When you take that first step
Into the unknown
You know that He won't let you go
... So don't be afraid to move
Your faith is all it takes
And you can walk on the water too.
This song, by Britt Nicole, never spoke to me much. It's a bit trite... It's all been said.
Until recently. The Lord has officially asked us to walk on water, and he hasn't shown us how it's going to work yet. I suppose specifics would be helpful:
Ben has been working anywhere from 80 to 100 hours a week since the beginning of February. As a family, we have been struggling. With Ben gone all the time, Kelynn wasn't getting to spend any time with him and I had to maneuver childcare around my evening work schedule. Simple things like going to the grocery store or out to dinner as a family had become a rare occurrence.
Around mid March, an option became available for us to relocate to Grand Rapids, MI. As most of you know this is Ben's home town, where most of his giant family lives. Moving means that we would go back to 50 hour work weeks instead of 100. It means we get our family weekends back. It means we get story time at night back. It means we get daddy back. After lots of prayer and tears, we decided to take the leap. We will be pulling the moving truck out of town on April 27th.
This means lots of sad things: I'll be leaving my home - the city I grew up in, not to mention all of the unbelievable community the Lord has blessed our marriage with in the last 3 years.
It means we will no longer be a day's drive away from my parents in New Mexico.
It means I can't be the children's minister at our church, or a play therapist at Lifeworks anymore. It means leaving my high school friends, who remain some of my best and most loyal of friends.
It means leaving my little brother, who I've gotten the privilege and honor to watch grow into a good man and a wildly talented actor/singer. I'll miss you most, bro.
But it means a lot of good things too. It means beautiful summers and snowy winters where Kelynn and her siblings can sled with their cousins. It means being somewhere that has actual trees (and not large shrubs we Texans call trees). Above all, it means letting the Lord be our only sustenance. All we can lean on is that he wouldn't send us there if he wasn't going to take care of us there.
And so it is with apprehension, excitement, relief, sadness and joy that I post this one. For those of you we're leaving... you will be deeply missed. You've loved us so well. You've challenged and pushed us closer to our Lord and Savior. You've laughed deep belly laughs with us, you've helped us raise our little Kel, and you've been our crutches when we couldn't hobble along alone. But for those of you we are getting closer to, we can't wait to spend more time with you and allow the Lord to forge deep relationships in a new place.
We love you guys! Stay posted for updates.