Thursday, October 6, 2011
31 Days: Letting Go of Who You Thought You Were
The night that I cried over this move I was sitting right here on my couch feeling all conflicted and constricted and overwrought. Cory looked down from his end and said something to the effect of, "I was thinking about you today and how it might be really hard for you to leave this place. I know how much you love living in the country." And I lost it. I went right into full-on tears. I got one of those spontaneous ugly-cry headaches. Somewhere in my sniffly, mumbly, snotty crying jag the truth came out. "This place made me who I am."
Jeez Louise, it's embarrassing to admit that.
But now I've stopped crying and I've thought a lot about it and I think this is what I would have said had I not been so emotive: "I discovered my truest joy here."
It may have been the timing, the stage of my life. But what if it really was the chippy barn siding or the soybean/field-corn rotation?
I sank my toes into this particular dirt four years ago and my life started to make more sense.
And now I have to wonder, can I take it with me? Does sense travel past town limits?
Tomorrow is our last night here. The following morning, we will drive 1.5 miles down the road to a 1960's-throwback rental house, where we will live for the next eight months.
Somewhere around June, we'll drive in the opposite direction to the next town over. A bigger town. We'll be moving into a "declining neighborhood". It's declining because most of the houses there are currently vacant. They're vacant because they have windows busted out and ivy growing in the dining rooms.
One by one, the houses will be demolished and rebuilt.
So this girl who swore she would never leave is leaving. The girl who vowed that even if she struck it rich she would never live in a new house will soon be living in a new house. The girl who caught some of her shiniest glimpses of the infinite love of Jesus in the face of a hollyhock and the twist of barbed-wire fence will find a way to bloom on a postage stamp lawn.
If you dropped me off in our new neighborhood even one year ago, I might have slashed your tires. Granted, that would not have been the best response since you were my only way out, but I think you see what I'm trying to say. It took me a while to get on board with this plan. Like, over a year.
I whined and complained for eighteen months that our house wasn't selling right away, but if it had I wouldn't have been ready for this.
So why do we doubt God's timing?
And how did we know exactly where God was leading us?
I can't wait to tell you all about it.
*For the rest of the Letting Go series, click here.