Two years ago this week, we moved. New town, new church, new house, new doctors, dentists, friends, schools, soccer team, choir, grocery store, drugstore, department store, bookstore, dog groomer, vet. New everything.
I was completely unprepared.
We’ve moved a bunch since I married my pastor husband nearly twenty years ago and every time it seemed like an adventure…getting to decorate a new house and explore a new place. Make new friends. I always knew we’d be moving on and while we put down stakes, I wouldn’t say we put down roots. So when my husband came home and told us we were moving, I was sad, but thought, this could be fun! Imagine my surprise when I discovered that in five years, not only had we put down roots, but those roots were deep. Uprooting my kids (and myself) hurt!
And to my surprise I was pretty mad about it. Mad at my husband, mad at the circumstances that brought us to this position, mad at God (even as every day He made sure that I was blessed by some precious person in our new church–He is so good).
Those stages of grief that the experts talk about–that I thought was a bunch of phychological hooey–I went through every one. And to be perfectly frank, I didn’t really handle it with grace.
But God did. And on the second anniversary of the move, I’m so incredibly blessed by the friends He’s brought into my life. I’m grateful for my home, for the incredible beauty of the life we live. Every day, I thank Him for how precious my life is…and I’m not sure that I would realize it if the move had been the piece of cake I thought it would be. All the same, looking back, I’m glad it’s two years later. The view is much better from this perspective.