We are literally buzzing around here. The kids are doing laundry and stuffing their toys and books into bins and making a joyous racket. Ella doesn’t know what to do, so she’s spinning up and down the hallway with her baby doll.
Jason is starting the utilities so he can move everything out of storage tomorrow. The kids and I will drive twelve hours and join him Thursday night in our house. And we will celebrate Jonah’s 7th birthday together on Friday. Together. We’ll move Pearl in the next weekend after that. And then we will be THERE. Under ONE ROOF. And yes, there will be craziness and unpacking and messes and stress, but eventually all of that will settle down as well and we will have a new rhythm and routine and mission all our own in our new hometown.
It was a long wait. But it was also God’s provision at every turn, giving what we needed moment by moment, though we couldn’t see how it could possibly work out. And looking back now, if we had been able to move into any of the previous houses, we wouldn’t have found this house, on a quiet street, with a half-acre yard, shaded by spreading oaks, around the corner from all the groceries and pharmacies we could need, for much less than we would have paid in the stuffy, cramped neighborhoods we previously considered.
This morning I remembered something I asked God for in the beginning, when we were still under the impression that the move to Austin would be weeks, and not months, in duration. It was just a silly request, and I knew it wasn’t anything I needed, but I asked anyway: that we could live where there were oaks, like the ones in Ojai, where I spent entire afternoons and evenings, reading, writing, talking, napping, or just thinking quietly under (or on) giant, low-hanging branches. That sound of dry leaves brushing and the green light slanting through means home to me. He certainly didn’t have to give us something so unnecessary, but He did it anyway. It makes me very happy.
How it Fits 