I was compelled of God to keep pushing ahead, forsaking all else in an effort to get the Conestoga Wagon to MN. Even when Nashville experienced horrible flooding in May, I felt an urgency to take care of my own; He would raise up others to take care of Nashville. Then there was the stress of it all. How on earth could Nashville survive without me? Pride. In bed at night I would mentally go over the day's checklist. What had I forgotten? What needed to be accomplished in the next day? I became accustomed to keeping a pad of paper and pen by my bedside to jot down plaguing thoughts which prevented sleep. Only to find that even in sleep I was either packing up the house or sailing away, waving goodbye to faceless people on the shore.
Not to mention the goodbyes amidst packing for real! I tried to compartmentalize my work to make the most of stolen cups of coffee with dear friends, crying and laughing and crying some more. It didn't matter how much it hurt, I determined to leave with no regrets; like a difficult delivery after 9 months of discomfort, each meal and cup of Joe had become my labor of love.
But oh, it stretched my brain! There were days during packing that, even with a husband finally home and a Grandma and Nana to help, words couldn't make the short trip from brain to mouth. More than once when someone needed me, I responded with a glazed look and a "I dunno. I just can't go there right now, ask me tomorrow." I'm so thankful for grace and forgiveness, I'm sure I caused more than one offense!
Tuesday's journey through the beautiful changing scenery of rural Missouri and Iowa was much the same, pretty silent. It simply took too much energy to converse, and I needed the quiet to allow thoughts I had shoved aside for weeks the time to process through. As we traveled into Minneapolis at sunset and on down country roads towards the farm, God's refreshment came. My van was filled with anticipation and lighted hearted chatter! We pulled in about 8:30 at night, the kids all disembarked with great excitement. I unlocked the door and released them to explore their new home.
"Mama, it's beautiful!" "Mama, have you seen the windows?" "Mama, is my room the one that faces the front?" And then, "Mama, where's the other bathroom? WHAT? You mean there's only one?" "Hey Mama, where's the dishwasher?" And finally, "Mama, is THAT really OUR barn?" "Oh Mama, have you ever seen so many stars?"
"The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside still waters, He restores my soul." Psalm 23:1-2.
"Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning." Psalm 30:5b
"You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; You have put off my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness, to the end that my glory may sing praise to You and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give thanks to You forever." Psalm 30:11-12.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Passages
My life has been a whirlwind of activity for what feels like years, the reality is it's only been a little over 6 months since my husband learned he was being transferred to Minneapolis. Shock and disbelief slowly gave way to acceptance as God helped the process of faith along with little "serendipities" that only He can orchestrate. Three intense months followed: fulfilling commitments during March, beginning the clearing out and cleaning up process in April armed with paintbrushes and trash bags, surrounded by faithful friends who lent their expertise and strong backs. In June, Darryl left to begin full time living and working in Minnesota while the children and I remained behind to sell the house. Seven weeks later we accepted an offer and had one month to secure a new home, make all the necessary arrangements and get packed up.
I reflected on all of this while driving out of Nashville for good. Twenty six years is a long time to have lived anywhere these days, and for all of my squawking about not wanting to ever be a southerner I had to admit I'd actually become one. But not for much longer. Our caravan consists of a loaded down 12 passenger van with me at the helm, our oldest daughter beside me. I have the GPS and cruise control so my husband designates me the lead driver. Behind me is Grandma Dianne, Darryl's mom, with the 3 youngest children. Darryl takes up the rear in Big Red, the 300K plus miled red pick up truck we have owned for as long as the house we just sold, another daughter sitting with him.
As we drive by familiar landmarks, Madison and I comment quietly about them as if speaking too loudly will chase away the memories too precious to lose. Amy Grant is playing on the MP3, and I find it ironic that the route we are taking out of town is one I haven't traveled in several years, and is the same route I took into Nashville for the very first time as a 20 year old. I came then, as so many before and after me have, for the lure and promise of "making it" in the music business; my goal to be nothing less than the next Amy Grant. God is so good to allow us to think what we want to in our immaturity as long as it moves us the way He wants to on His playing field.
Passages. Life is full of them, and yet there have been moments when this one seemed much too large of a chasm to cross over, the weight of its reality too heavy to stand up under. My lifelong dreams of farming and the entrepreneurial ideas shared with Darryl and the children are juxtaposed with the intense pain of separation from dear, dear friends and the familiarity of Nashville itself. So many years have been lived out here; Darryl and I met, fell in love and married, we moved out of the college years and into jobs and then into parenthood as one by one the children arrived. Two have been left behind in Nashville, their sweet little souls safe in the arms of Jesus. I think what's hardest for me is leaving the places I associate with milestones in my family's life. Friendships will continue despite the distance, Nashville itself will be visited through the years, but the house will never be mine again. I have never been one for hanging onto first diapers or bronzing first shoes, so the intensity of this emotion is surprising.
