Sunday, February 13, 2011

If these walls could talk...

Tonight, I'm kind of dreading going to bed. I couldn't really figure out why until just now. It's late, so this may be a bit long. (Sorry in advance, but thanks for reading anyway!)

I feel like I am sitting on the edge of "chaos". (If that makes any sense!) Waiting to be pushed over the edge of a cliff into the ocean to be battered around for a while on the rocks. Yeah, graphic, right? That's kind of how my soul is feeling at the moment.

We found out late Friday evening (yeah, thanks for ruining our Valentine's weekend!), that we will very likely be getting transferred... somewhere.

We don't know the where. We don't know the when. (Could be within 3 months - could be longer.) Just that it's very likely. (As in, 99% likely.) And soon.

It may not seem like a big deal to many people since we are a military family. Until I mentioned we've been here for nine years. (That is like 30 years in one place to the non-military folks.) It's a bit traumatic.
This is the home and community we were supposed to retire in and live happily-ever-after.

There is a line in an old Toad The West Sprocket song (Disclaimer: It wasn't one of their best songs, but still a good song from the early 90's - and the lyrics worked!)

"You can show me your home, not the place where you live, but the place where you belong."

That line always struck me.
For years I would recite that line and use it whenever someone would ask about it being tough to move frequently as a military brat and then military wife and never having a consistent "home".

Well, I won't be using that line anymore.

The unknown is a pretty scary feeling. I used to love moving around the world and always looked forward to it - every two years I was ready to go! My adventurous spirit could pack up a house in less than a week! I was always ready for the next adventure. Perhaps I've outgrown that need to "see the world" or perhaps becoming a parent has changed everything.

Perhaps it's just exhaustion. We've had so much turmoil and chaos in our lives over the last year and I was really hoping (begging) that 2011 would be our year of calm. Our year to re-group. It would just be a year without major drama. It would simply be Our Year.

(After all, it's the Year of The Rabbit on the Chinese calendar. I'm a Rabbit - isn't that supposed to be lucky??)

I am feeling stressed out about the who, what, where, why, when of it all, but am trying to Trust. It is difficult to trust when you don't know the details and you are a control freak about your own life, like me. I want to know the details. Now, please.

But I am trying to trust. Trying.

To trust that God's plans for us are bigger than we can imagine for ourselves.

Trust that God will work out the details. (Will we have to short-sell our home?)

Trust that this move WILL be a good move for us, my family, for me.

Trust that we will be able to find another church that we L.O.V.E. (It has taken us nearly 14 years to find our current church, which has been an incredible blessing for our family.)

There are so many things we love about our Home and I am afraid I won't be able to love another house, or church or community as much as this one. Frankly, before we came here, we were stationed in a not-so-fantastic place for two-and-a-half years. It was awful and I was miserable. (And being miserable is not in my personality!) That station/experience made me realize that even in the U.S. there are very 'backwards" places.

(I don't want to go to one of those places again.)

But I also know God uses places and things to stretch us in amazing, yet sometime painful ways. But I don't want any more painful lessons. I need a break from painful lessons.

I have always loved moving around the world and the U.S., but now that we have children, it's different. We love our home, we love where we live. We built this house seven years ago to put down roots.We planned to retire here. To raise our kids here.

I've lived here longer than I've ever lived anywhere in my entire life.

It is the only home our children have ever known. This is the home my husband and I shed oceans of tears as we went through infertility issues and then the adoption process as we waited for our precious babies to find us. This is the home where I dreamed and imagined our children: crawling around, learning to walk up the stairs, and watching their little feet pitter-patter into the nursery we created. This is the home where our children found us and have had all of their "firsts". First foods (all over the walls & floors), first steps, first words, first holidays. This is the home where our family shared Christmases with my Dad. This is our home.

I know our "home" is just a building and the cliches about "Home is where your heart is" is true. But there is something to be said for a place where all of these memories are made.

These walls have seen it all.

The thought of leaving hurts my heart. I feel like our home is the 5th member of my family.

In addition to leaving the only home my children have ever known, the thought of uprooting our children is almost overwhelming. Having a child with special needs,well, it makes everything different. A move is no longer just packing up a house and moving across the country or the world. We have to consider things such as: Will there be appropriate services available for him? Will we be able to find therapists we love who are great with our child? Will our children get the best care possible? Etc., etc., etc. The thought of moving to a new state and new "system' to start all over again is exhausting. I fear the progress we have made with our precious son could be negatively impacted by a major move. I worry about my kids and how this will affect them. The mere thought already has me losing sleep. (Thus, the reason this post is being written at 11:30 p.m., when I know the kids will have me up by 6:00a.m.!)

All of these variables and the unknown of when and where are scary. Sad. Daunting.

But as these thoughts race through my head, I keep telling myself (and trying to truly believe) that God has His hand on us. He is going to use us. God is going to bless us.

Perhaps my fear stems from the fact that I already feel so incredibly blessed, that I'm not sure I could be more blessed? Wow, that's deep. Yet, also so shallow. I guess I'm not giving God much credit - how much greater are his plans for us than what we create for ourselves. You'd think our experience with our children would have taught me to remember that God will bless us beyond anything we can imagine for ourselves.

Perhaps our purpose in this community is complete. Perhaps the blessings will astound us wherever we end up.

That is what I need to think about and cling to when the stress gets to be too much and I can't sleep. God's vision for me, for us, is greater than anything I could imagine - or fear. Whether in this house or another - we'll be blessed and make many, many more memories in the years to come.

God is in the details. And he'll take care of the details, too.

It's your turn to comment:
If your walls could talk, what would they say? What are your favorite memories in your home? How has God blessed you in ways you could not have imagined? Do you limit your expectations of God? How did you handle a major move with a child with special needs?

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