Float my boat

This past weekend was one of those weekends that gave me pause to remember just why we willingly uprooted ourselves from the community we love in Florida and moved back to Michigan. I need those reminders, because even though I’ve adjusted and settled back into life up here, there are frequent moments where emotion knocks me over like a tidal wave and I miss my friends in the south so very dearly.

It was Saturday afternoon, after The Narrator and one of his brothers had run a triathlon, and we’d had a birthday lunch for The Narrator’s 33rd birthday. The kids and I were floating in the pool with my brother-in-law and sister-in-law. Little Miss had hold of her auntie’s hands and they were twirling around the pool this way and that way, very lady like. And then there was T-Rex. Picking a fight. With his uncle. Who’s over six feet tall. Oh the trash talking. I have no idea (ok, maybe I do) how in short 3 years he learned how to trash talk so well, but he’s mighty good at it.

“I’m gonna get you Uncle K!!” Followed by much splashing and thrashing. “Nuh-uh, you can’t get me, I’m gunna get you. I’m gonna wreck you, you can’t get me!!” Uncle K let T-Rex ride on his back, cling to his neck, splash him, thrash him, and seriously trash talk him. It was quite the male bonding, while the three of us girls just tried to avoid the tidal wave happening in the other side of the pool. I’m not sure who wore out who, but I’m sure they both slept very, very well that night.

And as I floated on my little pink noodle observing Little Miss being very girly and T-Rex being as boyish as they come, enjoying playing with their aunt and uncle, I sighed a little sigh of contentment. These little family moments that happen now and then are part of why we moved back – for our kids to know (and trash talk) their aunts and uncles, to have cousins to play with and be friends with. To grow up around their roots. And so I can float in the pool while other family members entertain my kids. Ok, well maybe not consciously that part, but it is a nice perk

#5 MDM

New Signs

We are settled. It feels nice to say that. 95% of the boxes are unpacked – the rest probably will just stay packed since it’s sentimental type stuff. The walls are all painted except for the laundry and 2 bathrooms. There are even pictures and decorations on the wall. It’s been fun to unpack everything and find things long forgotten.

As I was digging through boxes of my old books, I came across a sign language book for children. I have no idea why I had it, I’m guessing it was maybe for a Girl Scout project long, long ago. I set it on the coffee table and the kids and I have had a blast learning signs for all the animals over the past few days. So much fun, in fact, they started asking me how to sign animals that weren’t in the book. Naturally, that prompted a Google search and I found ASL Pro, a site with a video dictionary for the American Sign Language. Once I found the sign for “lion,” they then wanted to know a dozen other words. I think we could have signed all day long.

Now, Little Miss wants to visit the “state where people who speak this language live.” I told her people who speak sign language live all over. I can see it now, everywhere we go, she’ll be on the look out for people signing, and she’ll go ask them if they want to go see the lion at the zoo.

Finish line flag

I’m finishing up a year long transitional marathon, and I think I can see the finish line. There’s a flag of high speed internet waving at me. The privacy of my own master bathroom is calling my name, urging me to finish strong. Granite countertops gleam like a finisher’s medal, with stainless steel appliances rounding out the medal stand. I’m trying to keep a steady pace, one foot in front of the other, but like in all races, when the finish line comes into view, my heart rate quickens, and my pace gets a little hurried. I’m packing boxes, making phone calls, and in general just getting very, very antsy. It’s rather hard to focus on anything other than that finish goal. It looks like, by June, it could all be history that I remember from the comfy cushions of my much-beloved tan couch of which I could write a book about.

Home is where the family is

It’s been over 12 months since we’ve had a place to call our own. Twelve months since we boxed up all the dishes, candles, books, and spices and put them in storage. Twelve months since we crashed my in-laws house. Twelve months of breaking their glasses and dishes and irons and realizing how incredibly clutzy I am.

It’s been a process of letting go. Letting go of my expectations – how long it would take to sell our Florida home, how much everything would cost, how long it would take us to find a new home – and in general just letting go of my will.

After so much time and distance from familiarity and from all my “stuff,” I can’t even remember what color my dishes are, what pictures I own to hang on the walls, or what color my cloth napkins are. There are a million little things that seemed so important to my identity at one time, so important to making a “home.”

