The Long and Busy Months

So it's been a while since I've been here. At this blog, not the internet or on my computer. I have spent plenty of time googling in the last few months.

It has been a busy and long few months since I last wrote. Long as we waited for answers. Waiting to find out what job my husband would finally find. Waiting to find out if the one that was far from our home was going to be the one. Waiting for that offer to be finalized.

I am not a fan of waiting. I like to plan. I like to know what is going to happen and I like to know all the things that can possibly happen. I don't like surprises. And yet, I found myself this year waiting. Waiting longer than I like, long enough to panic at times, to get discouraged. But then the answer came. An answer that should have been scary but after all the waiting it was nice to finally know.

And then the busy happened. The googling schools, hockey rinks, churches, Starbucks, homes in our new state of Wisconsin. The busy home searching trip with ten houses in one day, five the next, offers on two different houses and coming to agreement on one of those. Busy getting our condo ready to sell, having to leave at all times of the day so it could be shown, waiting for offers that never came and then debating the three offers we got in three days. Busy signing documents, packing the stuff we would need for the month we are in temporary housing which included two sets of hockey gear as well as our clothes, electronic equipment and enough books to keep Hockey Boy busy until we could get a library card. Busy saying goodbye.

That was the hardest part. The goodbyes.

I don't like goodbyes.

Goodbyes suck as Hockey Boy stated so eloquently and in this case appropriately. And so I refused to say goodbye. I went about the last weeks trying to pretend that nothing was changing, as if it was not our last time at our school, our church, the rink, the Sweet Shop, Starbucks.....

I tried to do that with my friends but that was a lot harder. The hugs were longer and tighter. The smiles forced. The see you laters catching in my throat as I knew it would be too long before I would see my friends again. The emptiness settling in as I would drive away from each last time.

I was doing okay though. I have had a lot of practice saying goodbye. But then I watched my son say goodbye to his friends on their last times. Each time, the boys would be full of smiles and laughter as they played but then the moment would come when we had to leave, when the goodbyes became real and as we walked away each time my oldest would lean into me and cry. And then I would cry.

I hugged him close to me, my head now can rest right on top of his and I cried with him. And then I reminded us both that the fact that it hurt so much to say goodbye meant that we had great friends that we loved very much. And I think we both felt a little better. Or at least I did, knowing that my son has such amazing friendships.

It has been a week and a half since we left California. It feels like forever ago now. I keep waiting for the moment when we pack up after our vacation and return home. I wonder if that feeling will go away when we actually get to move into our new home on August 1st. This temporary housing thing is not easy, though our practice of close quarters living in the last year has certainly helped.

That's where I am.

We have answers now. Life has slowed down again.

And I wrote something today.

So there's that.

Not Writing

I did not blog for an entire month. I did not write much offline either. And not because there wasn't anything happening in our lives.

March included not only my middle son's birthday and my husband and my 16th wedding anniversary but it also held Easter and a Tuesday morning spent teaching about communion at my church's mom's group. It was a month of figuring out how to live without a pay check, considering different job opportunities including some far away from where we live now. March was also full of reminders of how blessed we are, we have a beautiful home, amazingly generous friends, a great community, and savings enough to not panic. It was a month of such amazing growth for my eldest son, my hockey boy who branched out and tried some new and scary things and lived.

But I did not write about any of it.

I couldn't.

Or I wouldn't.

I'm not really sure. All I know is that the West Wing needed to be watched during the day when the boys were at school. That all my energy was spent on keeping their days as normal as possible. My husband and I faced panic and possibility and fear and provision when the boys were not looking or we tried to as much as possible. Though I am sure our stress leaked out. That is what stress does. It leaks into all the gaps, over every part of our lives, dimming the lights on the joys and weighing down the heavy even more. 

I watched my mom be depressed when I was a child. I saw it again as an adult when circumstances shocked her world. When meds didn't work any more or life became too much.

And now I worry about what my boys see. When I sleep later in the mornings and have a hard time facing the day. When I lose my will and let them play video games for far too long because I am lost in my own addictive game. When I am short with them, my patience thin not because of them but because stress does that too.

I am thankful though that for the most part, we do believe that things will be okay. That we trust that God has a plan, even if it is not what we had in mind. He has been ever faithful in our lives. There is no reason to doubt.

And yet...

Sometimes I get angry. At God. Why now? Why us? 

I feel like Job finally asking God why. Why him? Why his family?

