Though until now my writing has been quite sarcastic, I want to take a moment to pause and be a little more serious.
I think it's easy to vent when things are hard, and it's familiar to ask for prayer and support when I have concerns or needs. But it's sometimes just as easy and familiar to forget to express gratitude when blessings come, when needs are met, and when concerns are taken care of. So let me share the UNENDING list of ways God has blessed us in the moving process. And interestingly, things almost always seem to happen within one week or less. Coincidence? You decide.
1. We began seriously considering a move to the Pacific Northwest around the time our son was born in December 2011. My husband started feeling out the job market, and a little after the New Year, he began applying for jobs. He applied for every job he found for which he seemed qualified, but to no avail - not a single bite for months. Finally, one morning, I became very frustrated and just prayed for God to give him some help and jumped on the computer for the first time to help him look for positions. I did a quick google search, and within minutes (and only the second posting I clicked on) I found the job for which he has now been hired.
2. We were originally trying to move to the Seattle or Olympia area of Washington state. Due to some circumstances that happened a few months into the job hunt, however, we started feeling our hearts changing and decided that maybe we were actually supposed to move to Portland, Oregon, the same city as my sister and brother-in-law. Within a week of our change of heart - after six years of being sure we wanted to move back to WA, I found the above Portland job posting.
3. My husband interviewed for the job in June via telephone and was notified within days that he was in the running for the job. An in-person interview was arranged, and he flew out. Within less than a week of interviewing in person for the Portland job, he was their top pick. The only drawback was that the background check could take up to two months. We were fine waiting, however.
4. Two months after being told my husband was wanted for the job, we were told that the background check process had been delayed, and though they still wanted him, we would need to just continue waiting. We were given no idea of how long that wait might be. At the three month mark of waiting to hear back from the job, we were losing hope. That Sunday, the message at church was about the Holy Spirit. During that message, I felt very distinctly the Holy Spirit speaking to me. A particular personal relationship of mine had been heavy on my heart, and that morning I heard God saying that I needed to take action in that relationship. Beyond that, I heard God telling me that He would not release us to leave Lynchburg until I took this particular act of faith. That week I obeyed, and the experience went better than I hoped, with every point of prayer involved being answered. Then, as if on cue, that very night, the Portland employer contacted us to begin the background check. The official job offer was made 7 days later, and we were given an official start date.
5. From the time we decided to move to the PNW, we have been praying about the financial factor. Moving across the nation is indescribably expensive: Selling house at a loss in this market or fixing up the house for rental condition. Moving truck, gas, food and lodging during drive. First/last months' rent, plus security and pet deposits at a new rental. Utility start-up fees and random associated costs. Missed paycheck or two because of lag between jobs. The list goes on. And along with it, the answers to prayer.
-Despite the housing market and people either being unable to sell or having to go into debt to get rid of their homes, within 5 weeks of setting the move date, our house will close for sale. We have been praying all along for it to sell for a particular amount. Even though it appraised for less, exactly one week from the day it appraised, negotiations were made and preliminary paperwork signed to sell at the exact amount we prayed for.
-When we took a short trip to Pennsylvania in the summer, we realized our son would not do well on a 3,000 mile road trip, going 10-15 hours a days in a car seat. We began praying at that time for God to provide funding for my son and myself to fly home while my husband drove the moving truck with a family member or friend. We didn't make this need public, just kept praying privately over the matter. The same week that we were contacted about the background check, I received an email - completely out of the blue - from family friends. Unaware of how close we were to a move, they wanted to help us fly home for a visit to see our families who were really struggling with missing us and our son. We explained to these friends about the possibility of a move instead of just a visit, and they eagerly agreed to take care of our tickets as soon as the move date was set.
-We determined what we would need in a rental home for the first year or two before buying in the Portland area: 3 bedrooms, 2 baths, a yard (preferably with a fence), a landlord who would accept our 110 lbs. beast of a dog, a safe area for children, and somewhere within a 10-15 minute drive of my sister and brother-in-law's home. (As an added cherry on top, we prayed for a dishwasher...just makes life so much easier with a baby.) We also determined a cap for what we could afford for rent.
