“All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.” ~Anatole France
Home. That’s the word I chose to guide my year in 2015.
“It might mean fewer words see the light this year, but I want my people–my family and friends–to find themselves in a peaceful dwelling place when they come through my door. I want them to find themselves in an undisturbed place of rest–in a secure and hospitable home, a place that can be opened to company at a moment’s notice without panic, a place where quiet grace is served,” I wrote.
Things didn’t go exactly as envisioned.
In May, my daughter’s home burned. She and the girls moved in with a friend but had to move out when the friend sold her house. They moved in with us in, I think, October. The months have melded, and the days have been anything but quiet.
Towards the end of the year, we decided to move ahead with some of the projects we wanted to start. We ordered flooring and planned a new kitchen. I finished stripping the wallpaper. And, by the way, mark my words: I will never, ever again hang wallpaper. We ordered cabinets, which arrived just before Christmas and made great cardboard buffet serving stands while stacked in the house awaiting installation, which began after the first of this year.
After Christmas, our family (my dad, sister, niece and her son, our kids and their families) gathered together at a beautiful VRBO house in my hometown for a couple of days of fun and games. We had a blast, and it was the first time we’d all been together since my mom was in the hospice home four years prior. I see those days now as a kind of foreshadowing–almost a forecast as sure as the snowstorm that hit while we were there.
In some sense, my word was still giving my days some focus.
Sometime in December my husband’s boss mentioned an open position in the South Florida office. My husband laughed. “We’re having a pretty mild winter,” he said. We had no intentions of moving away from family, and I had intentions of being buried under this porch.
His boss laughed. “I’ll check back with you in February.”
In January, in the midst of renovation upheaval, I began my new gig as a babysitter. I kept my new grandgirl a couple days a week to help ease the financial burden of daycare and to facilitate bonding, so important to my son. It was a “job” I took on after a great deal of trepidation and prayer. Because my son lived 30 miles away, we met halfway in a Quality Dairy parking lot for “pickup and delivery,” and I was grateful for our mild winter. Only on one trip did I drive with white knuckles on black ice. The whole gig turned out to be more joy than job.
Also in January I began to have trouble with my left knee. I figured I’d overdone over the holidays and in carrying things up and down stairs in preparation for workers. I finally went to the doctor who considered a torn meniscus but found, instead, “extensive degenerative change.” I thought I heard him order my husband to sell our house, build or buy a ranch, and install a pool. “I feel changes coming on,” I wrote, and I entrusted the Still Saturday linkup to my sweet friend, Lisha.
Then came the day (in February?) I lost it in the Quality Dairy parking lot when my son informed me that they were moving to Jacksonville, Florida–1000 miles away–to begin a new season as a franchisee with Two Men and a Truck’s offices there and in St. Augustine. We watched him and the wee grands and the inlaws drive away with two Penske trucks the day before Easter.
Please, God. Too many changes. Too much. Too close together.
My husband told his boss our son was moving. The position in South Florida was still open. “Ft. Lauderdale is a lot closer to Jacksonville than you are now,” his boss said (or something to that effect.)
I didn’t choose a word for 2016. I figured I’d stick with “home” for another year, but I kept hearing the word, “disengage.” A friend told me it might be better to consider the word, “focus,” but that wasn’t encompassing what I was feeling–the need to not be a fixer, to nurse other people’s problems. To back away from words that brought me down, from situations I couldn’t fix and had no control over and that were literally making me sick. I was feeling like I needed to focus on this new “gentle journey” of caring for myself in this season of life, of slowing down and letting what was really important surface.
Little did I know.
Because, friends, my husband called his boss, and that position in South Florida? It was still open–waiting for him, it seems.
And so, I’m disengaging. I’m disengaging from a life I’ve known here in this house, where I’ve lived for over 25 years, longer than anywhere else in my life. It’s the house my husband grew up in and our kids grew up in. I’m seeing my crabapple bloom for the last time, watching my peonies rise from the dirt, watching my lilacs bud. I’m seeing the fog hover on the field with new eyes, drinking in every sunrise and sunset, and weeping over a heat lamp in the chicken house. (More on that another time.) I’m disengaging from “stuff.” Last month we re-homed the psychodogs to gentler surroundings. I’m disengaging from a life here in my Pure Michigan.
A few days after spring had sprung, we had a snowstorm and drove to church on super yucky roads. “Maybe,” said my husband, “this is God’s way of telling us we made the right decision.”
Grace told me the other day before she went off to school, “I hope you don’t die today.”
“I do, too,” I said. “But why do you say that?”
“Because we’d have to bury you under the porch like you made us promise, and then Papa couldn’t sell the house.”
