We knew when we were in New Mexico and Utah that we had a house waiting to be packed as soon as we got back. Or at least I knew--John might have been in denial. It took us a day to get settled back into life, and to get to the U-haul store to buy the necessary boxes, but eventually we started.
In fact, John decided to rent a truck so that he could start bringing boxes over to the storage facility (Pirate's Cove--don't get me started on how poorly named the place is, sparking thoughts of plunder, stealing and violence). Thankfully, and I can't adequately express my gratitude to the kids, they spent several days of their Christmas vacation helping us pack up a bunch of the house to get ready for showings. In fact, I would guess they packed up 60-70% of the house for me, so when I walk in a room, knowing that I need to get every single thing into a box, there just isn't that much left. Without any kids at home, I don't know what I would have done if I needed to start from scratch myself, because at the end of each day, I can't even bend or move because of the pain in my back. So when I feel discouraged at how much there still is to do, I "count my many blessings, naming them one by one," and one of those blessings is all the boxes my kids packed.
And when I think I need to take a break, I think of John.
That first day, after he rented the truck, he brought enough boxes out to the truck to fill it TWICE and then drove to Pirate's Cove to unload and stack all the boxes himself. I don't even know how he was standing at the end of the day, because he must have loaded and unloaded at least a thousand pounds by himself. I mean, I remember how torn up and broken down his body was when he was 30 years younger and working only a five hour shift at UPS. But he kept going.
When he returned after dropping off the first load, I went outside to check on him, and I saw this:
Not only are we a stand-alone team in packing and moving our 6,000 square foot house, but he has to field calls and worries from his lawyer. Physical stress plus emotional stress. It's a lot to handle. So when I feel like breaking down and crying, or worrying, or wanting to just close out the world and lose myself in a good TV show, I think of him and know that I need to keep going. My back may be in pain but it will still work. I may have blisters on the tips of my fingers from so much tape, but they can tape the next day. Nothing can compare to what John is experiencing, and I just want to support him in the best way I can.
One thing that John can't do though is organize. In fact, the idea of organizing anything paralyzes him. He either gets anxious about the idea of it, or he walks away and finds something he can do. And that's okay--we all have our fears, right? Well knowing we have a garage and an entire barn that needed to be organized before we packed anything out there, I headed out yesterday with him. We worked for many hours, going through all of the tools and camping equipment, and toys, and everything else that has been stored or just thrown out into the barn. We have a lot of stuff for a garage sale, some stuff that went into the trash, and some stuff that we will keep.
But the thing that struck me hard, once I walked out into the barn, was when I saw all of our beautiful furniture that we've been storing out there. I haven't seen some of my schranks for over six months now, and there they were, standing empty. I broke down and threw myself into John's arms.
This has been such a trial. Our lives have been taken away from us. We have had to do everything to conform to everyone else from taking all personal items and things out of the house to trying to form a case against the hospital that how John practices medicine is within the bounds of "normal". It's trying to make everyone else happy when we really just want to live our lives because we love our lives. I realized that I haven't been able to do that in a really long time, even going back to when we decided to leave PA.
I just want my life back. I want to have my beautiful furniture in a house where it fits, and I want to hang pictures of my family on the walls, and I want people to either love us, or just leave us alone. It's been so hard, being under constant scrutiny and feeling like we never measure up.
When I felt like I had left John in a good place where he could finish the garage, I went into the cat room and the Christmas closet to pack up some last boxes (eight to be exact). It's difficult, packing up the Christmas decorations, knowing that we probably won't be anywhere permanent by Christmas, and it's difficult wondering where exactly we will be when I open those boxes again, and what will the circumstances be. Will John's hearing have gone well, and we will have our pick up jobs and locations, or will the hearing have gone poorly, and maybe we won't even have a job?
And with that, and with each box, I tried to pack faith. Faith that God has a plan for us, and that we will be okay. Faith that when I do open them again, it will be with a sense of peace that all was as it should be. Faith that I can know that this trial was all part of the plan, and that in the grand scheme of things, it will be but for a moment.
