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Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

moving

Moving, Week 1: Five lessons

June 22, 2013

I should be packing right now.

After all, our living room at the old house looks like this. (Praise the Lord, we have enough boxes!)

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But writing keeps me sane, and I didn’t touch a computer yesterday, which is sort of like not having a cup of coffee every day. It just doesn’t happen right now.

Phil took three vanloads of stuff to the new house this week, and on Friday the kids and I spent the whole day at the farmhouse unpacking, cleaning and waiting for the gas company to show up.

I’m not sure what I liked more about the day: finding a loaf of moldy bread in a cabinet or learning that the gas company’s definition of “We’ll be there between 8 and noon, and we’ll call this number before we arrive” is actually showing up at 1:30 p.m. and not calling first. I had just loaded the kids in the car to go to a park because we were a bit stir crazy when the gas company van showed up. Well-played, UGI. I’m not sure we’re off to the best start.

But we had fantastic helper friends who brought cookies, Cheez-Its and laughter. Kristen helped unpack all of our book boxes and kept me from being lonely.

It’s weird being part here, part there.

Isabelle helped unpack some random kitchen utensils. She put two or three in every drawer in the kitchen.

Moving Lesson #1: Kids CAN be helpful during the move, but your definition of “helpful” will change.

Midweek, I got tired of packing boxes at the old house, but I can’t really stop.

Moving Lesson #2: Looking at boxes marked “Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups” will make you crave peanut butter cups like it’s the last food on earth.

And because the packing and unpacking can be somewhat monotonous, I feel like I hear more things from the kids.

Like this, from Corban, as we waited in the van on the highway taking Phil to work:

That’s an oil truck. That won’t help us.

When we asked him what we needed help with, he said, “For our move. For our big stuff.”

And at the farmhouse, while the kids were playing outside, I heard him say:

Excuse me, spider. Don’t be on the farmhouse!

If politely asking them to leave works on all critters, then I will be sweeping my house with kindness.

Moving Lesson #3: Find time to laugh. It relieves stress.

After not-so-patiently waiting for the gas company, and after they had finished their business, the kids and I went to Chick-fil-a for an afternoon treat. It was the second day in a row we had milkshakes.

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Moving Lesson #4: Drink milkshakes, especially if it’s summer. You deserve it for all the sweaty, hard work.

The kids played in the play area for a few minutes, mostly by themselves. When another little girl finally joined them, Isabelle immediately told her:

My dad works here.

I couldn’t see the other little girl’s reaction, but I could hear it.

I wish my dad worked here!

Yep. We’re the envy of the elementary school crowd.

And when we finally got home last night, well after our regular dinner time, there was only one thing left to do: Order take-out.

We don’t eat out often, and we don’t always have the money to do it. But moving is an extreme circumstance.

Moving Lesson #5: It’s okay to order out for dinner and eat at 7 p.m. Be flexible with routines. Do what you gotta do.

Last week was our trial run for packing and moving. I carefully chose things I didn’t think we’d need over the next few weeks. Now that I have a better idea of space and how things might fit, it’s no mercy this week. I’m packing it all, and if that means we’re eating delivery pizza with our hands off the floor every night, so be it. (I’m kidding, I think.)

This I know: the coffee pot will be the last thing to go. Unless I buy another one so my coffee can be in two places at once.

Filed Under: Children & motherhood Tagged With: friends, lessons I learned, milkshakes, moving, playing

Fulfilled {How We Got Here, Part Six}

June 21, 2013

Last Friday we signed a lease for a new place to live. We’ll be moving soon, a process that has been a long and winding road. Here’s the story of how it happened. Read Part One here , Part Two here, Part Three here, Part Four here and Part Five here.

The Monday we were scheduled to see the farmhouse started off crappy. Literally. Our son pooped on the kitchen floor. I won’t go into any more detail, but that was how our day started.

Phil took the car in for an oil change and the kids and I got ready to spend the day in Lancaster. When Phil got home mid-morning, we headed out, picked up the key and drove to the farmhouse. Because I had built it up in my head, I wanted an obvious reason to not love it when I saw it in person. Based only on pictures and Phil’s report, I already loved it, and I could visualize our family living there.

And we’d been given a second chance to rent it, so it was meant to be, right?

Yeah, I’m a dreamer.

The farmhouse was more than I hoped for.

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In every room, I could see us there.

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And the kids ran through the house like it was already theirs. (This was the only place they’d done that.)

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We tried to be picky and took a mental tally of the little things that might need fixing. But seeing it only fueled my love.

I wanted this place to be ours.

We locked up and took a drive and then went to CiCi’s to stuff ourselves with pizza. We talked it through between trips to the buffet and our hopes grew. We couldn’t find a single reason not to pursue this house.

Just before leaving lunch, we got a call from the agency. They needed the key for another showing in 30 minutes. If hope was a helium balloon, this one phone call popped it.

We went back to the house and left the key, and I panicked. If they were showing the house to someone else, then they were going to pick someone else. Or so I thought. Because why would they choose us if they could choose someone else?

The sinful part of me wanted to sabotage the showing because I’d already decided: This was our home.

I sulked and worried and tried to convince myself that it didn’t matter if we didn’t get it because God would provide. The next place we looked at did nothing to bolster my hope. It wasn’t right for us either.

We drove back to the agency to drop off the letter from Phil’s boss, and they promised we’d hear something in a day or so.

Pick us, please pick us, I prayed.

The drive from the agency’s office to our home is about 30 minutes. We weren’t even halfway home when they called.

And we got the farmhouse.

They wanted to know how soon we could sign the papers and when we wanted to move in. Even now, it still seems unreal.

Phil promised to call them after we’d talked and arrived home.

The kids high-fived us from the back seat and cheered because they wanted it as much as we did.

We signed the papers on Friday, June 14. We have the keys. We’ve given our notice. In a month or less, we’ll be all the way moved in to our new place.

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A dream come true, my dad called it when we talked on the phone.

And though I think he was teasing me a little, it really is.

I believe God had this place picked out for us. His timing turned out to be perfect. More than we could have dreamed up ourselves.

Filed Under: faith & spirituality, how we got here Tagged With: God's providence, moving, trusting God

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