My toes are cold.

That’s an understatement. Because it’s 57 degrees in here with a space heater cranked. It’s an insult to injury thing.

(I’ve been struggling with really bad allergies all year and we finally figured out its dust, dirt or something coming up from the basement where the furnace is. Last month it got so bad I was wheezing, some of the kids too. So – we’ve got the furnace off ’cause there is no way I’m paying to have the ducts cleaned again when we are leaving.)

Anywhoo. I’m cold. And it’s official, the boxes are five feet high.

“How high’s the water Mama, five feet high, and risin’….”

The clothes are packed, save for warm layers and a church outfit or two, what’s left in the pantry, the mice can feast on. We’ve switched to paper china and the Legos are on lockdown ’cause this Momma can only take so much chaos. We are hopefully just days from our big move and I need a latté but my machine broke in the midst of all this.

Longing for Home

I won’t lie. It’s getting old. I really am longing for pretty Christmas decor and a toilet seat that doesn’t give me an ice-induced heart attack.

To add to the doldrums we’ve been on a complete spending moratorium for over sixty days. (If you’ve ever used an unconventional loan before you understand this misery full well.) We try hard to be a family of fortitude but dang, we’re a little bored and missing creative expression through cooking, making things pretty and yes, Legos.

I about lost it the other day and so I had to carve out a moment for myself. I was desperate for pretty. I lit a candle, found one stray dish that hadn’t been packed yet and sat down for two minutes with a book and a hot cup of coffee. It was glorious. I crave my old routine and have so much hope for it to begin again…

Longing for Home

But in the midst of rolls and rolls of packing tape and bubble wrap, I have found such beauty and generosity through friends and family and I am sustained as I TRY to bend to God’s timing and WHATEVER He is doing in my heart as I practice patience and a thousand other traits I lack in most pitiful ways.

The monotony of these last six weeks has finally been broken up:

I crashed my Mom’s house last week for a sleepover. I met a few of her friends who had come over for some festivities and the riotous conversation felt so good. The next morning I had an impromptu visit with a friend of these last twenty years. I hadn’t seen her in ages, her home was cosy and we enjoyed a much overdue visit.

 doTERRA customers who chat and laugh with me on my cold porch when they bring boxes over, friends who Paypal you grocery money ’cause they understand what it’s like when your closing date comes before payday, meals spontaneously delivered… really… this whole process has been amazing. It’s an incredible thing to move a farm and family. We put our heads down and set to the task of dismantling this place weeks ago and we are still at it. To have observers validate how tough this really is, well, it’s heartwarming.

Longing for Home

It’s been heartwarming to watch my kids navigate their little souls through this process as well. They’re living with no heat, no daily routine, no toys. My poor little creatives. The other day I felt so bad for them, I hit the dollar store for gift bows and markers. They’ve decorated the moving boxes and anything else they could get their hands on.

I can’t wait to give them a proper environment again. But, in the meantime, there are sweet moments to carve out. Paper chains, decorated plastic cups, singing together…

True, home is where your heart is, but we are all longing for home; the place where we will finally put down the roots of this precious family… our place in the world to carve out a beautiful existence.

And on that note, an email just came in. The loan has gone to underwriting for approval.

My knees are weak.

Time to hit ’em.

Thank you for reading! Angela