I’ve been packing a few boxes a day now for the past couple of days. Our house is emptying out slowly into each cardboard container, the last ten months all neatly stored away. It looks weird. It feels weird. It’s funny to think that we thought this was such a permanent step in our lives. Upon moving here we thought Ada would be attending Idyllwild Elementary and we debated what to do about her highschool days when she would have to go down to Hemet or Banning. We talked about what we should do if another baby Dachtler was conceived out here, whether we’d live down the mountain for the last week or so in order to try a vbac or just schedule another c-section. We talked about whether or not we’d need another car out here. How often we’d be able to see our family each year based on our vacation days. How we love the weather and the mountains and we couldn’t imagine going back to flat-land with no ocean beaches. How would we teach Ada to ride a bike on such mountainous terrain? We wondered if we’d find friends out here that could be our family…there were so many unanswered questions and so much unknown. And it was fun and exciting and so much.
This time of moving…it’s all of that again and yet not. We’re moving back. Back being the key word, the key difference. We already know so much…and yet this time it’ll be so different. We’re trying to buy a house, we’re trying to finish up our schooling with a baby, we’re depending on self-employment, we’re looking for permanency, for stability. For…?
So many questions.
There’s just so much going on…always.
And I don’t want that to stop. I want our lives to be filled, fulfilled. I wouldn’t want anything to hamper that and yet…sometimes…in these moments of silence and stillness…I wish I could just bottle it all up to savor another day when I don’t feel as joyful, when I don’t feel as optomistic or excited or gleeful. And then I’m reminded again of how much I need to find my joy in Christ.