After talking with my sister, however, we realized that only 3% of Portland housing is ever vacant at one time, and competition for houses is stiff. Often it takes weeks to find something that will work, so we started feeling concerned that we would have to temporarily store our household items and find other temporary housing until we could find a rental that was suitable. Also, to get everything we wanted in a house would likely cost us $100-150 over our budget, so we would need to figure out how to swing that much more a month. Or we would have to sacrifice a bedroom. We kept praying, however.
The second day of looking, I found an ad on Craigslist for a rental, but it had no pictures and not a lot of information. It was an ad I would normally skip, but I just felt a feeling in my gut that it was worth pursuing. The third day, my sister drove past the home to get a feel for the area. The fourth day she and her husband viewed the interior with the landlord. It included every single thing we prayed for, including the dishwasher. And it was only a 10-15 minute drive from my sister's home. The landlord agreed to accept our lovable beast of a dog, and beyond all our belief, he was charging exactly our original goal amount for rent, $100-150 less than other similar rentals. He said he preferred good renters over a little bit extra a month. The sixth day, the deposit was made, and the rental is waiting for us. Again, everything answered within a week.
-A couple other unexpected funding sources have come in to cover the rest of the uncovered one-time moving expenses, and we truly are amazed at God's provision. And again, those have come within a week or less of when they were needed.
6. We prayed that God would allow us to be home before our son's first birthday in December, and if at all possible, before Thanksgiving. It has been ten years since I have spent Thanksgiving with my family, and six years for my husband. What a blessing it would be to celebrate with our families all these miraculous answers to prayer. And, in His goodness, God is allowing us to move a full month before Thanksgiving!
We have other things we are currently praying for, but by this point, we know worrying for even a minute about things would be complete foolishness given the incredible ways God has answered prayer and proven faithful. Does that mean we won't worry? Probably not. We seem to have very weak faith when it comes to certain things. But we know that even though we'll fail in our faith, God will just show us how foolish our worry is and what a loving Father He is.
I leave you with two verses."And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose." - Romans 8:28
"Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and he who seeks finds, and to him who knocks it will be opened. Or what man is there among you who, when his son asks for a loaf, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, he will not give him a snake, will he? If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give what is good to those who ask Him!" - Matthew 7:7-11
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
And sometimes life just decides to spew white ash all over your formal living room...
My husband and I are currently preparing for a cross-country move to the West Coast. We were given four and a half weeks from the time he was hired for his new job until we need to have the moving truck on the road. In these four and a half weeks, we need to pack up our house, sell our house, sell various personal items, say goodbye to ten years of relationships, and also continue with the day-to-day life of raising a 9-month-old. Can we say stress?
Our house that we want to sell lies parallel to a private college that has acquired the majority of the residential buildings surrounding the campus as student housing. We are one of just a few houses on our street that is not currently owned by the school or owned by landlords who rent to college students. This makes for some interesting weekends when our street becomes gridlocked and we can't park in front of our own house. And we have a fair share of smashed beer bottles that decorate a couple of our favorite paths for family walks. It's really fun to go out each morning and see what garbage the drunk college students have dumped in our yard. We get an especially wide variety of fast food bags and snack wrappers near the perimeter. I really wouldn't mind so much if they'd just leave a few bites for me. Selfish...
Aside from the parties, the trash, and the occasional stolen porch furniture for fraternity initiations - which for some reason then ends up randomly placed on the far side of our double lot - it's really not been bad. Plus, each year we get three months of Apocalyptic, end-of-the-world desolation once summer break hits. I could dance outside stark naked and start yodeling German folk music while roasting a pork on a spit, and only the squirrels and a few pesky campus security would see. But alas, the move has been announced for before the next summer break, so I have missed my chance to check that one off the Bucket List. Darnit!
