Back in January, the ground began to shift beneath our feet. I was shocked. I thought our world was unshakable.
My husband loved his job, the kids were doing great and I had no real complaints.
But our lives began to shake, imperceptibly at first, then undeniably.
My husband applied for a new job.
A new job? A new job.
At first, it was almost a lark. We weren’t sure he’d make it past the first round. When he did, we took another step forward. And we repeated that process month after month. Each time we were half-shocked, half-unsurprised that he was one step closer to getting the job.
We talked endlessly about the pros and cons and about the reasons we should go and the reasons we should stay.
Meanwhile, he answered questions. He sent in audio recordings of himself. He send in DVDs of himself preaching. He had a video-conference. He flew to meet the search committee one weekend, then flew another weekend to meet another group of people. He provided more information about himself than we even knew we had. The committee checked his background and called fourteen references.
I fully expected them to slide him into an MRI machine to check out his insides.
I admit that I worried a lot. My biggest concern was how my children would adjust to a potential move to another state. We’ve lived in this house for twelve years. My daughter was born in the master bedroom. My 12-year old son came here as a seven-month old baby. My twins were kindergartners when we moved in.
We love it here.
We know many people who come and go since we live near a military base, but we never, ever, ever expected to be the ones who would be packing up and moving away. We never wanted to be those people.
When I lamented about how my children would handle a move, my friend, Lisa, pointed out that if God had a plan for my husband in another state, God also had a plan for my children. They wouldn’t just be dragged along into a hostile environment, but rather, they’d be walking through a door opened by their Creator.
Another weird thing happened. My friend, Cindie, and her husband decided that they’d really like to relocate from this area to another state. So, in January, they picked up their empty nest and moved. They moved to the exact same area we were considering.
Maybe, I thought, God really was opening this door.
I flew to California with my daughter a week and a half ago to meet some of the people and to see the area. (We loved it.)
Then, before we flew home, the church in California voted to call my husband as its next Senior Pastor.
We are excited about this new adventure. And by excited I mean half-freaked-out, half-giddy with anticipation and half-way-too-tired to do all the work necessary to pack up this life and move it fifteen hundred miles down I-5. Wait, that’s too many halves.
Well. It is too many halves.
It’s too much of everything, really.
And I mean that in a good way. Mostly. (Have you seen my storage room?)
* * *
Because you will ask, I will tell you that my husband will be starting his new job in California in October. The children and I will stay here until school is out in June. Also? Want to buy a house?