Our family will be moving soon. My husband went through a forced resignation a month ago, and since then he has been looking for jobs in this area. We hoped to stay here, since I have a job and my daughter has friends here.
But God had other plans. My masters degree’d husband couldn’t find a job making slightly more than minimum wage - not enough to support our family. We have family and friends down South, so we’re heading down there. The economy isn’t as depressed there, and jobs are a little easier to come by. Neither one of us have secured a job yet - not for lack of trying.
The decision to move has been difficult. We prayed and talked and thought and prayed some more. I keep hoping for neon signs in the sky pointing in a specific direction, but we know God is usually more subtle. All we know is that moving is the next step for us. I believe God is asking us to step through this door in faith and He will reveal His plan in His time.
Knowing that God has a plan doesn’t make moving any easier. As we began to pack our belongings, sorting out what can be donated and thrown out and what we want to keep, a wave of great sadness came over me. I had a hard time putting my finger on the exact source of my sadness because I’ve been saying for some time that I’d love to live closer to my family again. I should be excited about this, right?
But as I wrapped pictures and stacked photo albums, it dawned on me: this is the end of a chapter in our lives. Once we move, the next chapter will begin. However, the end of our story in this place has already been written. All that is left to do is clean up and close the door. It is sad: for all the difficulties we had here, we do love this place. We made great friends, whom we will miss. We hoped to stay here for a long time. It’s okay to mourn the end of this part of our lives. We need to experience that grief, breathe in and out the memories here before this time is over.
We will remember the first time our daughter slept in her big-girl bed; my first Thanksgiving dinner that I made all by myself; teaching our daughter to ride a bike in the driveway; playing ball in the backyard; watching fireworks at the park. My daughter “painting” the couch with pizza sauce. My husband coming in the door and scooping us all in a family hug. Laughing, crying, arguing, loving. Like the video montage at the end of a sitcom series, all these scenes play out in my head. And all I can think is: “It’s over.”
Then God breathes life into my thoughts: “It’s not over. I am not done writing your story.” My family is still here, we have more lines to be written. This is the end of one chapter, not the end of our book.