I can't deny that the Lord has been with me every step of the way. Sometimes I wonder why I'm not more worried, or seriously depressed, but I wake up most mornings with a sense of calm and peace. The Lord has got this, and he's got us. We can't see the end from the beginning at this moment, but He can, and that's all I need to know.
In fact, John decided to rent a truck so that he could start bringing boxes over to the storage facility (Pirate's Cove--don't get me started on how poorly named the place is, sparking thoughts of plunder, stealing and violence). Thankfully, and I can't adequately express my gratitude to the kids, they spent several days of their Christmas vacation helping us pack up a bunch of the house to get ready for showings. In fact, I would guess they packed up 60-70% of the house for me, so when I walk in a room, knowing that I need to get every single thing into a box, there just isn't that much left. Without any kids at home, I don't know what I would have done if I needed to start from scratch myself, because at the end of each day, I can't even bend or move because of the pain in my back. So when I feel discouraged at how much there still is to do, I "count my many blessings, naming them one by one," and one of those blessings is all the boxes my kids packed.
And when I think I need to take a break, I think of John.
That first day, after he rented the truck, he brought enough boxes out to the truck to fill it TWICE and then drove to Pirate's Cove to unload and stack all the boxes himself. I don't even know how he was standing at the end of the day, because he must have loaded and unloaded at least a thousand pounds by himself. I mean, I remember how torn up and broken down his body was when he was 30 years younger and working only a five hour shift at UPS. But he kept going.
When he returned after dropping off the first load, I went outside to check on him, and I saw this:
One thing that John can't do though is organize. In fact, the idea of organizing anything paralyzes him. He either gets anxious about the idea of it, or he walks away and finds something he can do. And that's okay--we all have our fears, right? Well knowing we have a garage and an entire barn that needed to be organized before we packed anything out there, I headed out yesterday with him. We worked for many hours, going through all of the tools and camping equipment, and toys, and everything else that has been stored or just thrown out into the barn. We have a lot of stuff for a garage sale, some stuff that went into the trash, and some stuff that we will keep.
 |
| This is the contents of his "Pail". Anytime he needs something, he dumps the contents of a bucket onto the floor and searches for what he needs. I went through this, screw by screw, and sorted it all. |
This has been such a trial. Our lives have been taken away from us. We have had to do everything to conform to everyone else from taking all personal items and things out of the house to trying to form a case against the hospital that how John practices medicine is within the bounds of "normal". It's trying to make everyone else happy when we really just want to live our lives because we love our lives. I realized that I haven't been able to do that in a really long time, even going back to when we decided to leave PA.
I just want my life back. I want to have my beautiful furniture in a house where it fits, and I want to hang pictures of my family on the walls, and I want people to either love us, or just leave us alone. It's been so hard, being under constant scrutiny and feeling like we never measure up.
When I felt like I had left John in a good place where he could finish the garage, I went into the cat room and the Christmas closet to pack up some last boxes (eight to be exact). It's difficult, packing up the Christmas decorations, knowing that we probably won't be anywhere permanent by Christmas, and it's difficult wondering where exactly we will be when I open those boxes again, and what will the circumstances be. Will John's hearing have gone well, and we will have our pick up jobs and locations, or will the hearing have gone poorly, and maybe we won't even have a job?
And with that, and with each box, I tried to pack faith. Faith that God has a plan for us, and that we will be okay. Faith that when I do open them again, it will be with a sense of peace that all was as it should be. Faith that I can know that this trial was all part of the plan, and that in the grand scheme of things, it will be but for a moment.
I can't deny that the Lord has been with me every step of the way. Sometimes I wonder why I'm not more worried, or seriously depressed, but I wake up most mornings with a sense of calm and peace. The Lord has got this, and he's got us. We can't see the end from the beginning at this moment, but He can, and that's all I need to know.
Comments
Post a Comment