Another plus to the location of our home is that now, even though the housing market is a dismal place for any seller, we have a definite buyer in the college. We are on one of the primary streets where they want more homes, and they have told us they will buy it for appraised value. [Insert excited, wide-eyed, relieved, giddy-with-glee face here.]
The only problem is that in order to sell before we leave the city, we had to ready the house for appraisal within a week of finding out we were moving. Everything rides on the appraised value. Which prompted a whirlwind of small home repairs and finishing touches, as well as your basic cleaning and tidying over the last several days. Our weekend was pretty ridiculous, and we accomplished more than I ever knew we could. Seems a shame now that we didn't have the same fire under our butts over the last several years, or we could have lived in a pretty awesome piece of real estate. But at least we get to truly enjoy it for a good week before we start putting everything into boxes.
I was, indeed, amazed at how much we got done in such a short amount of time. We were so grateful, and we appreciated the help of a really good friend who pitched in to get things done. Despite how smoothly things were going, by the last day before the appraisal (yesterday), I was admittedly worn out. But the end was in sight; it was down to just the final finishing touches. Everything major had been accomplished, and I was worrying mostly about decor and ambiance. I was feeling good and glad that I would soon be able to sit back and relax.
And that's right about when things started going downhill.
I had decided, per my friend's suggestion, to play up the fireplace in our living room. All these years we have always meant to use it, but the only times we seemed to light a fire were to burn some bio-degradable trash. Apparently the last time we did so, we forgot to clean it out, because there was a good 3 inches of ash in the bottom of the fireplace. I thought about getting the Shop-Vac, but I didn't feel like bringing the grimy Shop-Vac from my husband's work area in the basement into my beautifully clean living room. And I already had my vacuum out. So I proceeded to remove the vacuum head and suction out the ash.
I'd gotten a good quarter of it up when I thought I better re-check the vacuum bag - which had been close to full when I started working on the fireplace. I turned around to open the canister, only to discover that my living room and adjoining kitchen were filling with a hazy cloud of ash that my vacuum was quickly blowing all around me.
I started screaming and hurriedly turned it off. My husband heard my panic and a few moments later came into the doorway to see what the commotion was about. I, meanwhile, was standing in shock, whimpering, "Oh, no. Oh, no."
Now, my husband being the male that he is, does not always know how to best respond to my female meltdowns. We came to an understanding after the fact that his response in the moment was not the most helpful. But, not being quite able to overcome his natural urge, I could see he was doing his best not to laugh. This was not the response I wanted.
I started scolding him and telling him that he better stop laughing - that this was NOT something to laugh at. He still couldn't quite muzzle the smirk. After some back-and-forth marital "conversation," and me about ready to lose it, he went down to the basement to retrieve his Shop-Vac as I continued in stunned horror to assess the damage.
He came back upstairs with the Shop-Vac, and I asked very shortly whether or not he was sure he knew what he was doing and wasn't going to have the same thing happen with his vacuum that happened with mine. He responded back matter-of-factly that he has vacuumed ash up many times, and YES, he knew what he was doing.
He turned it on and started on the fireplace, while I stood back skeptically to make sure things didn't go awry once again. Seeing that no ash was blowing, I left him to his work and stared around the room wondering how long it would be before the haze settled and I would be able to start damage clean-up. I sat down on the carpet, to calm down and think of a plan. A couple moments later, I glanced back over at my husband to see what progress he was making.
It was almost immediately after glancing over that something caught in the vacuum air flow, and, lo and behold, HIS vacuum started spitting out ash, only much faster and with more power!
I screamed with the performance that would win me any role in a horror movie and shrieked, "TURN IT OFF! TURN IT OFF!" He turned around to see what was happening and quickly pulled the plug.
It was at this point in time that the week of pushing myself to get everything done, the physical drain of the days of hard labor, the emotional pressure of getting ready for a move, the loss of saying goodbye to old friends, and having to perfect my house that I love only for the enjoyment of someone else that I finally lost it.