But now, I’ve realized I really do just need one thing to be home. Actually 2 little people and 1 handsome man. When I arrived at my parents’ home after attending a conference and not seeing the kids for 4 days (our longest stretch apart to date), T-Rex came bouncing down the sidewalk and jumped into my arms. He snuggled into my shoulder and stayed there, falling asleep in a matter of minutes. I know this year-long transition was hard for him. His little mind couldn’t wrap around what we were doing, and for a long time he asked if we were going to pick up our Florida house, put it on a truck and put it in Michigan. Now, a year later, even he seems to know what home really is – family. Togetherness.

As we start to wrangle paint colors, and furniture arrangement, and a craft room, and a laundry room, and finding just the right spot for the glasses and silverware, and designating a junk drawer and space for the piles of mail, I hope to maintain a healthy distance from my stuff. I want to always remember I own it, it doesn’t own me. That the right paint color doesn’t make my home a safe haven. That perfect furniture and photos on the wall don’t make me hospitable. That what matters most is the people inside the four walls, whether they be guests or residents, and that my love for them, and our love for each other is more important than how perfect my stuff looks.

Spring’s Arrival

We woke up this morning, and it seemed that overnight the trees have all bloomed. As I headed to the eye doctor (AGAIN), I wanted to get out every block and take pictures. After living in Florida for nearly 6 years, I don’t think I will ever take for granted the beauty of spring and fall. These transitional seasons are so short, but packed with beauty. I’m afraid to blink in fear I’ll miss something.

Last year this time, I posted Spring Reawakening, and I found my words just as true this year as we still wait (sometimes) patiently for the conclusion of our own transition period. Last week was a long, dreary, cold week. The blooms today were a vibrant reminder that rain is necessary to bring new life from the dormant ground. The storms refresh the earth bringing vital nutritents as God works to make all things new again. And so, for one more spring – I stand in the rain, accepting that this transition period has been good for my growth. It’s been vital for the lessons I have learned – in patience and faith and fortitude and simplicity. God is bringing new life from my dormant soul.

Let the Record Stand

On March 31, 2010 – I got a teeny sunburn while running 6 miles. In Michigan. In March. This is a rather big deal, my Southern friends.

On April 1, 2010 – and this is NO JOKE. Our house has walls. And a roof. And floors. And stairs. Two days ago, it did not. Today, it does. WOW!!

The Home Stretch

Last fall when I ran my first half marathon, I felt GREAT until mile 11. Something weird hit me at mile 11 that I had never experienced in any of my training. A wave of emotion came over me head to toe, and I suddenly became very nervous and fearful that I wouldn’t finish. My right leg started to slightly cramp, and I knew that if I stopped moving, I would never be able to start again. The crowd was getting thicker, I could hear the noise at the finish line and as the excitement swelled, so did my anxiety. It was the most unusual sensation I’ve ever experienced, and it took every ounce of physical and mental strength within me to finish the last 2 miles. I crossed the finish line and veered for the grass, not even finishing the congratulations line to get my medal (I later went back for it – I earned that puppy, yeah!)

That same feeling has overcome me in the past couple weeks in regards to the final stretch of our move back to Michigan. It’s been a year already, and we have three more months until our home is finished and we will once again box up all the things we  hold dear and necessary for daily life, load it into yet another truck, and haul it 30 miles closer to the city. We will finally start our new life together in our new community, so much closer to church and work, and well, civilization in general. As I see the progress on the house and imagine the finish product, as I see our neighbors moving into their new homes, this same overwhelming emotion consumes me, and I find this irrational fear choking me. It’s taking every ounce of mental and spiritual energy I have to stay focused and calm. It’s like I can see the finish line, I can see the prize and I’m afraid it will be yanked away in front of my very eyes, as if the whole transition has just been a tease in order to let me down.

To top things off, at the same time this crazy, foundationless emotion hit, so did real-life junk. Big junk. Like bad taxes and car engines dying. Weird stuff that is usually pretty rare. Tonight at dinner, I confessed to my husband that I’m discouraged and distracted. If I focus on the numbers, all I can see is how terribly costly this past year has been for us. I mean hello – Florida doesn’t have any state income tax! And that’s just the start of what all I could list.