We just had to evict another tenant from our rental house. We’re going to sell the house to our daughter, and she and her friends are frantically working to make in liveable. As soon as she can move, we will put this house on the market. We are hoping the contractors will arrive this week to begin work on our main bathroom. I’m frantically slinging the paintbrushes Susan sent me last year. My husband leaves for Ft. Lauderdale on May 16. I’ll follow when I tie things up here with a big red bow. And I’m keeping my eye on the this piece of tin art created by a gentleman in Haiti for Vibella Jewelry. The dream stone from Sturgeon River Pottery was “potted” by a high school friend.
While I’m grieving at leaving family (and a new kitchen and bathroom and floors), moving 1400 miles away (though closer to my son), I’m redirecting my focus toward a new season, a new life. I see a plan unfolding that I never would have envisioned even four months ago. I’ll be settling into a new home–probably a ranch with a pool per doctor’s orders. I guess I can keep my 2015 word.
And in the decluttering of this home in preparation for moving, I’ve found several boxes of unopened Christmas cards…
I have been marveling over the unfolding of events in your life and your graceful disengagement/redirection (or so it appears from a distance). You are in my prayers for a smooth transition Sandra and God’s blessings upon you and your family and your wild and beautiful future. Who knows what the future will bring, right? So glad God brought you into my life and I hope to see you here for many years to come. You have a way of making us all feel at home. Your door always open. Thank you. <3
It’s crazy at how we are starting to see how God is orchestrating all this. And strange, because we saw him orchestrate our move here. I don’t know what the future holds, but I’m pretty sure it’s going to be a wild–though I’m hoping for a more quiet ride.
You always encourage me, Kelly, and I’m grateful for you. xo
You concluded this with just the right sentence! I was teary as I got to it, and then a giggle bubbled out. I SO know about buying Christmas cards early (on sale, of course) and then not being able to find them when Christmas arrives!
We’re currently in a house where we’ve lived longer than in any other — twenty years this fall — so I’m not looking forward to the day we decide it’s time to leave. But in the almost-fifty-seven years of our marriage, this is the eighteenth house we’ve lived in. Every move seemed overwhelming at the time. But in the life of church ministry, moves were inevitable and once the decision was made, we *tried* to look ahead, not back. We learned from previous moves that each new experience is an enrichment, and anticipation is easier to deal with then regret. 🙂 And then there’s His assurance: “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” [Jeremiah 29:11] That reassurance is something to lean on during the more difficult days.
44 years of marriage, and this is our 8th house in 9 moves (we returned to the one in Georgia after our first sojourn in Florida.) That all happened in the first 14 years of our marriage. Enough times for me to say never again. Ha. Never say never. Leaning… and now I have Christmas cards for next year… Or did I put those in the Goodwill box?
I know this is hard–very hard. I like that you are choosing to notice every blessed Michigan thing while you’re still there. Soon you’ll be noticing different plants and flowers in south Florida. Both good.
I’m noticing. And I’m regretting every blessed Michigan thing we didn’t see while we were here. We always think we have more time, right? We do plan to go ahead with our plans to visit Isle Royale in June. I suspect I’ll still be here. D will fly home. He’s hoping we can schedule movers on our return. I told him not to hold his breath.
Thanks for sharing your story, Sandy. I was thinking about how your heart turned toward getting to the place where you could swing the doors open to your friends and family, took the deep breath to do the reno, and rearranged life so what is really important could surface, and then, came the shift. I’m just now settling in our home of 10 years. I’ve been fussing over it lately, really for the first time since we moved in. Reading this made me wonder how I’d do if the plan was to pick up and leave??? I can’t even believe I wrote that because I suffer from wanderlust and would usually be ready to fly away to the new. I love your deep love for the place where you are rooted. My heart is with you as you turn the page to the new chapter…and hey, I’m glad you found the Christmas cards. (I agree with Carol…just perfection!)
It’s going to be a whole new lifestyle for sure. Back before kids, I’d have been all gung-ho for new adventure. But now… I’m cautiously stepping into this new plan. But we did learn of an alligator-free (supposedly) place in the mangroves off one of the Keys where we can kayak with manatees. That raises the excitement level. xo
So much change, Sandy. I’m not very good at it, but inevitably the blessings begin to show up. Sending you hugs as you move through all the emotions and all the changes and into that place the Lord has waiting for you. I think it’s true that we carry home with us – all the parts that truly matter.
I hope it’s true, Linda. Michigan is my home. But know what I realized the other day? Michigan is a peninsula. So is Florida. I think those are the only two states? It will be super hard to leave this house–so much history, so many memories–good and bad. I don’t mind leaving the bad. And the house has gotten harder for me to care for. My MIL could hardly wait to leave. She didn’t look back. But she only moved a few miles away–where Abby will live for now.