I fell to my knees on the floor in my living room, now coated in a thin film of ash, where only moments before had been a nearly immaculate room of beauty, and I started wailing. I wailed and I wailed and I wailed. And when I was done wailing, I fell forward and began sobbing.
It was quite some time before I composed myself. And even after that, it took at least an hour for me to recover from the horror. My husband and I also managed to get into a pretty hearty marital "conversation" that led to our confused son's own personal meltdown.
However, by the end of the evening, I had overcome the trauma of the Rain of Fire-place, and my husband even got me to unwillingly crack a smile when he explained that his initial inability to stifle his laugh was because of the uncanny resemblance between my own situation and that of an episode of "I Love Lucy."
We also managed to bring the room back to show-worthy state (even though I know that out there lurks unseen ash hiding in the weave of various pieces of furniture and tapestry). And by the appraisal this morning, I could say with confidence that the house has not looked this good since the previous owner showed it when we decided to buy. The appraiser seemed to really like the place, and I think we did the best job we could. Now we will just have to hope for a good fair market value.
I don't anticipate this being my last meltdown before the move is complete, and I fully expect more catastrophes to follow over the next several weeks. But I will sincerely try to keep things in perspective and remember what is sure to become my new life mantra - at least until we get settled in our new home: "Do the best you can, but just know that despite your best efforts, sometimes life just decides to spew white ash all over your formal living room."
Our house that we want to sell lies parallel to a private college that has acquired the majority of the residential buildings surrounding the campus as student housing. We are one of just a few houses on our street that is not currently owned by the school or owned by landlords who rent to college students. This makes for some interesting weekends when our street becomes gridlocked and we can't park in front of our own house. And we have a fair share of smashed beer bottles that decorate a couple of our favorite paths for family walks. It's really fun to go out each morning and see what garbage the drunk college students have dumped in our yard. We get an especially wide variety of fast food bags and snack wrappers near the perimeter. I really wouldn't mind so much if they'd just leave a few bites for me. Selfish...
Aside from the parties, the trash, and the occasional stolen porch furniture for fraternity initiations - which for some reason then ends up randomly placed on the far side of our double lot - it's really not been bad. Plus, each year we get three months of Apocalyptic, end-of-the-world desolation once summer break hits. I could dance outside stark naked and start yodeling German folk music while roasting a pork on a spit, and only the squirrels and a few pesky campus security would see. But alas, the move has been announced for before the next summer break, so I have missed my chance to check that one off the Bucket List. Darnit!
Another plus to the location of our home is that now, even though the housing market is a dismal place for any seller, we have a definite buyer in the college. We are on one of the primary streets where they want more homes, and they have told us they will buy it for appraised value. [Insert excited, wide-eyed, relieved, giddy-with-glee face here.]
The only problem is that in order to sell before we leave the city, we had to ready the house for appraisal within a week of finding out we were moving. Everything rides on the appraised value. Which prompted a whirlwind of small home repairs and finishing touches, as well as your basic cleaning and tidying over the last several days. Our weekend was pretty ridiculous, and we accomplished more than I ever knew we could. Seems a shame now that we didn't have the same fire under our butts over the last several years, or we could have lived in a pretty awesome piece of real estate. But at least we get to truly enjoy it for a good week before we start putting everything into boxes.
I was, indeed, amazed at how much we got done in such a short amount of time. We were so grateful, and we appreciated the help of a really good friend who pitched in to get things done. Despite how smoothly things were going, by the last day before the appraisal (yesterday), I was admittedly worn out. But the end was in sight; it was down to just the final finishing touches. Everything major had been accomplished, and I was worrying mostly about decor and ambiance. I was feeling good and glad that I would soon be able to sit back and relax.
And that's right about when things started going downhill.
