As we pack up, throw (A LOT of) stuff out, and prepare to move, I’ve been thinking about this house that we’ve called home for over 7 years now.

I love this house. It is the first house my husband and I bought together and the place that grew our family. Three of us arrived in 2008, straight from PT school in Kansas City and 5 of us will leave in 2015. The two we’ve added to our number were born within these walls. We’ve celebrated birthdays, hosted bible studies, wedding and baby showers, a Thanksgiving dinner, a few overnight guests, and countless coffee and play dates over the years. I look around me and see a home that has really served our family well. And while it will be difficult to move, it feels right to move.

This next step feels right for our family. We have our eye on a home that isn’t ours yet, isn’t even completed yet, but that serves as a symbol of some huge changes for all of us. Not only a change in physical location, but an external sign of internal changes for both my husband and myself.

As I mentioned in my last post, my husband was changing. He was seeking out relationships in our church. He was waking up early and driving to Men’s Breakfast every other week. He was the chatty one keeping us at church long after the service had ended. He was the one sharing the most personal details during our CityGroup’s prayer time. My self-proclaimed loner of a husband was letting people in in a new way. His heart continued to be tugged and pulled towards a move closer to this community he was finding.

He was also sensitive to where I was- content to stay, content to grieve my job, content to not talk about moving anytime soon, if at all. He wasn’t pushing me to have conversations or even to listen to where he was, but I knew he was talking to anyone with ears about his own desire to move. I started to feel really…wrong about that. If his heart’s desire and his calling is to a particular city, shouldn’t I respect that and, at the very least, listen to him?

I knew he was waiting until he knew that God had my heart on the same page as his. This wasn’t a bad plan, and it even seemed like the advice of wise counsel from the marriage conference we attended last year. But as I shared with my counselor, it wasn’t what I felt was best. I told him that I wanted my husband to say to me, “This is where I feel that God is leading us. This is what I feel is best for our family. This is what we are going to do.” I wanted him to lead our family boldly and faithfully in the direction he felt called. Even if that meant I was angry with him or just plain sad for a while, that was the man I wanted to follow. I asked if I should share that with my husband, and my counselor advised me to. He said we have the tools in our bag to handle a conversation like that. So later that day, we sat down and I told him all of that.

He was surprised. This request didn’t sound like the woman he knew. His face registered the turmoil of emotions he felt- surprise, freedom, pressure, fear, excitement.


One thought on “Sixty-three

  1. Pingback: Sixty-seven | numbered days

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