Moving

I do not like change.  I do not like it in a box, I do not like it with a fox.  (Although how either of those things would improve a situation is beyond me.)  If I had to choose between suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune or taking arms against a sea of troubles, I choose nope. No. Thank. You.

This is what all our family photos look like these days. . .

And yet.
A visiting pastor this summer spoke on Psalm 23, a familiar and beloved section of scripture.  The sermon reminded me that I am to identify with the sheep.  The sheep that trusts and follows her shepherd.  (By the way, why is shepherd not sheepherd?) The sheep may get real comfy in her current pasture, but the shepherd sees so much more from a human’s height, and has greater wisdom regarding the best place for the sheep in each season.  The shepherd ultimately chooses the pasture.  He makes me lie down in green pastures.
God is once again leading our family to new pasture.  Or in this case, an old pasture.

We are moving.  Yes, back to Oregon!  Yes, for Mr. Cyrus’s job.

I am sad and I am excited.  I am excited and I am sad.

We are supposed to move by the end of the month.  The housing market is acting like a scorned lover and not at all cooperating, so we will need to leverage some interim housing via Target Corporation.  I’m trying to convince my kids that sharing a bedroom is not the worst thing that could happen to them.  Our schedule is too full and the kids are too stressed.  But these things are temporary and will pass or ease with time.

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I have been rereading my posts from when we moved to California and feeling blown away over the community that has surrounded us here.  It will be very hard to leave, despite returning to our family and friends in Oregon.

We put in an offer on a house last week.  If we had paid the full amount of the offer, it would have ended up tens of thousands of dollars over the asking price.  And we still were outbid.

I myself felt rather peaceful about all of this.  My repeated petition has been for God to close the door if the house wasn’t right for us.  There were a few red flags that could have turned into big problems, and so I was content when the house went to someone else.  The kids had only seen photos and thought it was a perfect dream for them, so they were really disappointed.  Ava in particular, was crushed.  One evening she turned to me seriously and asked, “why would God not give us that house?”

My kids ask these poignant questions; the kind that sit on our hearts and whisper despair.  How many times have I wondered, “why would God allow/not allow that in my life?”  I know pat religious answers won't comfort well, so I point her to that which we can lean on instead.

Think back, I tell her, over all the things in our lives.  Has God ever show he can not be trusted?
It’s easier in the case of a house.  Harder when a loved one suffers and dies. This child has known both.  So I point her to our history, our family story. I point her toward the character of God, and his steady proving of his love.  I point her toward all the times when life seemed scary and lonely and so overwhelming, and yet she was held and soothed and encouraged.

My desire as a mother is for my children to know my heart so well that they trust me when I lead them in ways they don’t understand, ways that may even cause them pain.  My Father’s desire is the same.  Over and over again in scripture we see God calling to his people, saying "know me! Know my character!"  The sheep know the shepherd’s voice and they trust him.  They follow him confidently to a new pasture because he has been good to them always, even when the path was treacherous or scary or just plain different.

Alright Change.  Bring it.