Moving At Christmas? That’s What We Do!

For the past five years, my husband, Jerry and I, have moved one of my three children at Christmas time. Some moves were from town-to town, or apartment to apartment, but two have even been from state to state—Tennessee to Massachusetts, and this most recent, so recent we are still in the midst of it, from Florida to Alabama. Every move has its memorable moments, lots of laughter and some tears, but it’s this move, the one that we’re smack-dab in the middle of, that takes the cake.

My daughter, pregnant with her first baby is due any day now. This, in itself, is of utmost excitement, especially because this baby will be the first girl to grace our family in years. But add to this momentous occasion, my son-in-law was offered a new job out of state that he needed to take—the start date ten days before my daughter’s due date.

So three days ago we left Florida, happy and nervous with the anticipation that accompanies any move—me, with my daughter in one car, her wonderful mom-in-law in the other, all following behind Andy in the moving truck.  Keeping one eye on the road while keeping a watch on my daughter out of the corner of the other one, we finally arrive at their new hometown, weary and mildly exhausted.

Because the move had been so quick, everyone had only seen pictures of the new house. But arriving at their new neighborhood the next morning our optimistic spirits began to droop, just ever so little when turning the corner we were greeted with the site of a rusted out pickup truck parked in front of their home. No matter, their new neighbor could be into classic cars. But glancing to the right, sitting chained to a doghouse was a mastiff, Rottweiler mix. The dog could be sweet. Everyone’s spirits began to droop just a little more, but none more than mine.

And so the rest of the day went, my optimism especially, taking hit after hit, much like a deflating rubber ball bouncing down stair steps, only to land with a thud in the dark basement of disappointment and concern. The house, we found out was not only thirty minutes from the hospital, but was also dirty. Bounce. The carpet, filthy. Bounce two. Water and power couldn’t be turned on to clean the carpets until maybe Monday—and that was optimism speaking. Furniture couldn’t be placed and boxes couldn’t be unpacked. Bounce, bounce. All the while, my daughter, wincing with late pregnancy discomfort, smiling sweetly, taking deep breathes, reassuring her husband, everything would be okay.

For me, things got worse, when on the way to lunch, about five miles from their new home, we passed a maximum security prison standing next to trees that had been shredded by last year’s tornado. Just about to lose it, blinking back tears of fear and frustration—(after all, this is my little girl having a little girl. I’ve protected and loved her since before she was born)—we passed a church marque with the message, “In everything give thanks for this is God’s will for you.” Stopping my frustration in its tracks was this reminder of what’s true. Wrinkling my nose in “harrumph” and not so gracefully at first, almost, but thankfully not quite sounding like the little girl in the movie, Miracle on 34^th Street when she said repeatedly, “I do believe, I do believe,” I began thanking the Lord in this situation. It didn’t happen immediately, but as the afternoon progressed, His peace that passes all understanding began to take over my worn out heart, lifting it and me out of the basement of despair.

When we got back to their new home that evening, the Rottweiler mix barking at us was also wagging his tail. Meeting his owners, a sweet older couple named Charles and Anna, reassured us, without us even asking, that everyone in the neighborhood watches out for each other. We even came to know that the rusted out pickup belongs to a retired professor. Maybe he really does collect and fix up classic cars.

All this to say, left to me, left to our families, we wouldn’t have chosen any of this. We wouldn’t have chosen relocation right before the arrival of a new baby. We would have looked for the cookie-cutter place, complete with fresh paint and not only cleaned carpet, but carpet that is brand-new. We would have opted for someplace really close to the hospital. But in choosing our perfect world, we would have missed Anna and Charles and whatever else waits for us down this path. We would have possibly missed the adventure God has for us.

I love my daughter. I know that Andy loves her even more than I do. After all, in the Bible, he is directed to love Laura, as Christ loves the church when He gave His life on the cross to save us. But even more, it is with that same love that God loves Laura. And so, when I thank God in every circumstance, I am basically saying, “I trust You, Lord.” Is it always easy? No, because in my “infinite wisdom” I think I know everything. But by His grace, I’m beginning to see my limited perspective in all aspects and am starting to realize that God waits for me to slip my hand into His—much like a little child with his mommy or daddy—and let Him take care of me.

With love,
Kimberly