I had decided, per my friend's suggestion, to play up the fireplace in our living room. All these years we have always meant to use it, but the only times we seemed to light a fire were to burn some bio-degradable trash. Apparently the last time we did so, we forgot to clean it out, because there was a good 3 inches of ash in the bottom of the fireplace. I thought about getting the Shop-Vac, but I didn't feel like bringing the grimy Shop-Vac from my husband's work area in the basement into my beautifully clean living room. And I already had my vacuum out. So I proceeded to remove the vacuum head and suction out the ash.
I'd gotten a good quarter of it up when I thought I better re-check the vacuum bag - which had been close to full when I started working on the fireplace. I turned around to open the canister, only to discover that my living room and adjoining kitchen were filling with a hazy cloud of ash that my vacuum was quickly blowing all around me.
I started screaming and hurriedly turned it off. My husband heard my panic and a few moments later came into the doorway to see what the commotion was about. I, meanwhile, was standing in shock, whimpering, "Oh, no. Oh, no."
Now, my husband being the male that he is, does not always know how to best respond to my female meltdowns. We came to an understanding after the fact that his response in the moment was not the most helpful. But, not being quite able to overcome his natural urge, I could see he was doing his best not to laugh. This was not the response I wanted.
I started scolding him and telling him that he better stop laughing - that this was NOT something to laugh at. He still couldn't quite muzzle the smirk. After some back-and-forth marital "conversation," and me about ready to lose it, he went down to the basement to retrieve his Shop-Vac as I continued in stunned horror to assess the damage.
He came back upstairs with the Shop-Vac, and I asked very shortly whether or not he was sure he knew what he was doing and wasn't going to have the same thing happen with his vacuum that happened with mine. He responded back matter-of-factly that he has vacuumed ash up many times, and YES, he knew what he was doing.
He turned it on and started on the fireplace, while I stood back skeptically to make sure things didn't go awry once again. Seeing that no ash was blowing, I left him to his work and stared around the room wondering how long it would be before the haze settled and I would be able to start damage clean-up. I sat down on the carpet, to calm down and think of a plan. A couple moments later, I glanced back over at my husband to see what progress he was making.
It was almost immediately after glancing over that something caught in the vacuum air flow, and, lo and behold, HIS vacuum started spitting out ash, only much faster and with more power!
I screamed with the performance that would win me any role in a horror movie and shrieked, "TURN IT OFF! TURN IT OFF!" He turned around to see what was happening and quickly pulled the plug.
It was at this point in time that the week of pushing myself to get everything done, the physical drain of the days of hard labor, the emotional pressure of getting ready for a move, the loss of saying goodbye to old friends, and having to perfect my house that I love only for the enjoyment of someone else that I finally lost it.
I fell to my knees on the floor in my living room, now coated in a thin film of ash, where only moments before had been a nearly immaculate room of beauty, and I started wailing. I wailed and I wailed and I wailed. And when I was done wailing, I fell forward and began sobbing.
It was quite some time before I composed myself. And even after that, it took at least an hour for me to recover from the horror. My husband and I also managed to get into a pretty hearty marital "conversation" that led to our confused son's own personal meltdown.
However, by the end of the evening, I had overcome the trauma of the Rain of Fire-place, and my husband even got me to unwillingly crack a smile when he explained that his initial inability to stifle his laugh was because of the uncanny resemblance between my own situation and that of an episode of "I Love Lucy."
We also managed to bring the room back to show-worthy state (even though I know that out there lurks unseen ash hiding in the weave of various pieces of furniture and tapestry). And by the appraisal this morning, I could say with confidence that the house has not looked this good since the previous owner showed it when we decided to buy. The appraiser seemed to really like the place, and I think we did the best job we could. Now we will just have to hope for a good fair market value.
I don't anticipate this being my last meltdown before the move is complete, and I fully expect more catastrophes to follow over the next several weeks. But I will sincerely try to keep things in perspective and remember what is sure to become my new life mantra - at least until we get settled in our new home: "Do the best you can, but just know that despite your best efforts, sometimes life just decides to spew white ash all over your formal living room."
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