Memories & Moving

March 10, 2009, we moved into this home, a family of five with two dogs and a bearded dragon. We had made the 1,947 mile journey from Draper, Utah to Braselton, Georgia, and we were excited to see what God had planned next for our family. Hunter was 13, Haley was 10, and Haden was eight. Life was good and was only going to get better. We were full of anticipation and hope, and for six years we knew laughter and tears as we built memory upon memory into the foundation of our lives. When Woody received a job offer that would relocate our family to Raleigh, North Carolina, we all tried to view the move as another positive opportunity, but truth be known, not one of us wanted to move. Braselton had become our home and the people here had become our family. For eight months Woody commuted as we tried to sell our house and adjust to another transfer. And then life took an unexpected turn; in an instant we became too well acquainted with grief and trauma.

Now, for the last time, we are packing up our personal items and leaving the house we first called home eight years ago—the house we so carefully chose with Woody at the head of our family, guiding our decisions and protecting our hearts. As we pack up the boxes, I wonder how we will pack up the memories. Can we carefully place them in bubble wrap and pray they won’t become fragmented and broken through the move? Can we label the boxes “fragile” and gently place them in the moving van with specific instructions as to how they should be handled? How do we gather six years of memories—memories that pervade every room—and keep them intact? How do we peel them off the walls and separate them from the rooms that Woody once occupied? Every space in this home tells the story of Woody’s last years. I can still picture him sitting behind his desk in his office or standing over his bathroom sink shaving. When we leave, will the memories go with us?

I cannot answer even one of those questions. I do not see how this will play out. However, I do know that just as we have survived every excruciating moment since the day of Woody’s horrific death, we will survive this one too. Woody may no longer be here to guide our decisions and protect our hearts, but God has taken over and will continue to hold us throughout another transition. I will trust Him to carry the memories and store them away for safe keeping, and when the timing is right, unpack them one by one.

July 10, 2017, we will move from this home into a smaller, more manageable one. We are no longer a family of five, yet I know God will be faithful and fill the next house with laughter and tears. We will construct new memories on top of the foundation that has already been laid. So, here is to the next leg of our journey and praying that it will be better.

Get Up!

“Get up!” Saul was on the road to Damascus when he met Jesus. Lying face down on the ground, Jesus commanded him to get up and go. Saul did as he was instructed and his life was transformed. When we rise from our circumstances, God can move in our lives. However, we have to get up first.

“Get up!” I hear that imperative once more and I cringe. I don’t want to get up, and I certainly don’t want to move. I finally feel as if our family has established some roots, and now we have to rip them up and endure another transplant. I want to dig down deeper, stuff dirt in my ears, and pretend that command was meant for someone else.

“Get up!” I drag my feet. I’m tired. I whimper a little more. My two-year old, temper-tantrum throwing alter ego is revealing her disagreeable self. And yet, God demonstrates infinite patience. He waits while I whine. He comforts through my complaints.

“Get up!”  We grow comfortable, fall asleep, become paralyzed by our fears, and immobilized by our sins. We need to stand up and get going. So, like it or not, I will get up and go. I will let God move my family and wait while He once again moves in my life.