Moving Mayhem

It’s more than a little unreal that a year’s worth of dreaming, praying, and preparing for San Diego is finally culminating in this. Boxes. Lots of boxes. And lots of memories of sweet places and dear friends and years of growing. And tears when the reality hits. But also a lot of excitement that we are finally heading out. Worshipping at Mitchell Road this morning, worshipping God among dear disciples and friends and mentors who we have done life with for so long, my eyes were filled with tears of thankfulness.

It has been so good to have the boys keep things in perspective. They keep me laughing in this process, when I am getting way too stressed about packing or my to-do-list before we leave. In the middle of last week, I found them on our old guest mattress (yes, it was terribly uncomfortable; we apologize to all who ever had the dishonor of sleeping on it) rolling around inside of boxes. 

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Then, when I was in the packing zone two days ago, sweet Eli tugged at me and asked me to “pack his box up.” I looked down to a medium-sized box full of hotwheels, bouncy balls, his beloved blankie, and some assorted plastic pets. The box was decorated and clearly (or not so clearly) labeled with his name. They are ready for this adventure, more ready than I am often. They are so resilient. I do so hope my heart will follow in stride with them. 

Tyus, my ordered fella, has been labeling boxes for me, dragging in boxes, and helping “carry” things. 

They get that this is an adventure, a new start. Not that they are not sober to the places and people we are leaving. Just today, sweet Eli J hugged Lynn for a good 10 minutes. No one has loved our kiddos like she has. 

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Psalm 90 keeps coming to heart and mind. Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations. Before the mountains were born or You gave birth to the earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting, You are God. This uttered from Moses, a man who had to be hidden in a basket and floated down a river, a man who was raised in an Egyptian palace, then worked as a shepherd in Midian. Moses never had a permanent address on earth, and he didn’t even when he died in the wilderness on the shores of the Jordan River. Yet, Moses was quick to say that God was his permanence, his home, his stability always, through every season of his often-changing life. 

And so, in the midst of a sea of boxes, with eyes fogged with tears of thankfulness and sobered by hard goodbyes, I long to ask what Moses asked later in the Psalm. O satisfy us in the morning with your lovingkindness, that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days.

Not that we don’t want friends who know us well and people who love our kids like we do, but those things don’t satisfy. Jesus does. 

And as we set out for the trek to San Diego on Wednesday morning, let our hearts cry be, “Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us, and confirm for us the work of our hands.”

 

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