This fall the husband took Calla to soccer practice. I took a different kid to a different sports practice. The husband texted me this photo.
His message with the photo was something like, "ut-oh."
Anyone who knows us and our last six years knows that rainbows generally mean something. Something big. Started here, then here, then here. Since the first one we have moved five times and had another baby. While I don't generally go into a lot of details, I guess it will have to suffice that it really is a big deal. Rainbows are a promise. God gave Noah a promise with a rainbow. Apparently he uses them with us, too.
You know the cliche about how God opens doors for us to go through and if He doesn't open a door, we should maybe start looking at the windows? Well, I have not been looking for doors and windows that are open. And if I thought they might be open or I sensed any hint that they might open, I promptly secured and locked them. Because I have been just happily going along with this whole settling in thing and getting my kids all involved in activities like basketball and soccer and piano and dance and 4-H and other stuff that we all enjoy. We have met some awesome people and started to feel like we could just live here and be in a great church and have great friends we love hanging out with. And I get to have my husband home every night and on weekends and recently we started our annual winter movie series and we are just happily bouncing along in our family and marriage and all. It has been so nice.
And then God blew the whole side off (forget doors and windows) and shoved us through.
At least that is what I feel like.
We are moving.
Yes, again yet again. This will be SIX times since Violet was born. She will be SIX in July.
So now after the husband and I agreed that he should apply, had an interview and was offered and accepted the job, all while I was in my little corner praying that God would say something like, "Oh, just testing you, you know like Abraham and Isaac ... " and after I have felt every emotion from shock, anger, fear, hope, hopelessness, and grief. But mostly shock. After crying on the phone with my mom, confiding in my friends, crying in my kitchen with the husband, crying in my friend's kitchen, and attempting to tell everyone I felt shouldn't hear it on the streets, we are officially moving to somewhere around Bozeman, Montana.
And we are doing it sometime between now and, well, when it happens.
I am officially ...well ... I don't know what I am or even what I should be. I am no longer an emotional, panicked, crying mess. I have pulled it together and now I am feeling like moving closer to my parents and back to my home state and bringing five more people, three horses, and a dog is probably a good thing. And looking back over the last six years (which feels like more than that, actually), I can see that God has been steering us towards this. It is an incredible opportunity for us. In particular it is an incredible career opportunity for the husband. For him this could be the career opportunity of a lifetime. And frankly, the world would say that he deserves it. He is the hardest working guy I have ever met.
I realized something last night. I realized that even if the husband decided we need to move to some third world island nation and raise goats and coconuts, I would probably follow him. He is my husband after all. And he is a good one. The best actually. He loves me and his girls and his boy with the kind of love that would require him to throw himself in front of a train if it meant saving any one or all of us. It is the least we can do to make the best of this situation. So far that attitude has not failed us on our other recent adventures.
Bring it on!
p.s. I guess a move to Montana will require a blog name change.
Please let this be the last time.
p.s. Thanks for the incredible opportunity for the husband. What a blessing. And I look forward to seeing what you do with and through him.
Writing is good therapy. I should probably do more of it. Forces me to think things through and in doing so I gain perspective.
After four kids, ten moves and nearly two decades, we are still blissfully in love (most of the time) and I found myself back in the state I was born and raised in. It has definitely been a journey. In fact, on our 18th anniversary we pulled the last of our stuff up over the pass and into Montana, leaving our surprise love, Idaho, behind. But Montana is a great place. The last best place according to some. And we fully intend to explore as much of it as we can! Join us on our continued adventure through life, love and other stuff that comes with it.