I moved fourteen times in ten years. Yikes. It started when I was married the first time, at twenty-two. We were so naive. I cannot believe we didn’t have a plan. Oh, yes, we did, but it got changed. As a new bride, I found myself moving out of my parent’s house and into my groom’s best friend’s house for the first month or so of our marriage. Our first place was because we were house sitting. I can vaguely recall nights of tears upon tears. I can remember not wanting to leave my parents’ home in the evenings (they lived just minutes from where we were). A new job, new husband, and new place to live was probably too much for me to handle. I mean, I knew during our ceremony that I was marrying the wrong man. I wondered if I could be faithful to him in our vows. Ummm…. RED FLAG.
So the moves began… To places all around Arizona and Colorado then Texas. In my younger years, I had declared, “I will never live in a small town… I will never live so far from a big city… I will never live where it is cold and snows… I will never move away from family.” Done at 23, by 25, and the last two at 27. I joked that G-d listened to every “I’ll never” and jotted it down so He and the angels could laugh later. In my twenties, I tried the ol’ switcheroo and professed: I will never marry Derek Jeter! That one didn’t happen- the Lord knew better!
When I was twenty-seven, I remember feeling the Lord wanted to move me again. I was between move five and six. My parents were helping me sell my home a year after my divorce, and we had talked about buying me a little condo closer to the city. It was a great deal and in a great area, but I hesitated. I told them earnestly that I didn’t think it was wise and that G-d wanted to move me again. I didn’t know where He wanted me to go or when, but I needed to be able to uproot at any minute. By late June, I knew the move would be to Colorado. By late July, I was there. And, more moving began. I desperately wanted to put down roots and unpack all my stuff, but I couldn’t.
I met my dear husband when I was twenty-nine. This was the man I was suppose to marry. This is the man my heart loves, who I adore and respect, and the man I want to grow old with. I wanted to put roots down with him. We lived in a great rental townhouse for almost the first year of marriage. We were so happy there. However, they raised the prices, and we were trying to pay off debt. We moved. We found a simple one bedroom apartment outside the city and moved in. The quarters were close, but rent was cheap. (We still laugh that I could hear my husband urinating in the bathroom from the bedroom down hall that first morning. Not an enjoyable way to wake up! lol) We wondered what we had gotten ourselves into, but it’s the home we remember most fondly. But yet another year later, we were transferred to Houston. We moved in a horrible little apartment (well, the apartment was nice- hearing intimate conversations amongst neighbors and smelling their cooking dinners through our walls was not) for six months and bought a house.
Joy of all joys! We bought a house! It’s been just over two years, and I’m elated. However, I’m still not settled. I have my good china still boxed up, and I am reluctant to remove it from the box. It’s a pain to pack, and I wonder: when will we move again? I still keep a sampling of empty boxes as insurance should we get the call to move again. I am not a box hoarder, but I want to be prepared. Are we moving again? The official call hasn’t come, but there’s been chatter. I don’t want to move again. I married a great man, though. My hard working husband’s skill set would be great in some of the other locations of the company. Sell our beloved home? Move away from new friends? Pack up and go to another unknown for an unknown time? My husband sees my reluctance as a hesitation to him. It’s not. I want roots. I want security. I want to desperately cling to our couch and not be moved… AGAIN. But, I know: some of the greatest G-d moments I have had came with a lack of it roots. Yes, I am tired of moving. Yes, I am definitely tired of packing- and unpacking. It was like moving every nine months, but a few of those were after only three months. But, I have to stop the hesitation. I need to remember: G-d’s got it, and we’ll be okay.
I keep thinking of my vows. We didn’t do for richer or poorer or even in sickness and in health; although, I would. Instead, I vowed, “I will go where you go. I will live where you live. Your family will be my family, and your G-d my G-d.” It’s from the book of Ruth, and they were the truest vows I could speak to Joseph. Sure, the “your family will be my family” has had some major bumps, but not for my lack of trying. (The Bible says, so it should have been: “your people will be my people”… but what’s done is done…) So, I tell my husband, I support him, and I believe in him. If his job takes him overseas, I will go. If it takes him to another city or state, I will find the joy in that move. I will submit to him. It’s not a bad thing. I trust him. I love him. I believe that he’ll make the best decision for our family. And, as always, G-d’s got it.
I pause in review of my moving story and realize that beyond submitting to my husband, I have been submitting to G-d through all of it. When He’s sad go, I’ve gone. When He’s said move, I’ve moved. I realize the trials and triumphs reflect on how He’s brought me through and exclaim what he’s done. To transform from a foolish twenty-two year old to a thirty-something growing in wisdom has been by the grace of G-d. He has allowed pain and hurt and anguish to make way for beauty and depth and rejoicing. I gave my vows to my husband but said them before the Lord. He will test me on them, He will allow me to keep them, and He will help me in honoring them every day of my marriage. So, this post is not just for my husband or me, but for G-d. Should we stay another twenty years in Texas, I will praise His name. Should we grow old in our current home, I will rejoice. But, yes, should we move again, I will still rejoice. Because His ways are not mine, His are better.
And Derek Jeter? Nah. I’d pick Joseph Bauer any day of the week- he’s the man! I am thankful to be his wife and will go where he goes as long as G-d asks.
Happy Wednesday, Laura