Moving Trucks and Misletoe

I am leaving and I am leaving soon. Two weeks from this Sunday to be precise. Months of planning, fretting, praying, arguing, resolving, saving, spending, hoping, regretting, listening, discussing, fearing, and anticipating have culminated in what will be a four day trek from my present home in Cumming, GA to my future home in Glendale (a Phoenician Suburb), AZ. Josalyne and I will be piloting a Toyota Sienna with close to 200,000 miles on it and a Budget rent-a-truck with our PT Cruiser in tow. My sister Jessica will be riding shotgun for the Atlanta to Dallas stretch of the journey and then Jos and I are on our own for a thousand plus miles of desert, dust storms, and desolation. Fortunately for all involved my mother has generously offered to escort the boys by plane to Phoenix where she will rendezvous with Josalyne and I when we arrive. The details and logistics of a move of this size read like the grocery list for Brookhaven Obesity Clinic and while daunting and largely consuming the Devil is not in the details he’s in the distance. Emotions covering the spectrum from utter elation from the possibilities and utter dread from the possibilities and everything in-between have rubbed and pressed and hewn a canyon grand in the hearts of all involved. The mind needs answers and answers exist but there is no presentation of logic or arrangement of specifications comprehensive or expansive enough to put the heart at ease or answer the one big question it constantly asks: will we survive this? It is only natural to wonder such a thing at a time like this. Will our relationship suffer under the strain of each others absence? Will we talk as much, laugh as much, cry as much, share as much with 3,000 miles between us? Will friends overcome the strong pull of laziness when communication of the electronic or telephonic sort is necessary and can or should a friendship endure under those conditions? Will grandchildren love and long for grandparents and grandparents for grandchildren and sisters for brothers and brothers for sisters and children for parents and parents for children? Will the expediency of new friendships alter or eliminate the harder bought old ones? Will I change? Will my family change? Will I succeed or am I leading my family down another road that starts in flowered meadows and ends in rotted swamplands? Can I follow through on my commitment to this path and see it through to completion no matter the difficulty? Am I mature enough in my journey with Christ to discern His voice from my own? Am I making enough time for silence so I can listen intently for the whisper of the Holy Spirit and in the noise of leaving would I hear him telling me to stay? These questions nag like an excited child in line to see Santa Claus and demand answers that are not easily or possibly given at this time. I have prayed that God would send an angel to visit me and that this angel would bestow upon me a gift which I would use to infuse the hearts of those around me with peace and joy and confidence but at the time of writing this I have yet to hear the flapping of gigantic wings. I’ll keep you posted on that one. The hard truth here is that I cannot, nor can anyone but God, grant that peace. Harder still is the reality that the more I try to force it on people the less peace anyone actually feels and the more I sense that I am a child with a stick attempting to knock the honey out of the hive despite the stinging evidence that its not working. All of this further crystallizes in my mind the one thing Christ keeps patiently reminding me of every time he has to pick me up and dust me off; that I am free to make my own choices as was His design but choices made without His consultation or guidance will end unhappily. And so in the din of noise that is the crescendo of my life in GA in its last days is it more important than ever that I seek the silence of hot dark tea without sugar or milk and sunrises and 100 million frozen diamonds on icy lawns or car hoods under flannel blankets while arguing in whispers with my wife about whether that was a satellite or shooting star or long drives to work with the Christmas music turned off (they’re probably playing the Christmas Shoes again anyway) or avoiding the malls or keeping my mouth closed when my friends mouths and hearts are open or stealing ten minutes from my schedule to lay on the carpet and be a jungle gym for my one and three year old boys or standing in the corner at work at marveling at the beauty and sweet nature of my wife as she resolves problems or any other moment that I can, but usually do not, choose to invest like currency into my relationship with God and everyone He has placed or allowed to be in the realm of my knowing. In every single one of those moments may I seek the face and listen intently for the voice of the one who strung miles of nerves and vessels under pliable muscle and engineered a mind that longs for knowledge and a heart that aches to love and be loved and was the architect behind a body that aches with age but remains viable, mobile, and without disease. If I succeed at what I am endeavoring to accomplish over the next two years may my prayer ever be to remain keenly aware that he is there loving and prompting and leading and saving me every waking and sleeping second of my life and for that my I burn with a humble gratitude. If I fail then may I pray the prayer penned lavishly upon a simple lacquered piece of wood placed silently in my room by my mother shortly after my father died, “Where with intention I have erred I have but one plea that God is good and goodness still delighteth to forgive”. As you head home to gather with your families and friends around trees, and fires, and presents, and food this Christmas I pray that you will go with God and please pray that I will remember that He will go with me. Have a very Merry Christmas and as the sun rises on a new year may the light of Christ glow brighter within your hearts.