Then my dear, steady husband reminded me that it’s all a matter of perspective. I can focus on the costs, or I can focus on how God has provided and met each need. One reason of many why I love that man – he knows how to keep me on track – not an easy task! I pondered his words on the way home and had to concede that God’s economy isn’t made of dollars and cents. It’s made up of faith and love and how I respond to the people and events that happen in my life – including those that cost dollars and dollars and dollars.

So, I said outloud – “Satan, you’re not gonna get me. Not this time. I know your tricks. It aint gonna work this time.” And I started to thank God for His faithfulness over the years, and give my new house back to Him, and the cars, and the finances, and ask Him to help me be faithful. I’m sure I’ll go through the process of turning everything over again tomorrow. And the next day. Crazy thing about that homestretch emotion – it likes to tag along until the finish line, creating a big drag resistance. But I’ll keep on running. I know what and Who is waiting for me.

Run, mama, run!

I’ve been running quite a bit lately – working my way up to 15 miles for the 25k in early May. There’s nothing to keep you moving and focused during the frustrating months of spring (especially while waiting for a house to be built) like training for a race. I keep telling myself that by the time this race is over, summer will be just around the corner, and our house will have walls. And we should be out of snow’s way by early May. But it is Michigan. Predictably unpredictable.

It’s hard to believe that last year this time I was huffing my way through 2 miles and in 2 days I’ll be running 12 (and hopefully not huffing too much). I’ve had a good number of friends ask me recently how I got started and worked my way up to a half marathon. I’ve shared my thoughts on the process over on our running blog: From 0-13.

A solid foundation

Today, was a brilliantly sunny, happy day. This morning, the kids and I stood on our new street watching a digger begin to carve out the foundation for our new home. The construction worker waved at us as we happily stood next to our car imagining the fun we will have on this street starting this summer. We’ve been waiting a long time for this. March 31 marks one year that we left Florida and moved in with my gracious in-laws, one year that my kids have been such good sports sharing a small bedroom, one year of waiting and praying and doing our best to make good decisions for our future. And now, the foundation is being laid.

I looked up and down the street at all the new homes being built. One is complete and waiting for a buyer. Another lot has a sold sign and is waiting for a foundation. Another is being roofed, another being framed. So much potential is being developed on our new street. I found myself praying for a good foundation for our new community – that this would be a street where people felt physically and emotionally safe, that this would be a street where neighbors love each other and surround each other in times of joy and of need, that this would be a street where our doors are open to each other, that this would be a street where children are friends and treat each other well, that this would be a community that makes God smile.

The Year of the Impossible

I’ve been thinking about the past year. It’s been a wild ride. And when I think about that wild ride, I see one definite theme – the impossible becoming possible. I can’t help but think of the Bible verse “With God all things are possible.”

A year ago this time, The Narrator and I were sitting in our Florida home, with the heavy realization that we needed to move back to Michigan to be closer to family. The timing was terrible. The economy was (still is) nasty and Michigan is the worst of the worst. The latest statistics are 15% unemployment in Michigan. Get a job in Michigan? Impossible. People told us so. Get a job in Michigan while living in Florida? Impossible. And then WHAT IF he did so happen to get a job in Michigan? Sell our house in Florida? Impossible. Lots of people told us so.

We stepped out in faith and figured if God was in this, He’d help things happen. That was December 2008. A job application went to Michigan. He heard back right away. Got the job in Michigan in January. Started in February while still living in Florida. House for sale in February, moved in with the in-laws in Michigan the end of March. House sold in September. Possible. All of it. And not because of anything we did. It wasn’t (still isn’t) easy. A lot of things didn’t happen the way I thought they would, but it still happened and was good, nonetheless.

So here I sit in early December, and the grass is still green, the sun is shining brightly, and we haven’t seen a bit of snow yet. If you know anything about Michigan – green grass, sunshine and no snow in DECEMBER, that’s impossible. Yet it happened. I see this gorgeous December weather as a blessing from God. Until we purchase a home of our own, The Narrator has a nasty, nasty 45-minute 30-mile-one-way commute through country roads that don’t get the best plowing in the county. The drive is hard enough without the snow. With God, all things are possible. And I don’t take that for granted.

So I pulled the kids around the yard in the wagon, on December 1, soaking up the last hour of sunshine for the day,  and smiled at the fact that we were only wearing sweaters and sweatshirts. Thank you, God for all the impossible things of 2009.

What impossible things have been possible for you this year?