The night before our closing and departure date, I walked through the now empty house that we built 11 years ago. As I paused in each room, pretending to check for overlooked and unpacked items, I relished going back in time to all that had happened here. I could hear the laughter of young children in an unfinished bonus room and saw Madison and Channing riding tricycles up there as 4 and 2 year olds. I remembered holding their little hands tightly so no-one would fall through the unfinished walls while going down the bare plywood steps during construction. In the empty family room I saw Abbie and Emilie running and rolling all over the floor in sheer joy after re-carpeting it during the "downstairs toilet - turned into a fountain that overfloweth" adventure. I saved our bedroom for last, reliving a nighttime picnic under a just finished roof, looking out through openings yet to contain windows to show little girls the beautiful stars. We were filled with so much hope that night, so much of life ahead of us. This first home was a ten year anniversary present to one another and a goodbye to apartment living. Abbie would arrive soon, we needed the space to spread out our increasing family. As more and more memories came flooding in, I had difficulty letting go of the house. But God, showing His infinite mercy, also took me to the memories not so happy or hope filled. Painful trials we walked through and worked through, bitter disappointments producing character and maturity in us. Unfulfilled dreams, changes in direction. As we grew in Him, we changed. This house wasn't a home to us anymore, it couldn't contain us if we were to move on with God. It had become an old wineskin, and somewhere in Minnesota a 100 year old, 1000 square feet smaller farmhouse on 50 acres was the new wineskin through which He wanted to pour His new wine into us. Nashville had served its purpose for me and for us, it was time to move on.
"No one puts a piece of unshrunk cloth on an old garment; for the patch pulls away from the garment, and the tear is made worse. Nor do people put new wine into old wineskins or else the wineskins break, the wine is spilled, and the wineskins are ruined. But they put new wine into new wineskins; and both are preserved." Matt. 9:16-17.
I sighed a prayer of thanks to God, walked out the front door for the last time and threw the dead bolt. Minnesota was waiting for me.
I reflected on all of this while driving out of Nashville for good. Twenty six years is a long time to have lived anywhere these days, and for all of my squawking about not wanting to ever be a southerner I had to admit I'd actually become one. But not for much longer. Our caravan consists of a loaded down 12 passenger van with me at the helm, our oldest daughter beside me. I have the GPS and cruise control so my husband designates me the lead driver. Behind me is Grandma Dianne, Darryl's mom, with the 3 youngest children. Darryl takes up the rear in Big Red, the 300K plus miled red pick up truck we have owned for as long as the house we just sold, another daughter sitting with him.
As we drive by familiar landmarks, Madison and I comment quietly about them as if speaking too loudly will chase away the memories too precious to lose. Amy Grant is playing on the MP3, and I find it ironic that the route we are taking out of town is one I haven't traveled in several years, and is the same route I took into Nashville for the very first time as a 20 year old. I came then, as so many before and after me have, for the lure and promise of "making it" in the music business; my goal to be nothing less than the next Amy Grant. God is so good to allow us to think what we want to in our immaturity as long as it moves us the way He wants to on His playing field.
Passages. Life is full of them, and yet there have been moments when this one seemed much too large of a chasm to cross over, the weight of its reality too heavy to stand up under. My lifelong dreams of farming and the entrepreneurial ideas shared with Darryl and the children are juxtaposed with the intense pain of separation from dear, dear friends and the familiarity of Nashville itself. So many years have been lived out here; Darryl and I met, fell in love and married, we moved out of the college years and into jobs and then into parenthood as one by one the children arrived. Two have been left behind in Nashville, their sweet little souls safe in the arms of Jesus. I think what's hardest for me is leaving the places I associate with milestones in my family's life. Friendships will continue despite the distance, Nashville itself will be visited through the years, but the house will never be mine again. I have never been one for hanging onto first diapers or bronzing first shoes, so the intensity of this emotion is surprising.
The night before our closing and departure date, I walked through the now empty house that we built 11 years ago. As I paused in each room, pretending to check for overlooked and unpacked items, I relished going back in time to all that had happened here. I could hear the laughter of young children in an unfinished bonus room and saw Madison and Channing riding tricycles up there as 4 and 2 year olds. I remembered holding their little hands tightly so no-one would fall through the unfinished walls while going down the bare plywood steps during construction. In the empty family room I saw Abbie and Emilie running and rolling all over the floor in sheer joy after re-carpeting it during the "downstairs toilet - turned into a fountain that overfloweth" adventure. I saved our bedroom for last, reliving a nighttime picnic under a just finished roof, looking out through openings yet to contain windows to show little girls the beautiful stars. We were filled with so much hope that night, so much of life ahead of us. This first home was a ten year anniversary present to one another and a goodbye to apartment living. Abbie would arrive soon, we needed the space to spread out our increasing family. As more and more memories came flooding in, I had difficulty letting go of the house. But God, showing His infinite mercy, also took me to the memories not so happy or hope filled. Painful trials we walked through and worked through, bitter disappointments producing character and maturity in us. Unfulfilled dreams, changes in direction. As we grew in Him, we changed. This house wasn't a home to us anymore, it couldn't contain us if we were to move on with God. It had become an old wineskin, and somewhere in Minnesota a 100 year old, 1000 square feet smaller farmhouse on 50 acres was the new wineskin through which He wanted to pour His new wine into us. Nashville had served its purpose for me and for us, it was time to move on.
"No one puts a piece of unshrunk cloth on an old garment; for the patch pulls away from the garment, and the tear is made worse. Nor do people put new wine into old wineskins or else the wineskins break, the wine is spilled, and the wineskins are ruined. But they put new wine into new wineskins; and both are preserved." Matt. 9:16-17.
I sighed a prayer of thanks to God, walked out the front door for the last time and threw the dead bolt. Minnesota was waiting for me.
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