pressing on

The drives go from one end of town to the other. At either end of town we are planting ourselves with no time for roots to grow. Nap time at the in-laws Tuesday, Wednesday, and any other day when daddy needs to work in Keizer. Dinner catches us and the night is late and sleepy girls bed from the carseat. I am painting and arranging and frantic to build a little nest. These temporary nests, grateful as we are for them, are four months making us a transient family.

Only for so long can a girl go without a steady beat, not knowing where dishes are put back and if she’ll have space in a home to create and sit and be.

Nearing the end of this journey and I want to snap my fingers and be in it already. In the life we were called to here. Investing in people and practicing hospitality and creating a rhythm where children don’t wonder when we’re going home and if we even have a home and isn’t home Hawaii?

I am immensely grateful to the families who’ve welcomed us into their homes. For families and friends who sacrifice time and space and preferences and endure the screaming toddlers who are sick at night and make messes every second they exist. I know it’s not easy for them. I’m not ungrateful.

But it’s hard. The driving around and unsettled feeling, even when we’ve arrived at our destination, is hard.

And if I’m honest? Like just being flesh and blood in this little world of ours for a second? I sometimes wonder at this situation we’ve been called. I don’t know why we don’t have a full time salary and our own living space. We’ve asked and it hasn’t been given. Not yet. We don’t know when. Sometimes life doesn’t work out like we pray or imagine or hope.

My life isn’t as hard as others. This little rough patch I’m talking about? Is very first world. Right at this very moment I have a dear friend who is aching the deep ache of loss. Also at this very moment a dear friend is laboring her firstborn. All around us is joy and sorrow and rejoicing and struggle.

And still, in this little blip of time, mere paragraphs in a chapter in the greater story… is grace.

Grace in tears unafraid to shed and picnic dinners in the park with daughters and family teaching to paint and colors finally chosen and little girls who give the day everything they’ve got… and sisters who drive to help and spoil and a husband who doesn’t tire and a new church that exists to bless the community and Dave’s Killer Bread and big skies at sunset.

Grace in the reminder that He’s always good even when life isn’t. That redemption is bigger than what we see in the mirror. Always refining. Always love. God IS good. In the stories we live and tell, God is present and good.

Soon we’ll be unpacked and furnished and living a daily routine that will do our bodies and hearts good. We’ll create a day of rest and watch fall shows on our computer at night and teach our girls about the magic that is autumn in rain boots and coats at the neighborhood park. Life will settle. We’ll be in Kenn’s home, but he’s letting it be our home too. Plans will unfold, the ground will stop moving from under us and perhaps little roots will sprout.

In the meantime, I practice gratitude, pour coffee in the morning, roll up my sleeves, snuggle our girls, kiss my husband, and press on. They’re worth it. He’s worth it. I’m worth it.

 

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