I am sure you have all heard sayings and motivational speeches that talk about how change is this special, wonderful thing that happens in life and you just float along on a magic carpet driven by a team of unicorns, blissfully waiting to see where life will take you next. “Embrace change.” “Change is good.” Umm…no. No, it’s not. Change is a horrifying, fire-breathing monster, just waiting for people like me to come along and stumble into its jaws. That’s how it feels to me. I know, I know. That’s not exactly the case. Some of the best things in my life have been a result of change that petrified me at the time. Becoming a mother was a scary change. Becoming a mother of two, getting re-married, becoming a step-mother, changing careers—all incredible blessings in my life that seemed like gaping holes of potential failure to fall into at the time. When I am faced with change, my brain and my body team up to create a panic so mighty that I can barely move. I pray and I hold onto promises that I know are true—God has plans to prosper me and not to harm me. God knew what my life held before I was even born. His love is bigger than any circumstance of any kind. I know this. I do. So why can’t I adapt to change more easily?

That brings me to the latest change in our household. We are out of room. Out. We have a little girl who is sharing a bedroom with two of her brothers. The clock is loudly ticking on that one. On a half-whim, half-wish about a week ago, I checked the real estate list that we receive every couple of days from the last time we decided it was time to either move or build on (soon after which I spun into a panic and went to my go-to strategy of “Never mind; let’s just ignore the problem. Wheeeee!”) I emailed a few potential houses to my husband with the usual attitude of “Meh. These are okay.” And then—I saw it. A house that had almost everything on our wish list, at a great price and in a beautiful neighborhood. Oh, man. Before I had time to talk myself out of it, I emailed our realtor (who has the patience of a saint) and asked if we could see it. On the way there, I talked myself out of it pretty handily. “Too far from school.” “Too many trees.” “Too far from Target.” As soon as we stepped in though, it felt right. Maybe not even the house itself, but the process. I need God to practically hit me over the head with a blinking sign sometimes before I can shut up the Doubt Committee in my head and move forward. I am panicking hardcore about this move, BUT whether we get that house or not, and whether it happens in a month or a year, I can feel God breathing His will into our plans so far, and that helps.  You guys, I rented a storage unit yesterday so that we can box up our excess stuff and stage our house to put it on the market. Me–the Anti-Change! The goal is to make it look like a normal family could move right in, instead of potential buyers thinking “This is like the clown car of homes. How many people live here?!?” That 10×15 rented room makes this all real. That’s so scary.

Last night in the shower, I had a good, long cry about the process (I have my best emotional breakdowns in the shower—highly recommend it). I let myself be sad about the thought of leaving the home where I rocked and snuggled and loved on my newborn babies. I let myself mourn the loss of the beautiful yard and trees and peaceful neighborhood where my kids learned to ride bikes, and grew from sweet, helpless infants to lovely, capable children–almost overnight. I will miss our friendly, considerate neighbors and the long, summer walks around our circle. I will miss the “Fire Truck Parade” every 4th of July. I will miss sitting under our covered patio, watching thunderstorms roll in. I’ll miss roasting hot dogs in a fire pit that is entirely too close to the house. It all hurts to leave behind. That said, I know that there are equally wonderful memories to be made wherever we wind up.   I may be leaving the house I’ve called home for so long, but I’m taking what’s in it. Yes, I’m talking about my shoes.

Okay, okay…fine. I’m talking about my family.

So here’s to moving when you’re barely moving, and trusting that it will be wonderful at the end of the unknown. We would appreciate your prayers for God’s continued guidance as we figure out how to pack up our circus and where to set up our tent.

In the meantime, we’ll take ALL your empty boxes, please.  Another 97,000 should do it.