One question kept slipping in my mind as I read your story: What is home to me?
I think it is something we take with us, and so we have to handle it with love and care– just as you are doing through this transition.
Glad to see you’re keeping your 2015 word as your guide. I believe it will serve you well. Blessings to you and yours, Sandra.
Oh… good question, Sharon. I often forget to leave questions at the end of my posts. That’s a good one to ponder. xo
Oh, I’m grieving with you, Sandra. 25 years in one house is a long time…and in one state, too. God’s whispers (shouts?) ahead of time must make you shake your head. Like Kelly, I’ve been watching and praying from the sidelines. Thank you for writing about this…it’s good (well, a little sad, too) to hear your ‘voice.’
It’s kind of crazy when I think back. I’d totally forgotten what the doctor said until I went back to link that post. I guess that’s a good reason to chronicle our days. I’m grateful for your friendship and prayers.
I enjoyed reading more of the backstory of your move. I am excited to see what God has in store for you!
Me, too! And a little anxious… 😉
Oh, Sandy, what a wonderful post to read. I had forgotten about your knee, and the doctor’s words, too. Yes, you will see more and more of God’s hand in all of this. I know how wrenching it will be for you to leave that place, that homestead. Feel all the feels, and then turn your face towards the east and the south. It will be Good. But that does not mean it will not also be hard. Much love to you, my dear friend.
Much love coming right back to you, dear Diana. I may need your virtual shoulder to cry on sometimes. 😉
Gosh, I need to see you in the real.
Sandy, after reading this, I think it’s safe to say that God’s got your back in all of this upheaval and change. Moving is never easy, even if it means being closer to family. My husband and I joke about the only way we will leave our home is feet first. But you never know . . .
Blessings and continued prayers for you and yours during this time of transition!
Well, I won’t be buried under this porch unless the new owners agree… Who knew? But God… I’m grateful for your prayers, Martha.
LOL Gotta love that sweet Gracie! So much going on. I hope you’re taking care of yourself. I know your heart is torn. And I know the Lord is taking care of every detail. Take time to breath…deeply. Praying for peace and rest. May your home sell quickly and may you find the perfect new home. Home is still the word to cling to. Blessings to you, sweet one. ❤
Thank you, dear Lynn. Love you big.
This is priceless, Sandra! I think most of us dislike feeling “unsettled”. We like all the things connected with “home” and the memories we make there, but life seems to be unpredictable far more often than we might wish no matter what season we may find ourselves in. As another Midwesterner (Ohio) I can appreciate some of the things you will leave behind, but certainly family will be near and Jesus will go with you and at some point you will see more of His hand in all this! I enjoyed the pics in this post! Take care and many blessings on you!
Thank you for this, Pam. I remember the first time we moved to Florida. I went kicking and screaming. But what was waiting for us there (a baby) was priceless. So I don’t think we’ll see a groove where I’ve been dragged this time. 😉
I waited to read this because I wanted to drink it all in slowly. I’m glad for your words which are just necessary to my thinking as well. It’s hard to change even when we think we are so brave…at that very moment we find we are a little more rooted than we thought we were and a little less chutzpah flows in our veins than we hoped. So we need each other to say “Yea! You did it! You are still growing!” So Yay for you and your exciting journey ahead! And for Kayaking… girl, the manatees are the bomb. Did it las summer. Did you know you can easily fish off a kayak too? Yeah! Yay.
So you can still kayak with the manatees? Awesomesauce! My husband is not much of a fisherman, so I’ll need to work on him. I do think there has to be a little more stability in a rowboat than a kayak, though. 😉
I’m glad for your words here, Lorretta. xo
I’ve just read your latest blog posts. I hope and pray all is well with moving. I would find it hard to move from a newly renovated house. I’m sure it’s a plus to the new owners. I like it. It would be hard to move as we’ve been in one spot 26 years and there would be much to go through.
I like all you wrote about Memorial Day. I’ve not decorated a grave since we laid my mom to rest in the fallmof 2014. The cemetery is quite a ways to get there. Maybe soon.
Take care and blessings.
Hi Becky. We are still plugging along. My husband is already living in company housing in Florida, and I’m here trying to supervise workmen and do a lot of work myself. He came home for a planned vacation, but we cancelled it and it feels good to be doing some of these things together. My daughter is still working to get her house move-in-able. It’s challenging, but it’ll all be over soon–I hope. 🙂
So your mom has only been gone a year and a half. It’s still pretty raw, I imagine. Mine passed right after Thanksgiving in 2011. Fall brings back all kinds of memories. Hugs.
Sandy!!!!! you are moving to my neck of the woods. How did I miss this? I am grinning from ear to ear right now.
Oh my goodness! This is awesome. 😀