So, it’s been two weeks since this called “moving” happened to us.
And I say it that way because that’s how it feels. Like it happened to us and we didn’t have much to do with any of it.
Early on a Saturday morning, a bunch of people showed up at our old house to load up our big stuff.
Okay, who am I kidding? They loaded up most of our stuff. And did it with such skill and precision that I was left speechless. (Our front lawn looked like we were having the world’s largest garage sale, yet I was assured by our new friends that it would all fit. They were right.)
In two hours we had cleared the old house and most of the stuff we wanted to take with us and were on our way to our new place, where a couple more friends met us and Phil’s boss brought Chick-fil-A sandwiches. (I don’t think it was my imagination that the crew worked a little faster when they heard the CFA was coming.) Such a blessing. In less than an hour at the new place, all the vehicles and the trailer were unloaded and by 12:30 Phil and I were on our own at the new place. Tired. Overwhelmed. And so, so thankful.
See, these people who showed up, most of them we barely know. They’re from our new church and while we know names and faces and Phil has spent some time with some of them, they still aren’t close friends or anything. I was so humbled by their willingness to drive up to our old house and spend a morning helping us move. I didn’t feel like we’d earned that. (Like we have to earn kindness.) They just totally knocked our socks off.
So, we’ve been unpacking. And cleaning. And donating. And decluttering.
And loving our new place.
Our second night there, we saw this lovely sunset behind our house. Swoon.
We’re slowly making it a home.
The week after the move, we cleaned up and cleaned out the old house and turned in our keys. A few days later, Phil and I left for Nashville for a marriage conference. We had a little free time.
We walked around the park where Nashville’s replica of The Parthenon is. And we ate dinner at The Loveless Cafe.
This is the face Phil makes when he’s eating the best piece of ham he’s ever had in his life. Southern soul food at its best. And totally worth the two-hour wait to be seated. (Which nearly caused us to have a “loveless” marriage as we disagreed over what to do when faced with that long of a wait.)
And on our way to breakfast Sunday morning, we walked downtown, which smells like beer and urine after what I assume was a typical Saturday night. It’s quieter on a Sunday morning but the smell is something I won’t soon forget.
We passed the Ryman, which reminds me that I know little to nothing about music history. 
And we stopped at the river to take a picture of us, something we rarely do right now, especially when life has been so busy and full.
And after a rendezvous with my parents, we got the kids back after two weeks and made our way back toward Pennsylvania.
We stopped at the rest area, just across the border and took this picture to remind us of how far we’d come.
Five years ago, it looked something like this.
So. Much. Has changed.
That’s a little of what we’ve been up to. I hope to be back to blogging regularly in August. (At which time our daughter will be going off to kindergarten. Because we haven’t had enough change this year.)
Thanks for sticking with us on this crazy rollercoaster journey we call our life.