And then I remember God's response to Job at the beginning of chapter 38:

“Who is this that obscures my plans
    with words without knowledge?
Brace yourself like a man;
    I will question you,
    and you shall answer me.
“Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation?
    Tell me, if you understand.
Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know!
    Who stretched a measuring line across it?
On what were its footings set,
    or who laid its cornerstone—
while the morning stars sang together
    and all the angels shouted for joy?"

And it keeps going for a couple of chapters.

I get it. But I am not always happy about it.

But I think that's okay.

I hope.

Story Telling

I love stories. I love telling my own stories. I love reading stories, my bedside table is covered with books. I love hearing my friends' stories. I love reading stories on blogs or watching a story in a movie theater.

I learn so much more from a story than I do from a lecture. I read somewhere that this is true for our kids too. They will remember so much more if we tell them our own stories as examples instead of lecturing them on how to live. When I taught history, my students often remembered the stories even when they could not remember the exact name, places, or dates of the events described.

Stories resonate with me. They let me consider new ideas at enough distance for me to feel safe to explore without being judged. They let me tell the truth about my experience without having to place blame or explain why I have made the choices I have. 

Jesus loved stories. When you read the red lettered words in the Bible, the words Jesus spoke, more often than not you are reading a story he told to the crowds gathered around him. There are few sermons in Jesus' teachings, only one that I can recall without looking - the Sermon on the Mount. But the stories he tells, there are too many - the good Samaritan, the Prodigal son, the rich young man, the lost sheep, the lost coin, the Vineyard workers, and on and on. And these are just the stories Jesus himself tells but then there are the stories of what Jesus did. The healings, the miracles, the feeding of thousands, the travels, the rocked boats. The gospels are full of stories.

I have learned so much about what God wants for my life from these stories, so much about who God is and how much He loves me.

And I am sure the crowds listening were touched by the stories Jesus told. His stories were not always easy, some were quiet pointed. But here's the thing about Jesus' story telling. He never made the listeners the characters. He never labeled them as the rich man, the lost sheep, the passerby who left the robbed man behind. He didn't need to accuse, to label. The stories spoke for themselves. Humanity has not changed that much over the centuries since. The listeners then and the readers of these stories now can see themselves in those characters.

Sometimes I am the prodigal, sometimes the elder brother. Sometimes I am the Samaritan but more often I am the one pretending I don't see the person in need on my path.

Stories are powerful. They evoke emotion. They speak truth.

Lately though, I have noticed stories being used to lecture. Speakers using their personal experience to tell the listener how to live. Writers putting down words in a story format that barely hides the prescription they want the reader to find.

I love stories. I will continue to write my stories.

But I don't want to weaponize story telling. 

Jesus could have easily used the people in the crowd for his characters but he choose not to. He told stories and the crowds discovered their own place in them. Lives were changed without him ever demanding that the crowd become a part of his story.

When the Paychecks Stop

Yesterday was payday but for the first time ever, my husband did not get a paycheck. We knew it was coming. He is the financial guy at his small consulting company so he had a good read of how much cash was left and how long it would last in the year since the original investors pulled out. He and his two partners keep plugging away at the office. There are contracts on the horizon that could keep them enjoying the benefits of self employment but there are also resumes out to other companies, temporary work being lined up.

We have savings for days like yesterday. We've been cutting back over the last year building up even more of a cushion once they decided to make a go of it on their own. We can make the mortgage payments and buy groceries and gas.

But I skip Starbucks and we eat at home more than we enjoy. We find cheap activities to do over the holiday breaks from school. We are remembering why we hired cleaners as we now scrub down the showers and toilets ourselves. We put off summer camp plans. We put off plans altogether.

I am writing all this not to ask for sympathy or for help, at least not yet, but because this stress that has been hanging over us is impacting this space.

My body reacts to stress most often by shutting down. I have been worn out tired these last few months. My mind is empty, except for the contingency planning I find comforting. I am distracted and forget things easily. I am so caught up in my own situation that I am having trouble being a good friend. Which is sad because our situation is really not bad at all. On the scale of things that could go wrong in life, this is an easy one.

And yet all I want to do is climb back into bed and close my eyes.

There are things in my day that have to be done and done well. Once school is out, I have kids that need me to pick them up from school, to help with homework, to shuttle them to practices and games and music lessons. They need me to listen about their days and to share stories of my own growing up years. These things I do. I shut out the stress of the future and focus on the now.

But in the mornings, when I am alone, my time to write, I just can't seem to do it. Not right now.

And so I climb back into bed and close my eyes. I rest. I lament. I escape.

I do these things so that when pick up time rolls around I am ready.