a change of suit…

Well, this is a first and maybe a usual. I am writing you from my phone in thumb-pecking manner. I may or may not have just created a new word as well. It’s rather slow, but what my new life gives me at the moment. My beloved husband, who I miss dearly,  is quite busy, to say the least, and most all of the time using our laptop in his new found study of law. Pretty much everything seems new found in our life. It would actually be easier to count both the hours we do get to see Papa, and the things that are not new, than it would be to describe his schedule and the unfamiliar things surrounding us to you. I think I told you last time I wrote, that we drove here on August the first.  It was a rather monumental day if you ask me. As you well know, I am not one to super spiritualize, but when you cannot deny it, you should really stop to ponder. David spoke at his parents church, on the last day of July. He was amazing. This day also marked the last day of our transitional season, also amazing, after what we may say was the four of the most insane months of our life. August is the eighth month, the number of new beginnings. As I listened to David preach, unmatched to any other in my opinion, I felt highly emotional. I realized then, that this season of our life was actually closing. I knew it had been closing for almost an entire year now, but the close had actually come.  I realized I was not sure when I would hear him preach again. The suit he wore, I knew I would see so much of in our next season. It was a crazy moment for me. August first truly marked a change of suit for us. The last 23 days have been anything but easy in this land of new beginnings. I would say the suit feels too big and too small at the same time for us. Things are both underwhelming and overwhelming. I think, sometimes, even if the shoe seems unfitting, you wear it, knowing it was custom made for you. Good things don’t always feel good at the start. That is in essence how I feel. Each day I get up, look forward to my coffee, and know one day soon this suit will fit perfect. Until then the only thing perfectly fitting, is David in his custom made suit, literally, and my is he smashing in it.

Missing you still,
Bep

Anger stew…

I have hardly had a moment to sit down and pee much less write, as you know.  It has been the craziest few weeks ever.  Such a surprise, right?  New York said its goodbyes to us with THE biggest thunder and lightening storm (with of course the most intense downpour).  It was nice.  We decided to take a short cut route back to Virginia beach.  It took us closer to eleven hours of driving instead of the original nine hours.  That made for a great start to our official landing in our new city.  Unloading the storage unit was hanging over David’s head like a dark storm cloud, or maybe more like a nightmare.  As dying as we were to be settled, the thought of actually having to move in with our two munchkins and a random assortment of boxes (praying we kept the right ones in our final downsize) was wearying. Once again, praise God for Uncle Lou and Aunt Lynn.  If it weren’t for them, we would have been staying in a hotel until we found a mattress and been eating McDonalds for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Thankfully, this was not the case. We finally found a mattress and got to stay in our own place the fourth night back in Virginia Beach.  Relief. The thought of not having to dig through duffles or pack up again was glorious. (though we are still digging through many a duffle bags and boxes) Not sure it has still hit us we live here yet. That may take a while. But on some level it’s starting to sink in.  Unpacking my mug collection, finding Leon’s favorite toy, and seeing our piano helped on the sinking in factor. The emotions of seeing our own stuff also brought many emotions I didn’t really want to face.  Oh, how I miss home.  Starting to get settled made me feel like the Red Roofer’s should be coming over for coffee, that Ang should be over for Master Chef, or that I should be taking a walk with Tina. The harsh realization that these wishes would remain just that, sort of slapped me in the face. Unpacking my pots made me think to myself that Bub or Esamy still must be hiding my smallest pot somewhere in the basement, and my heart started aching knowing that they won’t be moving back in with us.  I feel like I’ve been on an enormous roller coaster, and feel a bit mental.  Thankful, sad, happy, angry, blah, tired, a mess, a mess.  On one hand, I feel so blessed.  We have been given a washer and dryer, found amazing things on craigslist, been given a dresser, and have this amazing opportunity to live this dream.  On the other hand, almost nothing has gone as planned and our life feels like straight chaos.  I have had more emotions of anger than I have had in years.  After a long good cry and talk with David and then my mom the other night I had some realizations.   Honesty is better than stuffing.  I am overwhelmed.  Period.  Nothing is familiar here, we don’t really know a soul, and they don’t even have Tillamook Cheese. It’s been the craziest few months of our life and while I wish I was calm, and pleasant, and trusting, I am not (at least not like I want to be).  I also feel like half the wife and mom I should be.  My lofty ideas of perfect organization and a fully stocked kitchen to start off our new life look more like piles of “who knows what” and a package of bacon, cereal and milk.  We moved into a place that required several hours of deep cleaning the kitchen and many deep breaths.  The one outside toy we brought along for Leon, his green scooter, has mysteriously disappeared off of our porch (stollen, or borrowed and not returned) and we have run out of gas twice this week. (a long story) I feel out of control.  I am.  Thankfully, God is not.  He know’s our life perfectly and is probably laughing at my emotional state.  I know I will look back and remember how tough it was coming here, though then, I will love it.  I always love my life even if it takes a few moments (or longer) to get there. I guess I am in the “getting there” part of the journey.  I am going to start cooking something other than “anger stew” though now that I have realized its source.  We went to Wave Church on Sunday.  Worship was great, as you can imagine, and of all people Darlene Zschech was preaching.  She read my favorite scripture and I sat listening intently, eyes brimming with tears.  It was exactly what I needed to hear, out loud.  It’s been my life’s scripture since I was a kid.

Psalm 91

You who sit down in the High God’s presence, spend the night in Shaddai’s shadow,
Say this:  “God  You’re my refuge,
I trust in you and I’m safe!”
That’s right—he rescues you from hidden traps,
shields you from deadly hazards.
His huge outstretched arms protect you—
under them you’re perfectly safe;
his arms fend off all harm.
Fear nothing—not wild wolves in the night,
not flying arrows in the day,
Not disease that prowls through the darkness,
not disaster that erupts at high noon.
Even though others succumb all around,
drop like flies right and left,
no harm will even graze you.
You’ll stand untouched, watch it all from a distance,
watch the wicked turn into corpses.
Yes, because God’s your refuge,
the High God your very own home,
Evil can’t get close to you,
harm can’t get through the door.
He ordered his angels
to guard you wherever you go.
If you stumble, they’ll catch you;
their job is to keep you from falling.
You’ll walk unharmed among lions and snakes,
and kick young lions and serpents from the path.

^14-16 “If you’ll hold on to me for dear life,” says God,
“I’ll get you out of any trouble.
I’ll give you the best of care
if you’ll only get to know and trust me.
Call me and I’ll answer, be at your side in bad times;
I’ll rescue you, then throw you a party.
I’ll give you a long life,
give you a long drink of salvation!”

Sigh.  Well, that is the nitty-gritty of it, as they say.  Wish it was more joyful and less honest.  But at this point, rather than pretend, I am just going to be real.

On a lighter note, Leon is hilariously figuring out living at an apartment complex.  He walked down our hall into our neighbors apartment the other day, totally unannounced.  Shared hallways are definitely a foreign concept to his little 2.5 year old mind.  We constantly have to remind our selves that he is not 5 though he talks like it.  He told our neighbor the other day, (our first frienda) that he needed to play with her ball for a couple of hours.  We about died.  He is a constant Joy to behold.  I have to run for now.

Missing you dreadfully.

Bep